#85 Turned Tables

Sara sat bolt upright in bed. She thought she heard a moan from the hallway.
That can’t possibly be true, she thought. Just go back to sleep. Ghosts don’t exist.

She slowly lowered her head back onto the pillow and closed her eyes.
Sara sat up at the speed of light once more.
I know I heard something.

Tippy-toeing out of the bedroom she felt a cold wind brush her hair from her face. Her feet stalled for a second but she pushed on through her fear.
Frederick sat nursing an old army wound in the old family room of his house. He let out a moan as he pulled the three-day old linen from his leg. “Shit, that’s gory.”

By the fire, his brother Thomas let out a similar groan as he pulled off another bandage from his naked torso.

“I forget,” said Thomas. “Did we win the war?”

“No idea.”

A pale figure let out a whimper from the corner and the two men screamed: “Ghost!”, running off into the kitchen, as Sara stood staring at the spectres that had flown from her sight.

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