Bernard B. Belling, or: The Ghost of Ghost Hill (Part 2)

“Crazy, ain’t it?”

Bernard turned away from a shrub to the front door, where Mr. McGavin stood, steaming cup of coffee in hand. Mr. McGavin raised his eyebrows, repeating his question silently. Bernard blinked. Mr. McGavin thought that perhaps Bernard hadn’t heard him.

“The rain, I mean. Water, above ground! You’d think the world was ending.”

That happened to be exactly what Bernard was thinking, but for entirely different reasons.

“Listen, Bernie. Come on inside. You’re gettin’ soaked, for crissakes. I made coffee.” He raised his mug, showing Bernard that he had, in fact, made coffee.

Bernard stood for a long time, staring at Mr. McGavin. When he spoke, it was slowly and deliberately, almost disembodied.

“That’s alright, Mr. McGavin. I’m done here anyways.”

Then he turned back, walked up Mr. McGavin’s stone walkway (which he himself had installed months earlier) and onto the street, feet dragging on the gravel road. Mr. McGavin watched him walk towards town and took a large sip of his coffee.

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