Bernard B. Belling, or: The Ghost of Ghost Hill (Part 6)

Bernard was not surprised. He gave off the same glow that Martha had given off just minutes earlier, albeit one harder to distinguish, due mainly to the newly bright sky. That, and the fact that the hill had to have been named “Ghost Hill” for a reason. That reason was currently standing in front of him, waiting for him to respond.

“Why me?”

It was evidently not the response the ghost had been expecting.

“I beg your pardon?”
“Why me. The meteor fell on the hill just when I happened to be here. My closet started glowing. My girlfriend came back from the dead to say hello, and now a ghost is talking to me. I’m just a landscaper. I work with shrubs, not rebirth-of-the-world shit.”

The ghost hesitated. “I’m not sure.”

“But it was you. You did this.”
“Who are you?”
“I am the ghost of Ghost Hill.”
“No, really.”

The ghost paused for a long time.

The sky shone a relentless blue, clouds that had previously been pouring rain retreating into nothingness.

The ghost told him who he was.

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