A heavy grey hung over the city. I had no idea where the smog ended and the fog began, just that it was everywhere and clung to everything like a burial shroud. Its omnipresent gloom stifled both sound and light… and something hungry was stalking me in the dark. The wet, clammy footsteps could be heard clearly, even through the endless mist.
I searched the darkened corridor quickly, looking for anything that might be a clue to the mysterious owner. The only light here was from the cloud-filtered moonlight that seeped in through the six-foot-high window at the far end of the hall. The darkness made things difficult, but with the butler downstairs I didn’t want to arouse more suspicion than I had to. It’s not like I was here legally. At least the plush carpet that ran down the center of the hallway deadened the sound of my oxfords on the floor. Continue reading The Gilded Cage
Christmas is a time for ghost stories. Everyone knows that. So when Sheila told her best friends, Alice and Jenna, that they thought they should summon a ghost, they thought it would be fun – a laugh. A hoot. The three girls gathered together the things they had found in the attic: a tattered, stuffed doll, a chipped mirror, a faded gingham dress. Relics of a life forgotten. Tools to speak with the dead.
With respects to Clement Clarke Moore, a Christmas Tale just for you.
