Ghostly Tree

“The rain is full of ghosts tonight,” she said.

I held her close, her head cradled against my shoulder, as we stood under the ancient trees. Her fingers were cold in mine.

“What do they want?” she whispered. “Why do they come back?”

The rain rustled in the leaves above our hiding place, and an ethereal breeze stirred the ruffles of her white gown– the last one she ever wore.

“Maybe they miss the living?” I suggested. “The ones who never come to visit.”

“Silly things. They know they can’t leave this graveyard. Nobody who lies here leaves.” Her voice was as soft and sad as the whisper of the rain.

“I know,” I said. Believe me, I know. My tears mixed with the rain as she turned to cold fog in my arms.

—Flash Fiction: Ghosts © 2018 by Leland Lydecker

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