A Ghost Story


She did not answer. She focused on her work at the sink and ignored him. It had been like this for some time. The moods, the silences. He’d had just about enough. He could wring her neck!  But he avoided an argument and went back up the stairs.

Hearing her struggling to close the knife drawer, he paused, remembered he ought to fix the runners. Not right now though – wait until the air has cleared. The whole thing will blow over soon enough.

But he knows it won’t. It’s been getting harder these days, and resentments seem to linger. Still, he was too tired to face this right now. Maybe after he’d slept.

Turning at the top of the stairs, it seemed to him the bedroom was colder now. He checked the window was still tightly shut, climbed back into bed, and pulled the clinging wet crimson sheet back over his cold grey body.


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