Fishing For Ghosts

Cal pulled up to the trailhead and was surprised to see no other cars. Not that it mattered. There were several campsites off the main trail as well as the other two which intersected it, and Cal knew every single one of them. So finding a private spot wouldn’t be a problem. 

Still, it was always better when your private spot was the entire side of a mountain.

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The Mahogany Box

Lauren opened the pantry door and raked through the clothes which hung from an old curtain rod that was cut to fit and jimmied between the two walls. Her third time through, she realized she’d ironed in front of the TV the night before, so she walked into the den and over to the alcove window where more clothes hung from yet another old curtain rod.

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Porch Swing

Image: Kirsten Killer via Creative Commons

Below you’ll find the first chapter of something that was initially a short story. The chapter is set several years before The Teacher (the first part of the third chapter) which I’ve also posted on this blog.

* * *

No tears. She’d promised.

“When’re you comin’ home?”


A crackly voice emanated from the bus station speaker. “Ardmore. Last call.”

“Bye, girl.”

“Call me,” she said after they kissed for what she feared was the last time.

Funny how a place could come to mean so much to someone. Both good and bad. Especially considering he’d never even been to Ardmore til the time he and his mama first drove there on that hot August day.

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