Not Always At Night


I had almost forgotten about the ghost. I hadn’t seen her since Moving In With Her, and I’d stopped worrying about her. I could come in from the garage late at night without needing to glance up at the window above the back door to see if she was peeking out. But in the back of my mind, she was still there.

Of course it was at night. It’s always at night. My daughters were in bed behind closed doors, my wife was asleep downstairs. I was reading in the spare bedroom, the dog was sprawled across the bed, and a little girl was singing in the hallway. Three distinct notes. Sounded playful. Like she didn’t even realize she was doing it.

I thought one of our girls had gotten up. I put my book down and poked my head into the hallway, expecting to see one. That would…

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