He invited me to spend the night in a haunted house. There was no electricity. It was colder inside than out. Every piece of furniture was covered in a thick layer of dust.
“This isn’t good for my allergies,” I said.
“I came prepared.” He shook the bottle of antihistamines.
My sneezing wasn’t the only thing he was prepared for. I saw the circular imprint in the front pocket of his skinny jeans.
“No one can intrude.”
But he was wrong. The ghosts would watch us silently as we rocked the bed in clouds of dust, wishing to be alive.
© 2022 Nortina Simmons
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