A new story from Haunted Places



She drifts torn ornate mausoleum in banishes into the wall he reaches out a dusty palace tandon pets the cat soothing it calms begins to groom itself he steers after the girl more and more he sees them at first it was just out of the corner of his eye but now he sees them all the time sometimes even standing next to their weeping loved ones at their own funerals he wonders if they know that are dead he digs he grows up at night in his cheap room his joints ache the hard mattress does not help when he closes his eyes he sees them the ghosts of labrecque a letter some old in fragile some young and szekely others have horrific injuries twisted limbs or gunshot wounds in their chest that drip blood the drops of blood always vanish before the hit the ground lately they've realised that he sees the they speak too but it sounds like muffled whispers it makes his head buzz he wonders what could they be trying to say some nights he drinks cheap red wine until we pass this out even then he dreams of them the ghosts their fingers reach out beckoning him at dawn he walks through law recoleta he likes the cemetery best at daybreak it's tranquil noone else's around he admires the way the rising sun turns the cherubs on a mausoleum gold your locks a shed it opens the door a young man stands among the rakes and shovels half of the young man's faces mangled his left eye simply a bloody socket though he's used to them by no occasion lay the ghosts still catch him off guard he attempts to slow is breathing as the young man speaks a loose flap of flesh moves exposing is jawbone the young man sounds like this scratchy start of a phonograph as it begins to play a record he shakes his aching head he he does not understand again the young man speaks again he shakes his head the young men reaches out a hand in touch touches his arm.

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