Literature
My True Ghost Story
Our eyes locked and they locked hard. They were a dominating force, the kind that spoke a thousand words without ever needing to move his lips. I felt bad for the woman he fancied, imagining him walking up to her with a stare that declared that she was his now, only his. She'd put up a fight, and maybe he'd enjoy it, but in the end they'd marry. She'd be unhappy, and he would be out prancing in the night with other ladies in this room while his trophy wife sat on the mantel, withering away.
He was from an old time. He scared me.
I stared at him through the mirror. He was behind me, sitting on a small chair. Only the chair wasn't small, it
