Rain gnaws windows.
I admire the tapestry,
alone.
November daylight fades.
I sense a presence.
Nerves prickle –
I freeze, feel trapped, can’t
breathe.
‘That room...?’
‘...is haunted,’ the guardian
agrees.
‘Malevolent?’
‘A murderess...’
‘So there you are!’ Husband and friends advance.
‘A g-ghost...’
‘Rubbish!’ they hoot,
‘Just tales for tourists.’
© Gill Dunstan
All rights reserved
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