This story has been submitted by Kirsten Anderson, thank you for the story Kirsten
When Joe saw the ghost, he ran like hell.
It chased him through town, the graveyards, and into the forest. Joe tripped over a stone, getting a sharp blow to his head. When he became etheric, the ghost looked at him in contempt.
“Damnit, O’Leary,” said his former coach. “You still run like a girl!”
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The smell grew as they sat on the stairs and waited for sunlight, wholly oblivious to the fact that in their hiding place they couldn’t tell whether it was day or night or neither.
One by one the children fell asleep as the smell grew stronger and daylight inched closer and never came.
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Author’s note: The original idea for the following story is not mine. I rewrote it to fit the requirements of 55fiction.
The ghosthunter spent the night in the old dormitory, looking for the resident ghost. Bored, he put his eye to a random keyhole. Curiously, he saw nothing but red.
Next morning, he asked the caretaker how the alleged ghost looked.
“Only one thing is common in all the descriptions. The ghost always has red eyes.”
The wind blew through the rafters and the old structure creaked as the force shook it to it’s very foundations.
Hiding in the dark, huddled together for warmth and a protection that we couldn’t honestly offer each other, we sat and waited for the end to come.
The stairs creaked again and we smelt it.
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