Ghosts of Olar

 

     Leaving Olar at almost seventy miles an hour is not when you want to see a South Carolina state trooper. Especially not one headed back into town, wondering what's your hurry. His lights flash all they want but still aren't near as blue as the disappearing sky. There's no excuse crazier than the truth. The ghosts of Olar are at our back, puffing their cheeks to blow us away.
     We try it anyway. The trooper can't be but twenty-five at most, might not have heard it all yet. No sir, not ...