The Widow of Rose House

by Diana Biller

An uncomfortable lightness expanded in her chest as she watched him standing head-and-shoulders taller than the passersby around him, looking back at her as though he would be perfectly happy never to look at anything else ever again.

Ghost infestation? Sam wrote on the page, briefly imagining ghostly rats fleeing before a ghostly terrier.

“It’s better than ghost hunting,” Benedict said as they walked out of the room. “I don’t hunt ghosts,” Sam protested. “I bear them no ill will at all. I just want to make their acquaintance.” “Ghost social climber, then.” “Much closer.”