When Ghosts Call Us Home

by Katya de Becerra

I begin counting steps. It’s an old habit. Just like five years ago, now I find the monotony of it soothing.

Cashore always seems to occupy this liminal space between empty and inhabited. It’s never completely abandoned, but no one lives here either—no one alive that is, not for long anyway.

If this smell could make a sound, it’d be a keening.