How I hate the month of May with its terrible anniversaries. The last day I saw her. The last day anyone saw her. The day we found out.
Late last night I walked around the house in the dark. Up and down the stairs, up and down the hallways. There’s no need to believe in ghosts. I do a good job of haunting this place myself.
From an upstairs window I saw shapes down on the lawn, movement in the moonlight. I went outside to check out the backyard.
Down at the river a beaver slapped its tail on the water. A pair of deer took off running in opposite directions.
I stood perfectly still on the grass, I listened to the rustle of bushes as the two deer circled around to meet back up again.