My contribution to Loren Eaton’s annual Advent Ghost story telling.
The light’s danced on the prickly spruce as she stared at it, blankly. Presents sparkled in the twinkling lights.
She held the letter in her now shaky hand and downed the strong liquid. She read the words again, “My only true love, if you’re reading this, I didn’t survive.”
“Didn’t survive?” She yelled at the tree as the anger welled.
The figure sat beside her, touching her hand. She was oblivious.
She picked up the pistol, placed it in her mouth. The ghost screamed.
She stepped away from her lifeless body and into the arms of her love.