Un-Hallows Eve–a Haibun
The new-moon night reeks of gardenias, a scent that belongs to spring in California, not October in Maine. Gardenias—memories of a funeral, of a long-ago autumn night, much like this, when her mother shot her abusive father and then put a bullet to her own head.
Alone, as always, Emily pulls aside the musty drape and peers out into the yard. Bare trees cast shadows, like skeletal fingers, stretching, reaching in her direction. The thrumming of her heart beats louder and louder, quickens its pace till, of a sudden, a chill pervades the air.
At a distance, a lonely figure approaches, its footfall echoing on the empty street.
restless spirits roam
seeking to find empty souls
to make there, their home.
Linking to Toni’s spooky prompt over at dVerse Poetics. Please join us.