The Ghost of Suicide

I am in an old house. Ghost hunting. We are upstairs, waiting for dawn and the apparition to appear.

The first rays of sunlight light up the floral curtains in the room across the hallway. I hear the creak of a swinging body and there it is, the clear silhouette of a hanging body.

I run towards it, convinced it’s a trick. I grapple with the ghost, lift it to the floor, comforting it. The ghost absorbs me. It is my ghost. I feel the tight noose around my neck, I struggle to breathe, I call to my friends for help.



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