Originally appeared in The Big Book of Erotic Ghost Stories |
The Skin of My Soul She is there, standing like a dried flower in a vase; a pale woman dressed in antique browns watches me from the corner of my bedroom. I do not register her presence all at once, but gradually, realizing that she has been there for some time, perhaps minutes. My eyes dart up from the book in my lap, but no one is there, only shadows tossed across the wall. Unsettled, but skeptical, I shield my eyes with my book in a vain attempt to read, trying to distract myself from the idea that I’d seen her, this lonely woman, within the walls of my unremarkable house. I steal furtive glances into the corner, afraid of finding her there and possibly scaring her away, but the room remains empty. I wait up for her, confident that she will return, but after an hour my eyes grow too heavy for my vigilance and I succumb to dreamless sleep. I wake in the morning, muscles stiff from unfamiliar positions, and move through the day with only a vague memory of the woman in brown, inured to the wonderment of her early morning visitation.
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Finish reading "The Skin of My Soul" in
Crew of Rowdy Writers
Saints & Sinners, New Oreleans
Five Bad Pickup Lines that have been Used on Me:
Are you gay?
Do you come here often?
GWM seeks same
Have you see the bathroom?
Haven't we met before?
