A GHOST STORY
My task was clear. Secure the property and affirm that it was indeed vacant. I paused at the gate and assessed the condition of the grounds as far as I could ascertain. The lawn was certainly well kept, as were the rows of neatly trimmed rose bushes. I passed through the gate, kept to the path, and ascended the stone steps to the porch. There, I was taken aback when the door flew open, and a mad woman all in black stood there cackling for a fleeting moment before turning and racing off, her high pitched shriek trailing after her. A door far off slammed, and muffled moans and sobs entered the portals of my ears. This would never do. The property must be vacated. With firm resolve, I entered the manse and followed the sobs to their seeming source, an attic room four stories removed from the earth’s bosom below. I entered. The mad woman, from where under an ornate canopy she was collapsed on an elegant four poster bed, raised her head to stare at me. Then, without a word, she sprang to her feet, raced to the window, and crashed through, plunging to her death. Satisfied, I returned to my grave.
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