“It’s not possible. It’s not possible.” Cecelia shakes her head.
Her skin has lost its color. Her back up against a tree. Her eyes see the white colored leaves tremble in unseen breezes. Her ears bombarded with sounds that make little sense. Strange groans. Creaks. Muttering in whispers.
She pushes back long locks of black hair. Leaning forward she his her knees. The dark air around her gives little clues to where she had found herself. The land seems open but no structures loom in the distance.
“I feel asleep. All I did was fall asleep! I feel asleep. Aaaaauugghh! Wake up!” Cecilia slaps herself several times.
“My dear, you are going to wake the dead. Now tell me your troubles child.” A thin pale man in overalls look down at her.
He’s no more than five feet away. His beat up cowboy hat shadows half his face. His wrinkles soften what could be a terrifying face. Hollow checks sink into black holes. More hikes where you expect eyes. The soft beard and mustache add light to a smile.
Her eyes are fixed. Her pulse through the roof. She never seen him coming. There is nowhere for him to hide. Her mind is in overdrive. Sounds in the background seem to call out, then change to leaves rustling in the tree.
“You can’t wake the dead! Why did you say that? Where am I? Who are you? What’s going on here?” Her words run together. She stays in semi fetal position but starts to rock a bit.
“Quite right, child. The dead have no need for sleep. I could hear you down the street. Needed to see what all the commotion was about. I figured it was someone new.” The old man tips his hat back a little. His face is even creepier now. Where there should be eyes seems empty.
“What do you mean ‘new here’?” Cecelia knows the answer. Denial runs deep in her heart.
He laughs. Both thumbs rise up to straighten the straps of his overalls. His hat slides back down and covers more of his face. The laughter can be felt, not just heard.
“Child, we’re ghosts. You’re dead!”
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