Surrounded by the ruins of his childhood home, Griffin spun slowly, taking in the decay. A familiar noise—the laughter of a child, barely heard on the breeze—tickled his ears. The fears of his youth flooded back, and his arms prickled with goosebumps.
“I’m not afraid of you anymore,” he said, his voice cracking.
The laughter came again. Closer. Directly behind him.
He spun quickly, only to find himself face to face with… nothing. Absolutely nothing. He almost laughed at his foolishness. Ghosts aren’t real.
“When you leave this time, I’m coming too,” a voice whispered, again behind him.
Sometimes it’s better to leave the past in the past. And by sometimes I mean almost always, especially when it concerns a ghost who tormented you as a child.
Written for Friday Fictioneers.
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