The Midnight Ghost

The ghost in the back field was wailing something awful, and no matter how deep he buried his head under the pillows, Owl could still hear it and couldn’t get to sleep.

Barefoot, he crept downstairs, keeping to the edges so the boards wouldn’t creak, then across the cold kitchen tiles, and out the screen door, opening it just enough to slip through and then closing it gentle behind him.

The moon wasn’t more than a sliver, so all he could do was follow the wailing. He almost caught a glimpse of the spirit, before it sensed him and vanished.


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