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Artstic Ghost Story Page 1
Our first ghost story is actually a collection of poetry. They are beautiful. Albany, New York USA A stray ray from the setting sun slips beyond the dislodged slats in a shuttered window spanning to the far wall of a mostly vacant attic falling on a forgotten painting exciting shadows from rendered objects where none were painted. Some movement in the trees solidifies on the ground, and what at first appears to be a kind of bear, materializes into a large looming owl that just as suddenly disappears, seemingly the moment it is noticed, no trace of movement in the trees - a sunset later the witness to this event lay dead. “Someday, I’m going to walk out that door,” she said from the hospital bed, pointing a trembling finger at the framed print hanging above her sheathed frail feet. It was a picture of an interior, the closed front door to a country home, sunlight streaming in rainbow patterns through the small panes of beveled glass that fitted the sidelights and transom fanlight, the wisteria outside the rendered windows in clinging cascades of gloriously violet bloom. Things got progressively worse. She never did recover. The following day, while collecting her hospital effects, the grandson noticed what he did not mark before: sounds of dry crackling underfoot, a scattering of withered wisteria petals on the regulation linoleum floor, and within the composition of the framed picture, a sliver of light streaking downward. The country door was slightly ajar. The Artistic Ghost Story Page 1 Home Page
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