The Ghost Husband’s Deal
In the moonlight, a woman in a white lace dress was kneeling on the stone steps of the chapel, her face buried in her hands, her shoulders trembling.
She had no feet. Below her dress, there was only a swirling black mist.
"I see her."
Lorenzo let out a low whistle. "Two years ago, Marco put her in the ground right there. Her ashes are buried under the rose bushes behind the chapel."
I didn't stop, walking straight toward the chapel. Giovanni froze behind me but didn't dare to call out.
As I reached the bottom of the steps, the female ghost's head snapped up. She lunged at me, her face a sickly pale green, her eye sockets empty black pits.
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