Devourer of Souls
I started back haying this summer, now with Bobby Drake instead of his dad, and I often see Jake then, too, trailing after the wagon, or lounging on a bale of hay in the barn as we stack.
At first I thought my mind was starting to throw a few gears. But when my package came the other day and Jake showed up, waving his arms frantically, looking desperate to keep me away from the mail, I finally accepted Jake—whatever he is: ghost, phantom, echo—as being real.
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