The Haunted Traveler Vol. 1 Issue 1

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voice almost a whisper.
I nodded. And altering my voice to fit the description I
gave, I said, “‘I’m lonely, so very lonely. Please come to me.
Please.’”
Annette’s hands tightened in to fists. “That couldn’t have
happened that way,” she croaked.
“But it did,” I coolly answered.
“What did you do?” Paul asked.
“It’s not my time,” I told her.
“Nothing else?” Bruce questioned.
“Far out at sea the sky suddenly lit up and for a fraction of
a second I saw my father; and I knew when my time to die
came, he would come for me. I would see him.
Annette slammed her two fists down on the table. “Someone
told you,” she shouted, bolting up and drawing the attention
of everyone in the dining room to our table. “Someone
told you about my brother.”
With my face a mask, I looked at her.
“Annette, such experiences are not uncommon,” Bruce
said gently.
“Don’t you understand,” she practically screeched, “he
made it up. He told a story.”
Bruce looked at me.
Unflinchingly, I met his gaze. “My sister died in nineteen
sixty-five,” I said.
Annette shook her head. “He made it up. My brother–”
Then, she sat. And putting her hands in front of her face, she
wept.
I felt sorry for her. I had broken her, or at least had broken
a part of her. I lifted my eyes to the window. In the gray folds
of the fog I saw the image of my sister. She was smiling.