The ghost of a dead girl is manifesting herself

in Vicki's paintings.

Was this her ticket to success, or will this girl destroy her?

Sample

They were coming for her.

She ran through the woods, jumping over logs across the path. Branches whacked her legs, and ferns slapped her ankles. Pushing herself, not daring to look back, she had no idea how far behind her they were. The beat of her heart was pounding in her ears. Dodging tree limbs to the left and right, she ran as fast as her feet would carry her.

Leaping over a fallen log in her path, she lost her balance and stumbled into the opening of a dead tree trunk. Head over heels she tumbled, dropping onto a bed of leaves as a sharp spike of wood pierced her back and slid through her body. Yet, she dared not even scream.

The air that had jumped from her lungs was not returning. One leg lay twisted next to her as warm blood pooled like sap all around. As she lifted her arm, touching the splintery point that now protruded through her chest, flashes of her life whirled around her: her father, her boyfriend, the people who had betrayed her; those who tried to hold on to her when all she wanted was to escape to a better place.

Above, through an opening in the tree, the sky was now rippling with pricks of light scattered like ambers on coal. On the shore nearby, water pulsated to the rhythm of her slowing heartbeat, and in the distance, the voices of coyotes called to one another. Tears mixed with dewdrops fed the moss beneath her head. The sound of a woodpecker faded into the dull rapping in her mind.

Leaving her body, her spirit rose, not knowing what to do and where to go. It flew up into the trees and looked around. Her life was not supposed to end this way. It would not end this way.

Fragments of herself were fading fast. Her childhood was now gone. Frantically, the spirit flew, retracing the girl’s path, searching for a place that was safe, looking around the moss-covered limbs and dead branches of the old ones, her spirit recalled each footstep she had taken earlier. It went backward over logs, following her muddy steps until it found something that had once belonged to her. It dissolved into the wooden necklace she had lost while running, her token from the boy she once loved, dangling from a lichen-covered limb. It swung back and forth when the wind blew, waiting, the memory of her last few years alive now safely locked inside.

Her memory hibernated in that tiny piece of wood through the different seasons. Leaves dropped, and the snow came. Birds left and returned, building nests and laying eggs. The young ones flew off and found their own mates. An occasional stranger passed through the woods, but none found the necklace. There were whispers in the breeze, and secrets passed along.

One day, the necklace caught the eye of a curious crow who swooped down and inspected the piece. After realizing the wooden pendant wasn’t something to eat, the crow carried it off. Leaving the woods with the necklace in its beak, the bird followed the shoreline, then circled above Cook’s Cove.

It dove down and landed. Perching on a porch roof, the black bird cocked its head at the red-haired woman who often fed crows that came by, setting out a plate of leftover crumbs. The crow ruffled his feathers, dropping the necklace on the railing, where it bounced and landed on the welcome mat.

The woman discovered the crow’s gift lying on the ground. Picking up the necklace and examining it, she noticed how unique it was; a slice of wood with a phosphorous-looking design ran through the coin like a vein. It didn’t appear old, only a bit dusty—not something that would fit in with the antiques in her shop. The woman carried the wooden piece inside, removing its leather string. But rather than toss the medallion in the garbage, the woman decided to add the bauble to the jewelry box sitting on her kitchen counter.

The woman went over and switched on the light to the basement. Then, taking one stair at a time, she brought the useless stuff into the dim, musty room. Shelves that once held jams and jellies were now homes to things she would need to revisit later and decide what to do with. After placing the jewelry box on a shelf, she returned upstairs and turned off the light.