There had been a time when he didn’t feel afraid of his phone. He searched the crowds at intersections with eyes that had not greeted sleep in days. Faces loomed and then drowned again. His heart heaved knowing that somewhere, she was watching.
He had to rebuild his life in the height of her shadow. Every motion still carries her spirit. The idle fear that she will be around the next corner follows him all the way to the witch’s office.
The sorceress apologised in drifts of incense.
“I cannot help with hauntings by the living,” she lilted. “That is a mortal curse.”
Chalk Snow 