“It’s haunting the way Julie never seems to leave that decrepit house. She’s been in there for years, and some say she’s only a ghost now.” 

Finn frowned. “You shouldn’t make stuff up like that, Wendy.”

“I’m not. You don’t have to believe in ghosts to consider Julie might have died from a broken heart when Owen didn’t return after his last voyage.”

“If she didn’t?” Finn lifted his chin.

Julie shrugged.

“If you’re convinced she’s a ghost, why don’t you knock on the door?”

“Ghost open doors.”

“No,” a frail, old woman said. “I prefer to slide through them.” 

Have you ever driven past an old abandoned home and wondered what stories it holds? The urge to wander through slightly overwhelming? No, just me? I often wonder about the many things the walls of a home see, the items discarded at local thrift stores, some with personal information still attached.

We used to live near a home a little like that, except it wasn’t abandoned. It was mysterious due to the overgrowth of the yard. In my mind I concocted a whole story about the little place, and then one day, years after we’d moved away, I looked the little place up. The yard was now well mowed, and the interior looked nothing at all like I imagined.