Night of the Spirits
by sloanranger
Part 15
Up and up it flew, at first like a kite, bothered by the two knots Angus had tied on one end. Then with another roar the wind carried it like some kind of flying carpet from a Hindoo tale. For a second the Scot thought the wind had taken Joe, too.
When he turned and saw the dog on the ground he had a sudden realization: the storm had meant to take him - just like Miz Crayton had prophesied!
And it was overpowering, the wind - so strong it had knocked him down.
"Angus!" He heard the quavering voice of Jeb rasping over the roaring sound:
"Where's my dog?"
The old man's ghost appeared, shimmering in front of him. He was transparent in his nightgown with his white hair blowing wild, star-like, around his opaque face.
"Oh, Lord, Cray, I got him! I got him," he pleaded in a screaming voice. "I'm bringing him right now."
Poor Toper grabbed hold of one of Joe's stiff legs and began crawling and dragging the dog along with him. Sobbing, his eyes tightly shut, he felt his way and tried to find Jeb's grave in the dark, wild storm.
(To be continued).
YOU ARE READING
Night of the Spirits - @Short Story
Short Story@SHORTSTORY - Historical Fiction, Horror: Dying man Jeb Crayton, asks his friend Angus, an old Scot who likes his liquor to help his widow after he's gone. Days later, Angus is asked to bury Jeb's dog, Joe. It becomes a horrific task.
