The Sunday Whirl

Liz twisted the scarlet stoned ring around her finger in an act of nervousness. She was sure that when dusk arrived, her fright would manifest, and she was trying to keep her mind occupied. As soon as the ghoulish figure appeared, every candle’s light started flickering, although the air was still and the stink of the damp floor held steady. Slowly the ghoul approached, holding a bat in front of her face. Was this some kind of trick? Was it going to bite Liz? It seemed forever the ghoul stood there, staring at her, as if waiting for some midnight chime on a dilapidated bell tower to spur an action. It pushed the bat closer and the bat started to protest, trying to get free. What did the ghoul expect? Was this a trial of wills?

Liz started to smile, a slow evil grin. The ghoul quickly stepped back as Liz’s mouth spread wide and grabbed the squealing bat.


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