Ghost Story

A wreath of nut-bearing branches hung on the door, and bundled stalks of corn stood on either side. A carved pumpkin sat patiently at the bottom of the steps; a master of ceremonies waiting for nightfall. These were the kinds of old-fashioned homespun decorations Hazel took pride in—joyed in—in the hope that their authenticity would speak for her. "Lord save me from myself. Is everything done?" said the old woman. She worked her broom down the front steps, right up to the sidewalk in front of her house....

Midnight on a smooth stretch of two-lane the air was crisp, the stars shining bright. Parked in the middle of the deserted country road, Jake's truck engine lumbered and loped through a restless idle. The gages beneath the dash glowed warmly, and the headlights gleamed over a center line that faded straight into the black velvet horizon. The chrome intake jutting through the hood glistened in the moonlight. It was a perfect night to see what she could do....