A woman harbors a festering resentment of her aged mother's demands - until a long-departed ancestor comes calling.
Sheeplishly, I shuffled to her side. When I saw her small, balled-up form, I was dumbfounded. Before me was a curly-headed five-year-old version of my mother. Her sweet brow was furrowed as she sucked furiously on her tiny thumb. Then her lips trembled, and she whimpered in her little girl's voice as a tear escaped her eye. A serrated dagger ripped into my chest.
It was then I was struck by a horrific thought. I struggled to speak to the spirit of m y great-great-grandfather. "Are you here to take her?" I whispered. "Please, please don't take her."
Nights of Horseplay coming from CreateSpace.com in September. Follow www.stevethewriter.com/nights-of-horseplay for ordering information.