Outside, a violent storm raged. Inside, a benevolent ghost made his lone demand.
“Forfeit one possession,” he rasped, floating among the dusty antique furniture.
Not a bad trade, the five strangers agreed. Better than battling the elements. But that night, one guest secretly reclaimed his item. Who would ever know, the young man reasoned.
The next morning – blue skies and sunshine. The strangers left the old Victorian home, thrilled to continue their journey.
All except the young man.
A cold gust swirled through the hall. The front door slammed in his face, barricading him inside alone.
A ghost always knows.
The Weekday One Hundred 