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Ghosts - creative writing.

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Ghosts The scream was distant and brief. A woman's scream. Deputy Paul Henderson looked up form this copy of time. He coked his head Listening. Motes of dues drifted lazily in a bright shaft of sunlight. The thin, red second hand of the wall clock swept soundlessly around the dial. The only noise was the creak of Henderson's office chair as he shifted his weight in it. Through the large front windows, he could see a portion of snowfields Main Street, skyline road, which was perfectly still and peaceful in the golden afternoon sunshine. Only the trees moved, leaves aflutter in a soft wind. After listening intently for several seconds, Henderson wasn't sure he had actually heard anything. Imagination he told himself just wishful thinking. He almost would have preferred that someone had screamed he was restless. During the off season, form April through September he as the only full time sheriffs deputy assigned to the snowfield substation, and the duty was dull. ...read more.


Cool, blue shadows lay everywhere, growing larger and deeper and darker by the minute. Be hind the wheel of his 97 Ford Shelby Mustang GT 500, Malcolm Dome smiled, buoyed by the beauty of the mountains and by a sense of coming home. This was where he belonged. He turned the Shelby GT off the three -lane state road, onto the country- maintained, two lane blacktop that twisted and climbed four miles through the pass to Snowfield. In the passenger seat, his lovely girlfriend, Jennifer said, "I love it up her". "So do I". "When will there be some snow". " Another month maybe sooner" The trees crowed close to the roadway. The Shelby GT moved into a tunnel formed by overhanging boughs, and Jenny switched on the headlights. "I've never seen snow except in pictures," Jennifer said. "By next spring, you'll be sick of it". "Never. Not me. I've always dreamed about living in snow country, like you.' Malcolm glanced at the girl. ...read more.


Malcolm walked over to the door looking behind him every step. He opened the front door and stepped into the dark foyer. "Hilda, we're home!" There was no answer. The only light in the house was at the far end of the hall, beyond the open kitchen door. "Who's Hilda?" Lisa asked. "My housekeeper." Wondering why the kitchen light was on if Hilda wasn't there, Malcolm headed down the hall, with Jennifer close behind. Malcolm turned left as soon, as soon he stepped through the door, and went to the built in secretariat where Hilda planned menus and composed shopping lists. It was there she would have left a note. But there was no note, and Malcolm was turning away from the small desk when he heard Jennifer gasp. Malcolm had walked around to the far side of the central cooking island. She was standing by the refrigerator, staring down at something on the floor in front of the sinks. Her face was flour-white, and she was trembling. Filled with sudden dread, Malcolm stepped around the island. Hilda Beck was lying on the floor, on her back, dead. Original writing Kuldeep Jagpal 02/05/07 ...read more.

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