“Here,” said the no longer quite-so-young girl, “is the hall of the murder.”
The audience oohed and aahed and sighed, and when her lover flowed through the wall in his faded finery they screamed and ran, solidifying him with their belief while the girl stretched out her hand to caress what could not be touched.
This story was one of those that more or less wrote itself. I got the image of a dark, brooding house (actually the house from The Frighteners if you have to know), and dusty chandeliers. The rest, the girl, the ghost, the electric light, that just flowed out. Logical, clean, or perhaps just the way I view the world.
Here’s what :The Frigtheners:’ house looks like. And it’s a great movie. Go see it.