Chapter 37: Clara and the Dead“Babe, I’m freezing!” I rolled over and reached for Clara. The warm spot where she slept turned cold and a dark stain spread across the sheets. I cried out her name before waking.
Death had crawled into bed and turned Antonia’s small room into a sepulcher. Ghosts surrounded the bed—my grandparents, father, Chester and Clara.
Familiarity did nothing to erase dread, but worse, humiliating impotence clawed my heart. I couldn’t save any of them and, whether they were remnants of a dream or truly specters, I was not their savior. One by one they faded, until only Clara remained.
“Clara,” I whispered.
The spectral woman flickered in the rain-soaked shadows.
Memories of our life together flooded the room—Clara’s laughter, the touch of her fingers and the impossi
