Ghosts
Andrew Wentzell
There are so many kinds of ghosts. When you ask me if I’ve ever seen a ghost, Mary, I wonder…do you know of what you truly ask?
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I saw the ethereal when I was five years old—barely able to see over the top of Grandma’s oil-slick walnut dining table. But I remember that night. I’ll always remember that night. It was mid-August, when the air was sticky-sweet with dew waiting to realize its potential. You could hear the raspy cha-cha-cha of the katydid in opposition to the rising hoo-hoo-hoo-whowah of the family of barred owls down near the pasture.
I woke up sometime in the middle of the night, certain I’d felt the echo of someone whispering my name. The air was soft and still. I scanned the cozy side room in which Grandma tucked me every night, looking past my
