“Bess-eeee.”
Bess-eeeeBessie’s eyes pop open. She sits up in her bed wide awake, almost positive she can hear her name being called on the wind on this wild and chilly November night, echoing through the c***k of her bedroom window. She strains to listen. Again, she hears the sound that is eerily like, “Bess-eeee.”
Bess-eeee“Has to be the wind,” she mutters out loud. Wondering whether to get up and close the draft, she’s distracted when the portable typewriter on her desk begins tapping away. She jumps up to read the text.
“No, it wasn’t.”
No, it wasn’t“No, it wasn’t what?” she types back.
No, it wasn’t what?“The wind. It wasn’t the wind that called your name.”
The wind. It wasn’t the wind that called your name“What was it, then?”
What was it, then?“Who was it, you mean? It was Ash.
