Well I had planned on a lot of writing today but so far I have had to spend a lot of the morning out of the house.  So hopefully this afternoon I will get some work done on my ghost stories.  I have plans on what to do with Death Comes Softly.  This one is definitely longer than most of my ghost stories.

Here is a bit of what I did yesterday


“Oh love, look at you,” his voice was hallow and faint.

She wanted to say something, anything but though her lips moved even in this moment no sound came out.

He nodded, understanding what she wanted to say.  “I know, love.  We will be together, but not just yet.”  He looked first to the shadowy man behind him and then to his twin, who seemed frozen. “Let Tish take care of you.”

Leaning against a nearby tree, Death smoked his long, thin cigarette.  The smoke curled around his face as the living woman looked directly at him.  Her eyes acknowledged his presence.  They were at a tipping point, one that could have her going two ways.  That she could see him was no real surprise to him.  She had come oh so very close to him during the past few weeks but she was not destined to come to him yet.

A quick, bright flash filled the clearing.  His counterpart was there now, stretching glowing feathers out, wings that he could see but the living could not.  “Why is he still here, D?”  The voice of the flashy angel-like being sounded trebled.  Where his was hollow, the Watcher tended to sound like it had a chorus following it about.

“Belief, what else?”

“Well he needs to go.  We have plans for this one.”  The tone was proprietary, like it had a right to the grieving widow.

Death snorted and shook his head.  “You know it doesn’t work that way.  He decides when he goes, not me.  And he isn’t going anywhere till all of him does.”

The Watcher turned from it’s contemplation of Carrie to face him.  “All of him?  You mean this one is one of those?”  There was a small curl to the upper lip.  The Watchers had taken on a lot of the traits of the most popular of the living religions.  This one must think of itself as an angel.  Death knew better but he wasn’t one to argue with those not under his domain.

“One of those?”  He lifted a brow and shook his head.  Well maybe this one would listen to him.  He tried yet again to get the Watchers to see into the heart of their so called charges.  “Damn, you do know she isn’t one of yours right?”  He dropped the butt of his cigarette to the ground.  It faded before it hit the grass.


As you can see there is a bit of a battle of wills going on between Death and the Watcher…Not sure if I will keep this or rewrite it but who knows right?