After lunch they retired to the porch to watch the forest burn. It seemed they were not the only ones with this idea however. Margaret shouldered past a ghost hunting tour group, tugging Shannon along behind. She snatched up the last two leather ottomans. “Tourists,” one of the guests, an older gentleman with harsh vacant eyes, muttered, referring to the ghost hunters. All the porch swings had been taken, Margaret noted disappointedly. And she was half tempted to depress her little pendant and have Sylvia, her young pretty attendant, bring out another to replace the recliners they had snatched up instead. But decided against it, not wanting to make too much of a fuss.
“You!” The angry older gentleman bellowed at a young man in cargo shorts, “Down in front!”
The ghost hun...
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