Ghosts in the form of our grandparents follow us down the hallway in our childhood home. We hide under the bed. Whispering hush. Your spine shivers. You say, stop shaking. I say, that’s you.
The cat’s tail signs they’re gone. We knew we shouldn’t have played the game. Our friends at school said, try it. The adults say not to invite spirits into the home. Only the Holy Ghost into our hearts.
The picture over the bed is a father praying beside his sleeping child. Outside the window are angels in battle. A blanket descends as a cloud to cover us.