The Last to See Me

Pratt strokes his sideburns and wipes his stubbled chin and doesn’t know that the base of his neck is damp enough that I can taste it, like the fog before it sweeps in. Yet he’s not really sweating; he isn’t nervous at all, I think, but curious and alert, and that dampness is part of him. It’s the kind of stickiness a fly might have on the tip of i

Even though the hunters had been doing their work for twenty-five years, since the turn of the millennium, not every poor, dead thing in the world had been snuffed out the way some thought ghosts should be.

“Because it’s my job to find what frightens people and lay it to rest.”