The tree had always been her husband’s thing. They had fewer ornaments now — glass orbs shattered, some shards still on the floor. But his lights still twinkled.
“We haven’t seen Randall in so long. How’s he doing?”
He died December 2020, before putting up the tree, and she couldn’t manage it herself. But as rigor mortis set in, she realized she could have both tree and man. She made her traditional cookies, set out pine-scented candles, and there was Randall with ornaments, lights, and Santa hat topping — her forever tree.
She gave her standard reply. “He doesn’t get out much.”
This 100-word short short story is a contribution to Loren Eaton’s Advent Ghost Storytelling Fest. Read a description and other entries on I Saw Lightning Fall.
Photo by Matthieu Comoy on Unsplash
BRUH. That’s … delightfully gruesome. Really well done, Phil, especially the last line.
Psychoesque!