Amid sinister hissing whispers heard in the gloaming under the lunar tides of night did I step as quietly as I could manage into the small grove of slender trees isolated up the trail of the canyon.
The moonlit glare cast a feeling of cold foreboding on the scene. It enhanced the idea we weren't even there. Since we couldn't see ourselves, and there was no one else around to be seen, we were the ghosts. This apparent truth never becomes fully realized until the day we die.

     That is the day we first begin to become just a memory of a ghost. There's nothing left to haunt us after that. This is the hardest lesson to remember. We can only ever do the haunting while we're alive. Human beings alive and well are the very definition of a ghost. There's no one left to remember them. Being haunted is just getting reminded you were once alive yourself. If you have a thought you are being haunted.

     These words represent the thinking of a dead person. They are haunting you in a state of full blown possession. The only known effective exorcism is to stop reading this. By then of course, it is far too late. The human mind absorbs the memory of what it has read. Such is the power of language and the shape of words. Weaving a binding spell on generations of readers. Sustaining a symphonic crescendo due to break on the rocks of twilight any day now.

     The hooting of an owl in the dark recesses emerged spookily from the shadows of the looming forest. For the first time I recognized it as an invitation or a request to step forth and enter its domain. The twinned image of the moon reflected in both of its wide open eyes.