Puddles
As I drove down the desolate wooded road, the crisp orange and red leaves of autumn cascading down, were almost enough to make me forget about my grandfather, and the long summer nights my family spent at his lake house. My sister and I would stay up telling each other ghost stories. There was one that had me tucked tightly under my blankets, night after night. It was about this woman that was found in the lake. It was said that she had been missing for four years before they found her drowned corpse, floating along the edge of the water. Her eyes had decomposed, leaving dark soulless sockets. My sister made a point of telling me that she roams the house at night, hoping that she’s still alive.
