Advent Ghosts is an annual round of shared storytelling organized by Loren Eaton over at I Saw Lightning Fall. I’ve missed it the past couple of times, but it used to be a great Christmas custom, keeping alive the tradition established by Charles Dickens and M.R. James.
Time to dive back in. Here’s my 100-word advent ghost story for this year:
The odd thing was, no one else cut down their Christmas tree from that patch of woodland. The boughs grew tall there, well-nourished, but nobody in the sleepy village would touch them. Superstitious fools. They muttered about unhallowed ground, and buried bodies, and said nothing wholesome could ever grow there.
When the tree was set up in her room it looked glorious. It shimmered in the light, almost as if it were shaking.
That night, when the house was quiet, the first tendrils of mist began to drift from its branches, accompanied by the first moans of a hungry longing.
For more 100-word advent ghost stories, head on over to I saw Lightning Fall.
Happy holidays, all!