Part II of our dear Vicar Celeste, ensconced in the northern reaches of Scotland (this is a response to the Grammar Ghoul's weekly Mutant 750 prompt). If you haven't yet met the Vicar, read Haunting Memories first. Turned out I won first prize! Thanks all who voted for it! “Ye cannae get there from here.” The old man … Continue reading Lost

Haunting Memories

Celeste stroked the pitted stone, her chilled fingers discovering lumps and patterns beneath the lichen that eyes could no longer make out. The granite held centuries of stories. So old. Yet, each year, the stone melted, threatening to return to its natural shape and lose all that history to the unrelenting wind and rain. She … Continue reading Haunting Memories