Crash! The en suite bathroom door slams shut.
Michelle jumps and whips her head in the direction of the noise. She makes out a second shape dimly outlined against the door’s stark white paint. The figure’s khaki uniform, knee-high boots and helmet are clearly visible, as well as the rifle he holds in place over his left shoulder. The front of his tunic is stained an inky black.
It’s a soldier. A dead one. Holy Crap! Her scalp prickles as the hair on her head tries to stand up and fails due to its length and weight.
A movement from the bed briefly attracts her attention. Tom moves restlessly, but, strangely, the slamming of the door has not woken him. She opens her mouth to call out, but no sound issues from her strained throat.
Her eyes dart back to the first shadow. The man in the hat has closed the gap between them; his back is rigid and his posture aggressive. Unlike the soldier, he appears to be unarmed. He stands in front of the dressing table, and she can see her own reflection right through him. It is distorted, like looking through the bottom of a coke bottle. He has no reflection. She closes her eyes and takes a deep and steadying breath. I’m dreaming. The weird events of last night disturbed me and have manifested as a nightmare. What’s happening is not real. There is no such thing as ghosts.
Opening her eyes, she glances quickly towards the bed. Tom sleeps on, his breathing soft and restful. There’s no help coming from him. Irritation at his complacent slumber briefly displaces her fear, crowding it out like the incoming tide.
A soft rustling gives the soldier’s movements away. He has stepped forward and is standing at the edge of the king-sized bed. His weapon is raised and its wooden stock shimmers in the faint light. Michelle can see his face now, its handsome lines marred by bitterness and anger.
A shudder wrenches its way through her body, as her eyes skitter from one apparition to the next, trying to see which one will move next. A strong wind rushes past her as the soldier streaks across the room and collides with his adversary. On impact, both shapes disappear.
This extract from my forthcoming novel, A Ghost and His Gold, is shared for Sue Vincent’s write photo prompt, Dreams. You can join in her: https://scvincent.com/2020/07/02/thursday-photo-prompt-dream-writephoto-2/