Ghost in the Machine
Normally, I enjoy a good ride. But tonight, the “horse” is old and sickly; the gifts paltry; the cigar reeking and cheap. No way to treat an honored guest—or ghost, eh? So I go looking for some fun.
There’s a young man’s voice nearby, “…I try to make my way to the ordinary world,” he sings.
Sounds like a good idea to me. I move into the singer.
But it’s not a good idea. There’s nothing there, no flesh. Instead, I see a web of light. I’m the fly, now, with nothing to do but wait for Mister Spider.
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