funeral records

The ghost that rose from the pile of ashes was the mirror image of her mother. The same wide and bright eyes of green that she’d passed on to her daughter, her dark curls caught in a bun at the nape of her neck. It was the first, and the last time that Aya had ever saw her. A scream had ripped from Aya’s throat. She’d done what any uncertain eight-year-old would do. She ran for her father, told him that her mother was right there. Everyone had looked at her in sympathy, patted at her shoulders in comfort. Aya had shrugged all of them off, turned to find her mother looking sadly at her not two feet away.That was when Aya had learned her first lesson concerning the ghosts: only she could see them.