Lake Lewisia #471

[scrubjayspeaks]

It was a crisp December morning, the sort when all the shadows and cobwebs and bat wings of autumn have faded from the mind, when the gifts appeared on the doorstep of Greenwood’s Apothecary. The living owner, there to unlock the doors and do what the spectral staff could not, brought the packages inside, the name of a staff member inked neatly and ribbons bouncing on top of each. Finally, a card, just one, addressed to the whole incorporeal staff: “Even when Halloween is over, we do not forget our ghosts and all they do for us.”

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LL#471