The shadow is in their room again. He sits on the foot board. He has substance—you cannot see through him—but is shadow. When he is near, death feels close by, like a cold stone sitting on the man’s chest. It is nights like these that his father’s aging body appears.
“What’s wrong?”
“What do you mean?”
“I can feel energy coming off your chest. Negative energy. Tension. Something is wrong.”
“I don’t know. Sometimes, I would like to peel my skin off. That would feel better than this.”
She rubs his right pec.
“I’m sorry.”
“It is what it is. It will be better in the morning.”
The Living and the Dead, by Gordon Laws 