He arrives home.  The house is empty.  But not really.  Someone is there.

Dinner is on the stove, bubbling and boiling.  Silver is placed upon the table, clinging and clanging.  His wife turns to him, smiling.  His girls run to him, laughing.  The family dog bounds to him, barking.

Translucent images haunt every room.  Not all ghosts are bad.
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Andrew Dabar