draliman on life

Here’s my story for Barbara Beacham’s Mondays Finish the Story.

To read the other stories, click on the blue froggy. The supplied opening sentence is in bold in my story.

Copyright B.W. Beacham

“The only residents remaining in the small town of Miners Hill are spirits.”

“That was the end of the myth? Heavy,” said Chad.

“Yep,” said Brad. “And there it is. Miners Hill.”

“Wow. It really is black and white. I thought it was just an old photo.”

They scrambled down the hill.

“Spirits, the myth says? What kind, d’ya think?”

“I’m hopin’ vodka, whisky, maybe even… the Good Stuff.”

“Wow. Advocaat? Heavy.”

Suddenly a host of ghostly apparitions appeared.

“Whoa!” Chad pulled the joint out of his mouth and stared at it suspiciously.

“I can see them too, and I’m not even high!” said Brad.

“Oh, dude, you gave up?” asked Chad sympathetically.

“Yeah, it’s kinda tough…”

“IF YOU TWO DON’T MIND?” broke in one of the spirits. “YOUR SOULS ARE FORFEIT.”

“No! Not my Nikes!” Chad looked in dismay at his footwear.

“SOULS. WITH A ‘U’.”

And so the lads joined the ranks of the dead, booze in hand, weed in mouth, the highest spirits of Miners Hill.