Night of the Spirits

by sloanranger

Part 10

Unwilling to accept the specter in front of him he kept shaking his head, beseeching Providence desperately and fervently to spare him.

"I want my dog, Angus," the ghost continued. "Bring me my dog."

The Almighty must have heard Angus's plea, or Jeb's ghost took mercy on the Scot. Most like, the first was father of the second, because when the terrified man opened his eyes, the specter was gone.

Bewildered but grateful, the Scot looked up to the heavens and whispered, "Thankee," as he stumbled upright and ran pell-mell to his cabin.

Inside he stood with his back against the door, panting and shaking. He reached for his jug, still almost a third full. He didn't bother with the cup this time, just hoisted it to his lips, and took a good pull. In a few moments his nerves began to calm.

"It were only the whiskey," he comforted himself, thinking of the specter. "Jug'll bring 'em, but takes 'em away, too."

He lighted the small candle on the table and sat on his unmade bed contemplating his plan of action. With his every breath, he promised himself and his Maker he'd be a new man if He would get him through this night.

The wind w-h-o-o-o-d and screamed and rattled the glass in the lone window of the cabin.

(To be continued).