Haunted

He picked up his Fender, ignoring his blistered fingers, and strummed another Sad Song while singing to the flickering stars outside his window.  His mouth brushed against the scratchy metal grill of the microphone - which only reminded Him, again, of the softness of Her lips - as he wailed winding words into the World.

At that moment, He realized that there were No Others who could haunt his Soul like Her Ghost had- and that living with a Ghost may be better than living with any of Them.

He was comfortable Being Haunted.

So, He sang on, alone, hoping that her Ghost still hovered, somewhere behind him, hidden - hearing every Ode that he sang in these Midnight concerts - and that the neighbors would never hear those ethereal Echos of Once Upon a Time that drifted across the water in the early, dark morning hours - and whisper warnings of the House Across the Lake That Was So Very Haunted.