Published in Pembroke Magazine Number Forty-Seven

“Milas did not fully believe in God, but his grandmother had been born with a veil, a wet, milky membrane strung between her and her first breath like a thin sheet of the afterlife hooded over her face. The women of the neighborhood, keeping their fingers on their crosses and their voices slung low, said it gave her the gift. She could see and talk to ghosts. And despite the edge to their whispers, they all came. The aunts and cousins. The church ladies. The neighborhood hens. They would all visit constantly, each and every one of them asking for messages. ”

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