Only after the wind had died, leaving them sea-battered and brined, did the howling fall upon them. A spectral cry stiffened the spine of every man on ship and made the captain’s hound groan and cower beside its master.
Emerging from the mist with no corporeal form, wet footprints advanced across the deck. Something reflected in the first mate’s blade as it passed—a dark shape, a strand of hair. The footprints stopped before the captain himself. The dog whined again; he looked down, seeing its head grow damp and tousled as the fur moved beneath a phantom stroke.
WRITTEN FOR NYC MIDNIGHT’S 100-WORD MICROFICTION CHALLENGE, 2nd ROUND.
GENRE – GHOST STORY
PROMPT – PETTING A DOG
WORD – DARK
Stafford Morgan 