Claire was in a cemetery, which was odd; she had no idea how she’d got there. The moon was hidden by clouds, but she could just make out the name on the closest headstone. It was her name. It was her date of birth. What was going on?
Two figures stood beside a nearby tree. The translucent man nudged the grey-faced woman wearing a bustle.
‘What’s wrong with her?’ the recently-deceased man asked.
‘Don’t mind her,’ the older ghost said. ‘Been here for weeks. Hit her head just before she passed. Short term memory loss – keeps forgetting she’s dead.’