The breeze crawls slowly, moving leaves and allowing the ghosts to dance... And so they do. The dance is slow and serene, yet the breeze alows the howl to travel faster than the movements...

The howls speak of the deepest of sorrows...

And then it all stops. The swift wind dies. The leaves fall to the ground, a carpet of moss and corroding nature that pretends to keep the howl mute... The ghosts are gone... Are they?

Every moonless night, the breeze returns... the ghosts dance if only in the shadowy realms of... the twilight zone...

Alas! My ghosts will live on forever!

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