Ghost stories from Senegal

The Saltwood Inheritance

My first memory is of packing. Not the excited packing of a vacation, but the frantic, tear-stained packing of flight. We moved from dusty towns to gray cities, from cramped...

The Static Garden

I’ve always been too good at feeling endings. The first time I truly understood, I was twelve, sitting in the back row of the school auditorium while the choir struggled...

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Listening for whispers in the dark...
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Listening to the woods...