Daytime Ghost

I caught it from the corner of my eye. Or is that "in"? Maybe "with"?  No, "out of", the corner of my eye. Definitely. A daytime ghost. A brocken spectre if you will, although the Calder Valley and the Pennines – lovely though they are – are unlikely ever to be mistaken for the Harz Mountains. Besides, it was broad daylight on a summer’s day. Not a cloud in the sky. I knelt behind the front door and peered out of the letter box. You can’t be too careful. I wasn’t expecting Hanif from DPD or Matt from Evri and it was too late for the postman. There was no-one there. My dog was barking frantically by this time.

Back in the front room, the shadow was smaller, as if the person casting it was standing outside the wrought iron railings on the pavement. I waited. The figure on the blinds didn’t move. I went upstairs to look out of the bedroom window. The dog was still barking. The street was empty except for the boy who rides his scooter up and down it all day, shouting with his voice that sounds like a duck with a cracked beak.

I looked up at the chimney stack on the house opposite. It could have been that, I supposed. If the sun was at just the right angle. When I got down stairs the dog started barking again. By the time I’d calmed her down and slumped on the sofa there was nothing to see. I kept the blinds open for the rest of the week anyway.