At dusk, when night is quiet and dull, the moon glows with a silver hue. The moon casts a dark, violet shadow, for it is when ghosts and ghouls wander the land; they prowl through the hills, spirits rising from the ground. The river shimmers like glass, the water spirits rise from the water. Awakening in the dusk, they crawl up onto the riverbank, standing up in the mist between the trees. The spirits spend their nights sulking near the river. As dawn approaches, they retreat, one more, to its depths. by Ale Gonzalez ’30 47 Spectral
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