A Scary Sight
Death was going to drive him mad. He could grab his father by the shoulders and scream that he was there, but to no avail. As soon as the man moved, he went right though Brom. The same rules applied for everyone that Brom met. Or rather, everyone that Brom saw. No one met him. That would imply that they saw and recognized him. Such events never happened.
It was not death, though, not really. Death was the body lying under the ground in a Trenton field. Brom often wondered what became of his body. It was probably looted by other soldiers. And Brom would blame that, had his boots and overcoat not come from a similar source.
It was almost laughable that Brom was one of his own spooky tales now. He saw how inaccurate his old tales of ghost pirates and other spooks were now. They could do things to the living to scare them, when Brom could do nothing.
Rather than haunt the cliffs where buried treasure was rumored to lie or the bridge that divided the town, Brom haunted his grave. It was empty, a small corner of his family plot in the churchyard. Pressed up against the others, it was clear that there was no body beneath it. That did nothing to stop him from standing and staring at it, though. What stopped him was the feeling that someone was watching him.