Drop of blood

My dead uncle sat beside me in the open courtyard of a square wooden house. We looked up at the first floor gallery, dark against the starry black sky of the night.

And without uttering a word, I told him how for a century or more no human had ever walked there. Then she appeared. Dressed in a shroud, like a mummy. Slender and tall. She walked as though she glided, silently from one end of the gallery to the other.

Her face was hooded in a white cape. But I just knew that as she moved her eyes never left me. But I could hardly see the face that watched me.

Up, from the sky, a drizzle began. I could see individual drops sparkling with the light of a street lamp that shone from a corner of the open courtyard. The sparkle, contrasted against the night sky, sparkled even more.

Then I saw that drop of blood.