Hugh J. O'Donnell

Everyone said the old battlefield was haunted. But the farmer had been delayed getting supplied in town, and the road was full of bandits. She chose between possible ghosts and certain humans.
She was just past the rusting hulk of an old power armor when she spotted the demon. The small, crimson face leered at her from behind a fuselage. She looked closer.
The red face and glowing eyes were a mask. Behind it was a child, shaking in fear.
She brought the girl home, fed and clothed her. And in the morning, the world seemed a little less haunted.

Support Me on Ko-fi

“Cassandra, tell me the weather,” He demanded of the device perched on his desk. It sat like a round white ball on the nearly black wood, spoiling the effect with trailing wires. He hated the thing, but his wife had insisted upon keeping it. ‘I’m gone half the time, and you need a woman around to tell you what to do,’ she’d joked.
The thing chimed, and a pair of tiny blue lights flared in recognition.
“In Tartarus, it is cloudy. Again. As ever.”
Hades glared at the oracle’s skull. The modern makeover hadn’t done anything to fix her sass.

 Support Me on Ko-fi

The forest was haunted. That was an indisputable fact. The foliage grew into monstrous shapes. Paths seemed to bend in upon themselves unnaturally, and howling wind could be heard even on calm days.
The ghosts were those of trees and the small animals that lived there, and they did not understand how to frighten humans.
Indeed, tourists flocked to the ‘spooky forest,’ to take pictures of trees shaped likes skulls and record the sound of the mysterious wind in the branches.
It wasn’t until a hiker slipped and broke his neck that the ghosts learned what humans really found terrifying.

 Support Me on Ko-fi