- res, he's a medium and meets the occasional vengeful spirit ;v;

Mhairi hasn’t told anyone that she sees them.
Not her mother or father. Not her sisters or brothers. Her family knows she dreads the trips they take across the moors to sell their wares at the market, but she hasn’t said why.
She sees them most often on overcast days, when the fog hangs thick over the moors. Sometimes they stand huddled in groups. Sometimes they are working the land or carrying baskets of seeds and buckets of water. They’re dressed in ragged pinafores and breeches and bonnets, the kind of clothing she’s seen in faded photos of her grandparents as kits.
As the wagon rolls past, they stop and raise their heads. Their blank eyes find Mhairi. She hears their silent voices echoing in her mind.
Mhairi. It’s us.
She knows her family does not see them. Never once has anyone else commented on them. Once, her father drove the wagon straight through a group of them, as though they were as nothing but morning mist, and didn’t seem to notice.
Mhairi, they say, don’t you remember?
No, she thinks back as her heart pounds. You’ve made a mistake. I’m just a farm girl! I don’t know what you want!
She never knows whether they can’t hear or whether they don’t care. Their stares never leave her. Their voices don’t stop.
Mhairi, don’t you remember who you are? Don’t you remember who you were?
[235 words]
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