Little Rory can’t leave the woods.
Six feet in any direction,
she starts to fade.
She knows she’s dead
when a hungry coyote
digs up one of her arms
and drags it off.
Her charm bracelet
around the decaying wrist
jingles like bells on Santa’s slay.
She wonders if her parents
unwrapped her presents.
She misses her family.
She counts the winters that pass.
If she were alive, she’d be 45.
The only person who visits her grave
is her murderer.
He’s old now.
Rory’s terrified.
Will his spirit haunt the area
with her once he dies?