Martin Hooijmans | Lars de Ruyter
As if losing his beloved wife, Marie, wasn’t enough, a haunt moved into Nicola’s house the day after the unfortunate death.
It rattled Marie’s favorite porcelain, breezed through the flower beds she so loved and tickled Nicola’s ear whenever he lay down to rest.
Soon, Nicola had had enough. He bought a top notch Ghost Shredder.
He caught the haunt, deposited it in the machine, and turned it on.
Instantly, the device sprang to life, gathering the energy required for a ghost-shredding surge.
“That’ll teach you,” Nicola growled at the wispy shape trapped in the glass container, then grinned as if he had just killed a fly.
The surge was released, and in that moment, very briefly, the old man saw the face of the love he lost, a plead for help written on her ghostly lips.
“Marie!” Nicola shouted, slamming his hand against the glass. His other smashed down on the emergency stop button, but it was too late.
The spirit vanished, leaving the glass as empty as the house, save for the bitter scent of remorse that would cling to Nicola for the rest of his days.