There's truth to the saying: do no wrong by day, and fear no ghosts by night. Unfortunately, he'd done more than his fair share of wrongdoing.
Just then, the figure in the doorway vanished.
BANG! The wind slammed the door shut.
Arthur Jacobs's body trembled, his lips turning blue.
"Is… is it gone?"
At that moment, he felt something drip onto his body and face. Arthur Jacobs reached out to touch it; the substance was wet, sticky, and carried the stench of blood. 'What is this? Is the roof leaking? But it's not raining tonight.'
Inside the room, the extinguished candle flame flared to life again on its own.
At the same time, he could finally see clearly what was dripping onto him. What he had touched was blood. Fresh blood was still dripping from the ceiling—onto his hands, onto the floor.
A large pool of blood had now formed on the floor by his feet.
Arthur Jacobs found it hard to breathe.
"AHHH! A GHOST..."
"Someone… help! Blood… There's blood…"
