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Cecily Rowe (fictional), wandering the halls of Skidmore College. Image courtesy of Meta AI.
Most students at Skidmore College have heard the whispers that a ghost haunts the campus. But few know her name—Cecily Rowe—and even fewer know why she remains here, wandering the corridors, unable to leave.
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An individual with his face covered, crouching by a gravestone. The rain falls around him. Image generated using Meta AI.
It was raining, of course. The kind of rain that doesn’t fall but sinks into you, deep into the marrow, until you feel as if your bones are heavy with it. The funeral procession moved in slow, stilted steps, a stream of black umbrellas bobbing like oil slicks under the bleak sky. I kept my distance, partly because I didn’t know the man well and partly because something wasn’t right.
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