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Olvia Demetriou had never believed in ghosts. She believed in balance sheets, soil pH levels, and the precise angle of the sun over a terraced hillside. But on the morning her grandfather’s will was read, a ghost came to live in her kitchen.
“Why?”
“I’m not a ghost,” Olvia whispered.
“Burn it,” Andreas said over the phone. “Sell the charcoal.”
And that, she later wrote in a paper no journal would publish, is how you resurrect a ghost. You stop digging for treasure. You start digging for the root that was always there.
Olvia Demetriou had never believed in ghosts. She believed in balance sheets, soil pH levels, and the precise angle of the sun over a terraced hillside. But on the morning her grandfather’s will was read, a ghost came to live in her kitchen.
“Why?”
“I’m not a ghost,” Olvia whispered.
“Burn it,” Andreas said over the phone. “Sell the charcoal.”
And that, she later wrote in a paper no journal would publish, is how you resurrect a ghost. You stop digging for treasure. You start digging for the root that was always there.
