The Ghost of British Rock Past

It was a beautiful night. The moon was shining over the mountains, illuminating the treetops and silhouetting the owls and other night birds as they elegantly swooped and dove across the night sky in search of prey. Hannah gazed up at them, fiddling with the dial on her radio.

She hit upon her favorite Roxy Music song, and it had just started. The perfect sound for a moonlit night, Hannah thought. How did a teenager in Colorado become a fan of 70’s British art rock? Long story...

If you have time, I can tell you. It all started with the day Hannah met her mad scientist aunt. What? Did you think all lunatic geniuses are guys? Sexist. Anyway, her aunt mistook her as an interloper. So she sent Hannah away from her house. All the way to England...in the 70's.

Birmingham, to be precise, the home of Duran Duran.

That's where I died, 10 years ago.

A decade of haunting the city, and all I had to show for it was a few travelers with PTSD from seeing me wander the woods. That had to count for something, right? Fear was an emotion and I had instilled it in others. It wasn’t how I wanted to leave a mark but it would have to do.