Mo’oona was not the scary type. She had practically raised herself on the harsh streets of the third world city from which she’d been plucked by her wealthy adoptive parents. They were nice people and she had grown accustom to the luxury of her new home, but every once and a while, she succumbed to nostalgia for her old life. It threw her parents into a tizzy, but occasionally, she had to have a few days on the street. She needed to feel hunger twist her gut into knots. She liked the prickle down her spine when her senses told her she was in danger. She loved the levels of cunning and risk the desperation drew out of her. It was all a game to her, because even the roughest quarter in this country was safer than the placed she once called home.
Mo’oona’s latest adventure brought her to the old sewing factory following the oddly dressed ghosts flitting between the broken down machinery.
“Hello,” She called, “Little ghost girls? Can you speak?”
The figures stopped.
“I just want to talk,” Mo’oona took a step toward them, but they retreated into the shadows. “My name is Mo’oona, but you can call me Mona. What are your names?”
“You can see us?” A reedy voice, barely above a whisper drifted from beneath one of the great looms.
“Not when you’re hiding like that,” Mo’oona smiled and stepped closer. “Come out, please.”
The skin along her spine tingled as a chorus of giggles swirled around her.