Outside the house, a placard swung slightly in the twilight breeze. To and fro, to and fro, never making any progress as it moved in complex helices at hundreds of meters per second through the solar system, or hundreds of kilometers per second through the galaxy. Motion was a matter of perspective.
The house had never moved. It stood where it always had, where it had stood throughout their marriage. It would never move, until the great Northwest earthquake finally came and flung it toward the Pacific. Then, at last, the closets would open, the drawers would break, and there would be chaos until the tsunami came and washed it all clean.

“That Lonesome, Restless Feeling”

About the story: A ghost story of the future.
Inspired by a Gordon Lightfoot song.

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