The June Lady

by Evangeline Moss

Every year, as June 1st dawned, the scent of honeysuckle stirred her bones and summoned her misty form into the world. She drifted through open windows and over porch swings, humming old lullabies no one remembered learning. Children called her the June Lady and left her bowls of strawberries, which she never touched but always arranged neatly. She loved warm thunderstorms and the hush before fireworks, and she wept quietly during weddings she watched from the church rafters. On the final night of the month, she curled up in a garden, wrapped in moonlight, and vanished without a sound. July never missed her.

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Evangeline Moss writes ghost stories with warm hearts and cool breezes.