Short Story: The Apron In The Air
The apron hung in mid air along the tree line.
None of the workers wanted to get anywhere near the thing.
“I’m not going to touch that voodoo magic.”
“I’m telling you, ghosts are real.”
“Maybe it’s cursed.”
“There’s no such thing. I’ll take it down.”
They tackled the brave fool to the ground.
“Leave it to me,” a new voice cut in.
The lord of the land stepped past, crossing the field to the floating apron with care.
“Ah,” the lord said to himself.
A long piece of string had been tangled up between the trees, and it was on this thin string, invisible from a distance, that the apron hung from.
He took the apron and draped it over his arm. Next came the string, which glistened with morning dew. He kept that too. The seamstress was always looking for threads of all lengths and types.
Then he turned back to his hardworking, but easily spooked workers.