“There’s an imprint,” the man whispered, breathing in the old leather. “An echo.”
“And what does that mean?” Melissa’d had enough of him sniffing around her shoes.
True, she’d told him he could do it, the events surrounding them had been peculiar (with peculiar being used as a euphemism for “bloody terrifying), and he was her best chance of getting to the bottom of it all, but did he have to sniff?
“It means that the shoes remember their previous wearer.” He rose. “They’re haunted.”
Haunted shoes. Just what she needed.
And they’d been just her color too.
This is for Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for running the challenge and Magaly Geurrero for providing the prompt photo!