A Harry Fang 40 sec story

Madame Gracie had been delayed getting to her séance room.
It had been a bad car accident outside and she hoped her client wouldn’t be late also.

While she waited, the ectoplasm seemed to be forming easily. It appeared in nearly every facial orifice and of a particularly thick constituency.
Perhaps it was the close proximity to death today; so gloomy. And her initial contact with her spirit guide proved difficult.
Perhaps it was the archaic words she used.
Eventually her client appeared but seemed rather distant, as if not there at all.
‘Who are you?’ he asked, frightened.
Madame Gracie’s first thought was that he had died, but as her spirit guide came through loud and clear, she said, rather surprised:
‘Oh, I’M dead.’

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