She followed the ghost girl past the warning sign, along the sun dappled path into the dark woods. The trees parted, branches bowing to lead her through the forest until at last the girl turned.
“Here.” She pointed, her spectral arm sweeping across a mulch of sweet pine needles.
The hiker knelt — her knees pressed into soft soil. With trembling fingers, she brushed the dirt from the white, rounded dome, so like a bulb planted in shallow earth.
“Your grave?” she asked. How sad to spend eternal rest not blessed in consecrated ground.
“Oh no,” the girl replied. “It’s yours.”
Inspired by the photo above and prompted by http://www.phantomsway.com/2019/10/25/fiction-friday-100-word-challenge-a-closed-trail-maybe/