lurk

I saw it and I didn’t imagine it, he said, convincingly, like he’d hand over his shotgun if you could prove him wrong. He went on to describe it. Lights, like the fluorescents in the bars, neon and glowing, giving everything that ambrosial outline, descending and hovering a few feet above his head. He was a dismisser of folklore, of urban legends but since that night he was convinced his dead mother was lurking in the evergreen trees outside his shack.