Tag: Rockabilly ghost
#5 The Phantom Pompadour
The witching hour, a night bird cries in the distance. A chill creeps into air, like the skeletal hand of death itself. You feel a clammy sweat covering your forehead. Â Is that faint surf guitar you hear-perhaps the revving of a distant hot rod? The ghostly image of rockabilly hair is seen, floating down the hall…
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