The new house smelt of dust, plastic and lemon detergent. Walls bare, furniture wrapped, they unpacked boxes, mopped floors, hoovered carpets and cleaned cupboards, but an odour still lingered of damp, bones and blood. Two grey eyes watched them.

They wouldn’t erase her scent. She would make sure of it.

Ellen Townsend is an art teacher and writer. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Flash Fiction Magazine, Fairfield Scribes, 50-Word Stories and others.