Ghosties Aren't Always Bad

My trembling fingers lost their grip on the picture frame and it went tumbling to the ground with a crash. The frame landed face up, the glass over the smiling faces shattering into thousands of tiny shards. A strangled cry rang out through the room, piercing my eardrums like the shattered glass from the floor had embedded itself into my head. My hands flew to my ears, trying to drown out the sound of the tortured cries as they came, one after another, until they seemed to fade into one long, earsplitting scream.
(A Frerard)