Mom, tears welling up in her eyes, voiced her worries. "I wonder where my Emily has been drifting these days. Is she cold? Hungry? Are there other spirits bothering her? She's so sensitive, what if she gets hurt?"
Dad put his arm around her, his brow furrowed. "Tomorrow is Emily's seventh day since passing. When she comes back, we'll make sure she has everything she needs."
As Mom dabbed at her eyes, she turned to the coffin and sternly said, "Sarah, your sister will be back tomorrow. Keep quiet in there; we don't want you upsetting her, got it?"
I remained silent, and Dad, clearly annoyed, grumbled, "Sarah, don't push your luck. Seems like you haven't spent enough time reflecting. Fine, stay there a bit longer, how about another week?"
As Mom started to speak, the doorbell rang.
It was Mrs. Thompson from next door.
"Hey Hank, what's that stench? It's like something's rotting, and it's seeping into my house!"
Dad paused, his face turning sour. "There's no smell here, you must be mistaken."
With a forceful slam of the door, he muttered under his breath, "What's she on about? Saying our house stinks. I don't smell anything. Absolutely ridiculous."