Shaking, Thelma grasped the shotgun barrel in one hand and lifted it, allowing the butt to rub against the table as she began lowering it to the tabletop. She had finished laying the shotgun flat and was just lifting her hand away from the barrel, when suddenly her life began to move in slow motion. Thelma heard a metallic click, then she saw a puff of smoke, heard a loud bang and felt the metal beneath her fingers heat up until she jerked her hand away. When she heard Frank scream in pain, Thelma turned to face her husband as he slowly slipped to the floor, a red stain blossoming on his abdomen. Crying out in agony she raced to the phone and after an incoherent statement on her address and the need of help, she collapsed next to him. Cradling his head in her lap, she applied pressure to his wound and rocking him back and forth, cried his name over and over.

With a moan of pain, Frank regained consciousness and opening his eyes, looked up at his crying wife and with a sputtering raspy voice, “Oh, darling. It’s okay, I…” His voice faded in a fit of coughing, when it subsided and he had taken a few deep breaths, Frank continued, “I know you didn’t mean to fire the gun. Don’t cry, darling. It’s okay. Don’t wor…” His eyes drifted closed on a shuddering exhalation and he was gone.

Thelma leaned over and continued to rock her husband’s dead body. Within minutes the police arrived and rushed toward the Gehlts. They took in the situation and after prying her arms from around Frank’s neck, they determined that he had died of his wounds.

Suddenly the entire scene froze, Emma turned to Susan and said, “Now that we have seen the events as they could be viewed by the living, I shall show you the last minutes of this tragedy again, as only spirits can see it.”

In a brilliant flash of light time moved backward, like rewinding a section of film while watching it and Frank was once again telling Thelma to set the shotgun down on the table. Except this time there was a third figure in the room, a smoky semi-transparent Archibald stood next to the table. As Thelma laid the shotgun atop the table, Archibald reached forward and using her grasp on the barrel as leverage pulled back the trigger.

When Thelma rushed from the kitchen to phone for help, Archibald strutted across the room and using his body weight to increase the force, he applied downward pressure with his knees to Frank’s chest preventing him from inhaling. As he crushed bones and organs, Archibald leaned forward and wrapped his hands around the young man’s neck, further impairing Frank’s respirations.

Archibald did not cease his assault when Thelma returned to the room and it was only because of great effort and concentration that Frank was able to whisper out his final goodbye to his wife. As Frank released his last breath and lost his struggle to live, Archibald threw back his head and his spectral laughter echoed throughout the house.