He watched her for one long week. She walked the dog every morning at precisely noon. She walked around the block exactly two times. Every day it took her exactly one half of an hour. This pattern never varied. Until now. Until today. Chester Mudd met the old woman outside on the sidewalk that passed by his front porch."I am wondering why you are here?" Chester asked the old woman.
"What else do you do when you've been dead for thirty years?" she replied.Dead. A ghost. Right here in Fable. Right here in his own home. "What is it like being dead?"
The old woman grinned sadly, understanding more already about Fable in one week than Chester had figured out in years. "You tell me," she answered. "I just got here."Life is short. So are these thirteen tales. So read the Last Rites, and get on with the rest of your days.