I made my way slowly to the bag. I could start to see the contents of it. I thought I saw – was there something in it? Someone in it?

I made my way slowly to the bag. I could start to see the contents of it. I thought I saw – was there something in it? Someone in it?
They say Old Hica’s been reading palms out of her run-down shack for a hundred years or more. I reckon it’s been much longer than that.
At night, when Barb helps me lay down and tucks me in; when all of the lights go off and the respirators make their cough and hiss, I can still hear the dripping.