Bart's ghost writing job finds him penning letters from a deceased man to send to his widow. It's a weird job, sure, but it's a living. Then one day Bart gets a call. “Is this the place that sends letters from my Max?” and fear strikes at Bart's soul. What does he do if no one wants his ghost written letters? What is his responsibility to those who have passed on? (This short story originally appeared in The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction.)
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