My right eye was hurting again.
The stabbing pain had started a week ago, while I was handling a batch of Republican-era artifacts. It felt as if a red-hot needle were stirring behind my eyeball.
I blinked, trying to ease the discomfort, but nothing helped. The lights in the museum restoration room seemed especially harsh today, casting an eerie halo as they reflected off the carved bronze mirror.
Then I discovered that a ghost was living in my right eye.
From that day on, my quiet life was turned upside down.
