I blame Chevalier le Courageux for everything. It’s Jaro’s undying love for this idiot that is the reason for all the troubles he finds himself in.

Actually, no, I’m not entirely sure it was Chevalier’s fault. Maybe it’s just that Jaro’s been so bored lately. And isn’t that human nature? When people get bored, they inevitably start looking for trouble.

Suddenly it’s no longer enough for him to be a boy in the Attic who is friends with a ghost. He wants to ride a fast white horse. To wear fancy clothes. To wield some fancy weapon. To fight dragons and rescue princesses.

So he decides to start with me because apparently I’m as close to a damsel in distress as he can find on short notice.

“Are you happy?” he asks me one day, looking totally inconspicuous.

“I’m a ghost,” I answer. Since Jaro learned to talk, I found out that this was a perfect way to answer most of his questions ranging from “Are you hungry?” and “Do you want to play?” to “Why do you have to be so mean?”

“Yes,” he says patiently, “I know. But still… are you happy? You don’t actually like being a ghost, do you? Maybe you want to… well… move on?”

“Move on… where exactly?”

“I don’t know. To a better place?”

“And where is that place supposed to be?”

“You should know better than I do.”

“I know nothing, and you bloody damn well know it,” I snap.

He looks at me and his expression clearly reads “Asshole.” But he presses on, unwilling to give up so easily.

“It’s not natural for a soul to linger in the world of the living...”

“You don’t say.”

“…so I just figured… it could be that you want to find peace.”

“Are you tired of me?” I narrow my eyes at him.

“Of course not!”

“Then why bring this up?”

“I thought that maybe you have some unfinished business that’s been keeping you here, and so maybe I should help you to figure it all out. You being here, and me being able to see you and to talk to you—don’t you think there must be a reason for all of this?”

“It’s not a book, Jar. Sometimes there are no reasons in real life. You can’t help me.”

He isn’t convinced. Of course, he wouldn’t give up without a fight. He came prepared—maybe even rehearsed this conversation in his head a few times. He knows me, too. He knows which of my strings to pluck. The problem with Jaro is that sometimes he doesn’t pluck them, but yanks them with all his strength so that they tear.

“I have an idea,” he says. “Just hear me out.”

Rather begrudgingly I relent, “Okay.”

“I think that you’re somehow connected to my mom. There is a link between you two that doesn’t allow you to leave this place and that makes you haunt her.”

“I’m not haunting her. She doesn’t even know I’m here. Don’t you think that if there was a bond between us, she’d be able to see me?”

“Exactly! That is our riddle. Together we can figure it out!”

“Because I’m too stupid to figure it out on my own? I had years before you came along and don’t you think I haven’t thought about it? There is no solution! I’m just stuck here and that’s that!”

“But why can’t I at least try to save you?”

“Save me?! I don’t need saving! I am not some princess locked in some shitty tower singing songs and waiting for a brave knight to come and rescue her stupid useless ass!”

“Does it hurt to try at least?” Jaro is angry too now. Angry at me for being so mulish. Angry at himself for even bringing this whole thing up. “Or do you want to spend your eternity here? Spying on my mom? Being scared and jealous?”

“Stop now!”

“Wishing you were the twin who lived?!”

I choke on his words. The cruelty of them.

“What did you say, you little brat?”

He doesn’t back down.

“Oh yeah? Am I a brat now? Okay. And you know who you are? A coward!”

“I’m not some stupid quest of yours!” I shout, and suddenly something happens. My anger takes over and sends me spinning. It lifts me up and carries me away—away from Jaro, away from the house. I don’t even realize what’s happening until I’m too far. The world is whirling in front of my eyes like a carnival, colors flying, light and shadow mixing in a dizzying violent twister. I cry out, though there isn’t anyone who can hear me. My anger is gone in a blink of an eye, and debilitating fear takes its place. I feel like a ball of poplar wool caught by a gust of wind—weightless and helpless.

I see houses, dark roofs, and crooked chimneys, lawns, and treetops. I see carriages and horses, public parks and market places. A variety of scents rush past me in a mighty current. The hot and cold smells of the city intertwined: baked bread, smoke, manure, the hotness of a burning fire and the coldness of the river.

I scream and flail uselessly until it occurs to me that my own emotions are probably causing this storm in the first place. So I try to relax, and I’ll tell you, it’s not that easy when you don’t have a body. I can’t take deep breaths to calm myself or lie back or drink some water. I am nothing but my mind, so what am I supposed to do?

Think, Kara, think!

Jaro’s words pop up in my head—a line from his journal. She looks like a girl because she wants to look that way. She could be a penguin.

… Or she could be a gull…

I don’t know why I think of a gull. Not an eagle or a pigeon or whatever. Gull it is. I concentrate on the image as I conjure up a new look. It’s weird, but it works. Just like that, I’m a seagull gliding on my invisible wings. The wind is no longer an enemy, not a force to fight. It’s become an ally. A friend. I float, and the wind’s coolness fills up my feathers. Is this what flying feels like for a real bird? Or maybe it’s just my idea of flying? Whatever the case, it’s glorious.

I fly around in circles, and when I’m confident that I can come down, I land on a roof of some old building. I need to think. Where am I?

It occurs to me that despite spending years in the city I never truly saw it. I followed Jaro and Nora around sometimes, but my attention was always on them, and the rest of the world was just a shadow lingering in the background. Now the city was all around me, I was in the middle of it, and there was not a single familiar person who I could concentrate on—only blur of strange faces and settings, colors and sounds.

I look around, quite bewildered. Where is home? I’m not even sure what Nora’s house looks like! I know it’s old and grey with a high dark roof. But every house seems to fit this description: all of them are old, all of them are grey.

What do I do? How do I ever find my way back? Fear is rising in me all over again, and before it can get its hold over me, I start to look for something I can hold on to instead. Something familiar. Something steady. My eyes find black gates that for some reason I recognize.

I fly to the gates and perch on top of them. I like being a bird. Even a ghost-bird.

Beyond the gates, I see a misty ground strewn with flat stones. It’s a cemetery. The oldest city cemetery. I saw it the day they buried Jaro’s dad, Igor. I stood by Nora’s side as she was crying her eyes out by his grave. Jaro was so little, huddling against his mother.

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Igor was a nice man. Gentle. Sweet. Caring. I know I called him boring, but that’s not exactly fair. He was a good man and I wish Jaro could’ve spent more time with him.

Why isn’t Igor’s ghost haunting Nora and Jar’s house? Instead, they’re stuck with me, a useless bitter idiot.

Thinking these unhappy thoughts, I stare into the misty graveyard. It’s pretty big, stretching for kilometers. Every stone has a little altar set on its top like a crown.

Some of the altars are filled with offerings— newly baked bread and wine and bouquets of fresh flowers. Some have a few dry pieces of bread and meat and withered flower wreaths. But the majority is empty.

I wonder suddenly about my own grave. Where is it? In My Little Wanderer, I gather, beside my family’s graves. Are our little altars empty? I don’t think we have any relatives left except Nora to look after them, and she doesn’t bother, so yeah, they’re empty all right…

I fly over the graves, peering at the names. Some of them are so old I can’t even read them. Some are newer. Some stones don’t have names at all, and I don’t know why. The graveyard itself looks neglected, especially towards the center where graves are older-looking… some are almost ancient, their crumbling stones bearing strange symbols—protective charms. The grass is shorter on the edges, but the older part is completely overgrown. In some places the grass is so high it swallows the graves and altars whole.

There used to be a shrine in the center of the graveyard, but no one seems to have stepped over its threshold for years and creeping plants completely took over the building and turned it into a round green hill that sticks out of the tall grass.

Now knowing what else to do, I circle around for a while, reading names, examining the meager offerings.

And then I see her.

I’ve never seen another ghost in my life. And I meet one in the graveyard of all places! She is tiny… at first, I think she is a child, but when I look closer she looks more like a young woman. But she is fuzzy. Like a charcoal picture smudged with an impatient hand.

The woman has long black hair falling all over her face, covering it like a curtain. She is wearing a grey-green dress which makes her almost invisible in the grass. She is standing very still too, so I almost flew past her without even noticing.

I startle. I swear for a second I totally forget that I’m a ghost myself, and I nearly scream, but then I remember and shut up and descend a little to look closer.

As I draw nearer, strangely, her form becomes even less defined. She is like a thin oily film floating on the surface of stale water, frail and diaphanous. I can see the graveyard and the sky through her.

She is making some soft sounds. Sobs, I realize after a moment. She’s crying!

I drop to the ground and stop being a bird. I’m me again. I take a few hesitant steps to stand right in front of the ghost-woman.

The whole graveyard seems to be watching us—two unnatural creatures meeting. The wind that helped my bird body fly is suddenly colder. Harsher. The remains of the morning mist that lingered in the tall grass come alive, and as if feeling my presence, they draw nearer, gather closer, and start circling us like a pack of wild dogs, until I can’t see anything but the crying woman.

“Hey,” I say quietly, “Are you alright?”

She doesn’t seem to notice me. Her body is shaking with violent sobs.

What upset her so much?

There are so many questions I want to ask her. Like: “Who are you?” “Where did you come from?” “What is your name?” “Have you been a ghost long?”

And more difficult kinds of questions, “Do you know why you’re a ghost?” “Do you know if there is some other place that we can move on to?”

And more ridiculous ones like, “Do you want to be friends?”

I buzz with questions. But it’s obvious she is no condition to answer any of them. Okay then, let’s take this slow.

I look around, hoping the setting might give me some clues as to why she is so upset in the first place.

Maybe she’s lost like I am?

The grass in this part of the cemetery is so tall it almost reaches her chest. That’s why I haven’t noticed the grave at first. She’s standing on top of it. Right on the stone, facing its crumbling altar. I try to read the name on the stone, but I can’t. It’s a foreign language.

I look at the way the woman is dressed. The style is kind of old-fashioned, but not too much. It makes me think of the way my grandmother used to dress: the skirt is full and long, the hem completely covers her boots. And a white chemise underneath, too. Not a ‘new’ ghost then.

Well…

I take a hesitant step towards her, so that she’s standing barely a step away, and I reach out with my hand. Can I touch her? I haven’t touched anyone or anything for eternity. I can’t even remember what it feels like.

I almost touch her, but suddenly she raises her head and looks straight at me. She looks a little older than me, but still so very young, stuck in that uncertain phase between a child and a woman, lingering still on the threshold. Sixteen, I guess. Seventeen, tops. Big eyes. Small mouth.

“Are you alright?” I repeat.

Now that she lifted her head, her hair no longer covers her up, and I start noticing other details about her looks. Her dress is torn at the front. She also has a huge bruise on her jaw. It’s startlingly bright, contrasting with the paleness of her form. The look of it unsettles me, and I suddenly don’t want to touch her. Don’t want to come anywhere near her. Don’t want to be here at all. I want to run. It’s something instinctive, a reflex that pulls me away from her.

Run! Run!! Run!!!

I take a step back, but her arm suddenly jerks forward and grabs me by the forearm, and I want to scream, but my voice turns into a chunk of ice in my throat and I choke.

Run! Run!! What are you waiting for, Kara? Run!

But I can’t. Her hand grips me and it’s so cold! Not an ordinary winter kind of cold either, but something else. Something, that hasn’t been named yet, something, that doesn’t exist in the land of the living to earn itself a name.

I try to push her away, but it’s like I’m a moth trapped in a cobweb. The more I struggle the more she gets hold of me. She grips me with both of her hands now. I struggle, but she’s stronger.

“Please, let me go!” I plead, but I don’t think she can hear me. There’s something in her face that tells me she doesn’t hear or see or feel anything at all.

She starts to speak, but I don’t understand a word she’s saying. They’re just sounds.

“I don’t speak your tongue!” I cry out. “Please, just let me go! Let go of me!”

She starts to howl. I can see more bruises on her skin. They’re smaller, paler. There is also a bit of blood on her dress, but not a lot. Still, the sight of it makes me sick.

Suddenly her words start to make sense. She’s asking for help. Of course, she is.

“Help me! Help me! Make it stop!”

“I can’t help you! Just let me go! Please! Please!”

My strength is dwindling. The coldness of her is seeping inside of me. I’m like a jar that is being filled with icy water, and it’s getting more and more difficult for me to fight her.

What is she going to do to me if I give in? I don’t know and there’s no way in hell that I want to find that out.

But something tells me that I’m going to…

The thought sends me into a frenzy. I start kicking and pushing and pulling. To no avail. She’s too strong.

My knees give in and I fall. The tall grass that surrounds the grave swallows me.

But that’s absurd! I am a ghost! I can’t die the second time…

… Or can I?

The sudden thought is like a strike of lightning. What if I won’t die, but dwindle, lose all my strength and stay here forever with this… this vampire?! What if I turn into a mindless piece of foggy conscience?

Since I became a ghost, I thought that I had nothing to lose. I’ve already lost everything I could—my life! So what more could there be?

Well, it seems that there is always something to lose.

I try to summon my strength. I reach out for the power that brought me here in the first place—anger. I seek it desperately, but it’s all in vain. I can’t do it.

I will never see Nora again.

I will never see Jaro again.

Panic rises, enveloping me. But it only makes me weaker, and her, my captor, stronger, because fear is all she is now. A dim-witted monster.

“Mine!” she whispers, as her hold on me strengthens.

And this possessiveness in her voice is what finally wakes me up.

“I am not yours!” I scream. “I am my sister’s. I am Jaro’s. As they are mine! And you’re nothing! You’re nothing but a memory!”

My anger pushes her away and her grip loosens and at last I manage to wrench myself away from her. I turn and run through the grass, as fast as I can, forgetting that I can fly. Then I remember and I spread my wings and leap up, and up, and up, until the wind catches me and embraces me, calming me down, caring for me, soothing the dull ache in my chest.

* * *

Jaro is sitting by the Attic window when I tiptoe into the room.

“Jar?” I call out hesitantly, my voice so weak and trembling, I won’t be surprised if he doesn’t hear me. But he does and he leaps to his feet immediately. I expect him to come up to me, but he is just standing there in front of the window, looking at me, his face blank.

“Where’ve you been?” he asks after a couple of minutes.

“I…” I don’t know how to explain, so I just shrug.

It took me some time to get back, but once using the cemetery as my reference point, I managed to finally make sense of the murky labyrinth that is the city.

“I was beside myself with worry.”

“I know. It’s just… I…”

Come on, Kara, just say it already.

“I am sorry, Jar,” I whisper. “I didn’t want to scare you. Let’s not fight anymore, all right?”

“Alright…” he sees it then and his face changes. He comes closer, peering into my face. “What’s happened to you? You look so… pale.”

I bark out a laugh.

“I’m a ghost, Jar.”

“No, it’s different,” he shakes his head. “I can barely see you.”

“I had an unpleasant encounter. I think it’ll pass.”

He nods. I approach the window and look outside. The setting sun pours on the glass and I can feel its golden warmth inside of me.

“Jar?”

“Yeah?”

“What do I feel like?”

“What do you mean?”

“When you’re near me, do I feel cold?”

“Not really. Actually, quite the opposite.”

I turn around to face him, surprised.

“Really?”

“Yeah. You feel warm. When I’m near you, it feels… like spring sunshine on my skin.”

Relief rushes through me like a wave. The memory of the ghost woman's coldness is still haunting me. If Jaro said he felt the same way when I was around, I’d… I would’ve just left. I would’ve gone anywhere, away from Jaro, away from Nora. I would never knowingly expose them to that.

My forearm is still numb with the ghost’s touch. I wonder if it’s going to stay that way, a memory of her coldness engraved on my very essence, for all eternity…