“Joooooohhhhhhnnnn!” I wailed as I tugged on his arm. He fell out of the bed and onto the floor. Only then did he open his eyes. We had been home for a few weeks and he had made an agreement with his work to get some more time off. Technically he was a salaried employee, so he just finished all of the work he could early by staying in later and later and had worked himself to the bone. I had barely seen him over the last few weeks and when I had, he basically collapsed on the bed to sleep. We had barely hung out at all. Even Karen missed him and was anxious to get back to doing experiments. Especially since the site had blown up after the Roe Bro interview. A lot of people had seen it. Kare had made more of the little glasses that allowed people to see me and other ghosts for us to take back home.

  “What is it, Lone?” John asked, slurring his words. He adjusted and stretched out on the floor a bit.

  “It's time to go! We have to get back to the airport! I'm all packed up. My body is put away. It's time.

  “Right, that's today,” John yawned through his words. He sat up and went to the bathroom, started the shower, and closed the door. It could not actually keep me out. It had not before. But I figured he was already doing a bunch of things for me, so I should not torment him too much. On the other hand, though . . . I sneaked into the bathroom, completely invisible. I passed through the shower curtain, which rustled some. It was weird. I could pass through doors just fine but when I would go through a sheet or a curtain, that would move. And that must have been how John knew I was there. He grabbed me by the neck and pushed me under the water. Steam boiled up violently. John always showered at scalding temperatures. I shrieked and fought to get out. It burned!

  “You jerk!”

  “You were the one trying to sneak up on me,” He said, rinsing out his hair. I helped him out. By pushing his head under the water. He dipped in and gasped and turned on me. We wrestled for a while and then got a little distracted, only getting out after the water had started to run as cold as I usually was.

  So we were, like, a little late getting to the airport. We managed to get through eventually. Security did open up the doll's case in front of everyone and John stood there, face carved into a stony smile. I could tell he was screaming on the inside. I leaned in and whispered into his ear “Tell them that it's your girlfriend, Johnny-poo. I'm sure they'd understand.”

  I watched him become a little redder and he met my eye in his periphery. He said nothing and managed to get onto the plane and sat, mortified. I sat on his lap. We only bought one ticket this time, figuring it would be more economical. And more fun. I got to tickle him. My little Jizzle is super ticklish. And he could not fight back because he would look crazy. I got to tease him so much. It was so fun!

  After we got off the plane, we met up with Clara who had gotten in just before us. She caught sight of us. Both of us. She looked directly at me. It was super cool to be seen! But those were not the glasses John had given her. She had sunglasses. Did she become a medium? Was she able to just see me now? John noticed it, too, and asked first when we got there.

  “New glasses? Did you redesign the Ouija ones I gave you?”

  “Oh, yes, dear. No offense but they were dreadfully designed,” Clara began. I smiled. She was always so dramatic. “So, I had a friend look at the idea of using an Ouija Board and he came up with these.”

  She took off the glasses and handed them to John. He examined them and I peered over his shoulder. Her designer had managed to fit a tiny Ouija planchette into the frames, somehow, then put a thin shaded plate in front of that. The frame was pretty thick, but they did look a lot better than ours. “That is so cool! Don't you think so, John?”

  “Yeah, they're certainly better designed. Everyone else will just have to deal with what options we came up with.” Clara had rented us a car and drove us about. John sat in the backseat and watched us reminisce.

  “There's the Lazy Susan! John! That's the bar where I got my first drink!” I exclaimed, pointing, John saying everything I was out loud, automatically.

  “And there's our college. It's a nice little place. I wish I could have graduated.” Clara said, sadly.

  “Yeah, me too,” Lona added. I looked around the little campus. It was small but super cool. We were surrounded by the mountains. Not all of the snow had melted yet. It would not for a few more weeks. We were a college town with a couple of resorts and had some good hiking and a little skiing and snowboarding. Not really famous for much. Except Clara had come from here. She was a local. I was, too. And thanks to Roman I was kind of famous, too! Maybe I can get a toothpaste commercial after all.

  We stopped by a local hardware shop and parked. I watched Clara freeze up and take a few deep breaths. Her hands gripped the steering wheel tight until her knuckles were white against her tan skin. “Is everything okay?”

  “Y-yeah,” she said, deflating. “I'm just a little nervous.”

  “Why'd we stop here?” John asked. I looked up at the sign. Big Bertha's Hardware.

  “Oh,” I said. Then I grinned at her. “Oooh.”

  “What?” Both John and Clara said at the same time.

  “We're visiting Bertha first? I knew you had a thing for her!”

  “I . . . Kind of,” Clara said, sheepishly.

  “So you're gay?” I asked, leaning in.

  “Uh . . . Well, bi, really,” she said quietly. “Keep it quiet, though. My parents don't know.”

  John snorted. “Do they not watch your movies?”

  “Well, they . . . Think that I'm just acting. That's . . . That's what I tell them.”

  “Ah. Well, who are we going to tell? Lona can't speak to anyone but me and Karen, and I'm a nobody,” John said, simply.

  “No, you're not! Shut up!” I shouted. John jumped.

  “I meant relative to a celebrity. She's famous. I'm just . . .”

  “Kind of famous, now. That Roe Bro Show interview you did has blown up. People now know the name John Jamison,” Clara added seriously.

  “Ugh,” John said, disgusted. “It'll blow over soon.”

  “Maybe,” Clara said, noncommittally.

  “Let's go in!” I said, passing through the seat belt, windshield, and into the building. I looked around. It was a warehouse that had been converted into a store. It was clean and smelled like wood. Bertha's parents ran the store and she always said she was going to take it over after she got her business degree. Theater was always just a fun thing she liked doing. A minute or so later, Clara and John came in and looked around.

  “Henrykson! Get the fuck out of my store!” There was a shout from across the room. I looked over. Bertha was rushing over. She was still tall. Really tall. And really strong looking. She had aged pretty gracefully, given the twenty years. I flew in front of her and she passed straight through me, blowing me to the side. That was weird.

  “B-Bertha! Calm down, I'm just here to talk.”

  “I ain't got much to say to you, killer!” Bertha spat out. John stepped between the two of them and held up his hands to both of them.

  “Please, uh . . . Bertha. This is important. It is in regards to . . . To Lona,” he managed. He was a head shorter than her, wearing thin-framed glasses, and was downright tiny in every respect. She loomed over him. But he did not back down.

  “And who the fuck are you?” Bertha demanded. “Oh, you're that crackpot that thinks he's talking to ghosts! Ain't no damned things as ghosts.”

  “There are days where I wish that I could believe that. Not so many recently, but still.” John sighed and shook his head. He took out a pair of the Ouija Glasses and offered them to her. “Look, just put these on and look right behind you. You'll see . . . You'll see her. If you still don't want to talk to us, then we'll leave. But please.”

  Bertha eyed the glasses in his hand then him. She watched his face. “Fine. But when I prove that you're nuts, you get the fuck out or I'm calling the cops. Both of you.”

  “Alright. What am I supposed to be see-” She said as she put on the glasses and froze mid-sentence, as I floated right in front of her. I waved at her. “Lo-Loans . . . is that really?”

  I nodded, smiling. I tackled her and she took a step back. I squeezed her tightly. I could not quite lift her off the ground like I could Clara, but I got close. She hugged me back. Tears started flowing from her eyes. “Lona, oh my God. I can't believe it.”

  “Neither could I,” Clara said just loudly enough to be heard. Bertha turned. Her face became a stony mask of rage and disapproval again.

  “And what the hell do you think you're doing around here? With her, no less. Lona, she killed you.”

  “I know,” I said, John still translating for me. “But I forgave her. It was an accident and it was twenty years ago. Besides, I met some really great people since then. I wouldn't have if she hadn't killed me.”

  I flew over to John and kissed his cheek, wrapping my arms around him. Bertha smiled and wiped the tears from her eyes. “Figures. Not even death would stop you from having a social life.”

  “I said the same thing!” Clara put in, walking up beside Jizzle and me. “She's always popular.”

  “So, on that podcast, was that really you Loan?” Bertha asked.

  “Yeah,” I said, nodding. “It was a lot of fun. Though, lots of people have been trying to tear it apart since then. Calling it fake and doing all kinds of weird camera tricks to try and see how we did it.”

  “Yeah, I was one of them. Not doing camera tricks, but I just thought it was crazy. That Roman is an idiot, sometimes,” Bertha responded. John grinned, nodding. “God, Lona. I've missed you.”

  “Bear,” Clara said, shuffling her feet some. “C-could you call Bobby? He won't take my calls.”

  “Yeah, I know. Neither would I, normally,” Bertha said, stoniness creeping back into her voice. She nodded. “He needs ta know this. That Lona is back . . . Well, mostly. Ghosts. Who'da thunk.”

----------------------------------------

She disappeared for a while and then later a tall man with graying blond hair arrived. He looked ragged and wore thick glasses. He was kind of portly.   “Alright, Bear, I'm here. What's all this about? Why'd I need to ru- Clara! What the hell are you doing down here!?”

  “Rob, calm down,” Bertha said firmly and held out her Ouija glasses. “Put these over your glasses.”

  “That's Bobby?” I asked incredulously. He was always so fit and vital-looking. He looked ancient now. He held the Ouija Glasses up to his face and looked over at Bertha.

  “An' what the hell are these supposed to be? I need my real glasses to see.”

  “Just put them on, kind of over your glasses.”

  “Actually, I may have a solution to that,” John said and dug out another pair from his bag. These didn't have the earpieces. “I wear glasses, so I figured making a pair of clip-ons might not go amiss.”

  “An' who are you?” Bobby asked, taking the clip-ons from John's hand and holding them up. He popped them into place and he looked around.

  “I'm . . . I'm a medium.”

  “Medium? Medium what? Kind of scrawny really,” Bobby responded irritated. His eyes froze on me and he gaped. “L-Lona?”

  “I'm a medium between ghosts and the living,” John clarified, unable to keep the smile from his face. He does love proving people wrong after they have shoved their foot firmly in their mouth. I smiled and gestured for Bobby to come closer for a hug. He closed the distance between us and I wrapped my arms around him and patted his back.

  “Oh god. She's cold.”

  “She's a ghost,” Clara said, as though it should be self-evident how the two are related. Which, I guess, it was.

  “Bobby, you've changed so much,” I said, holding him out and looking him over again. Bobby looked over to John as he spoke for me then back at me.

  “And you haven't at all.”

  “Obviously. She's a ghost,” Clara put in, earning her a dirty look from the man. Bertha leaned down and put a hand on her shoulder.

  “Lona, let's get your body,” John suggested. “That might make things easier.”

  Both Bertha and Bobby balked at this and stepped up. “You're going to dig up her body?”

  “What?”

  “Oh, I suppose that does require some explanation,” John said, his face screwing up in confusion. “We . . . There's no good way of explaining this. I'm going to go to the car real quick, grab a box, you guys will understand in a moment. He gave me my phone and left for the rental. I took it out and started typing out a message.

It's so nice to see you guys, I really missed you. I watched some of you when I was still in town.

“You were in town?” Bertha asked.

For a long time. Basically until six months ago.

We talked like that for a few minutes longer until John wheeled in a suitcase and large box. “Where's the bathroom?”

  Bertha pointed it out and John wheeled my body there and offered me a few clothes options. I dressed my body to basically match what I was wearing now, a black halter top hanging from one shoulder and jeans, and then stepped in. There was the familiar resistance of the doll trying to stop me but eventually, it gave in and I was able to assume control. I blinked my heavy eyelids and moved my heavy arms. John grabbed my hand and I felt that familiar buzz that only he provided. I felt stronger. They were going to see me. Really see me. Without ridiculous glasses on. I walked out as John was collecting the boxes and wheeled them back to the car. Everyone gaped. Except for Clara, of course. She already knew.

  “Wow, what is that?” Bertha asked. I took out my phone and typed out another message.

Before we discovered the Ouija trick, John got me a sex doll to possess. It's a lot cooler than the glasses imo

“It's certainly something,” Bobby said, leering a little bit. It was nice to be seen, but that was a little odd. He took off the clip-ons.

  “Why didn't you come in like that?”

  “Oh, we thought it might be . . . Well, with my reception and all, we thought it might be a bit much. I thought you might think I was thinking light of what . . . What I did,” Clara managed. Her voice cracked.

  “You're right, I would have,” Bertha said.

  “Yeah,” Bobby agreed.

  Bertha closed up the shop for a while and we had a wonderful lunch. It was like old times. John got along well enough with them, too. It was really nice. Even if I could not eat. They asked a bunch of questions and John and I took turns answering them. I watched him, smiling. I was so glad he was with me.

----------------------------------------

After lunch, Clara drove us to my parents' house. John was shaking and his knee was bouncing up and down. He was . . . He was nervous.

  “What's wrong, John?” I asked.

  “Oh, I'm just about to meet my girlfriend's parents. And my girlfriend is a ghost who hasn't seen her parents in twenty years. I have to explain to them that she's a ghost and then that I'm sleeping with her oh and also I bought a sex doll in her approximate likeness. So, no pressure.”

  “You'll do fine, Johnny,” Clara said, meeting his eye in the rear-view mirror. “Lona will be there.”

  “Yeah, okay, sure,” John said dismissively.

  “They'll love you,” I assured him, reaching through the chair, out of the doll and patting his knee. “I love you and they will, too. I know it!”

  We eventually got to the house. My parents lived on the edge of the town. It was too far for me to really go to class very fast, so we managed to get me an apartment in town. It was difficult, but they managed to afford it somehow. And I loved them for that. Clara parked and John looked at the doll considering.   He looked like a scared little bunny trapped in the headlights of a truck rumbling down the road. “Okay. I can do this . . . Uh . . . Let's avoid the doll conversation for now. We can go with that later. Let's just do the same thing. Clara and I will knock on the door and we will try to get them to wear the glasses and we'll be set, right? Right.”

  I giggled and sped off towards the door of my childhood home. Clara and John both got out of the car and John had the glasses in his hand and was talking to himself, trying to figure out how to broach this subject. Eventually, they got to the door and before John could reconsider, I knocked on it loudly. John all but jumped out of his skin. He was so cute. It took a few minutes before anyone answered the door. A rail-thin, liver-spotted, but vital-looking man answered the door. Daddy! Oh my God, he's so old. But he's still Daddy. He'll always be my dad.

  “I'm sorry, son, young lady, we aren't looking to buy anything right now. Please leave,” dad said in a kind but firm voice. I doubt many people tried to sell him things out here, but it might happen.

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  “I . . . We're not trying to sell anything, sir. I was hoping to talk to you . . .” John trailed off.

  “About your daughter, Lona,” Clara finished for him. My dad looked at her and then got a little closer. A bit of redness flooded his face then.

  “You're her. That girl that got her killed.”

  “Y-yes, I am, sir,” Clara said stiffly. “I came here to apologize and to talk to you about some of the stuff about her.”

  “And why should I listen to you? You killed my daughter, young lady,” dad said, rage inflating his chest.

  “Well,” John cut in, this time. He took a deep breath and let it out. “Because it's not that simple. She killed your daughter, but your daughter . . . Your daughter's ghost is still around. In fact, she's standing right next to you. And I can prove it.”

  “M-my daughter's ghost? Boy, do I look like a damned fool to you? You come here with this- this . . . woman and claim that you can prove my daughter's ghost is right here.”

  “Stanley? Why are you shouting? Who's at the door?” My mom's voice came from out of the kitchen. She walked forward. She had the same soft face she always had. She was shorter than my dad by a lot, but almost as thin and had a smile on her face. Until she saw Clara. “What is she doing here?”

  “They say Lona is a ghost and this one,” my father pointed a finger at John angrily “claims he can prove it.”

  “I can prove it.”

  “Sir, pardon my language, but get the hell off my porch,” my dad said.

  “Please, just hear me ou-” John began, but my father pushed him. Both he and John are pretty skinny, but my father was a head and a half taller and was a farmer for a lot of his life. John fell back and tripped over a loose board on the porch. I screamed and the porch-light dimmed for a moment and more boards creaked and cracked a little and John was floating a foot off the ground. John rotated a little bit in the middle of the air and sighed. “Lona, let me down please.”

  I did so and he fell with an “oof”. My parents just stared, wide-eyed. John picked himself off the ground and dusted himself off. “Well, then. This is going great.”

  “Who . . . what the hell are you?” My mother asked. She never cursed. She was shaking.

  “I . . .” John began, hesitating at first. The longer he spoke, the more exasperated he was with this whole situation. “I'm a medium. I can see and speak to the dead. I came to this town for a vacation a few months back. I met Lona. Who is a ghost. I can prove it. But it would admittedly require people to not try to break my neck first.”

  My father watched the man I loved with a skeptical eye. “You are a good magician, I admit that, boy. But that don't mean my daughter's a ghost.”

  “Hah,” John scoffed and shook his head. “I knew this was stupid. C'mon, Lona. Clara. Let's go.”

  “You can prove it?” Mom put in, stepping past her husband.

  “Stella, you don't have to humor this fool. He's a con-artist. I saw a thing about this on Dateline. He's after our money.” John laughed. Harshly.

  “With all due respect, Mr. Anderson. I don't need your money. I assure you, I have plenty of money.”

  “What is Lona's middle name?” My mother asked.

  “What?” John asked. “Oh, a test. Okay, sure. Lona. What is your middle name?”

  “You don't know your girlfriend's middle name?” Clara asked, incredulously.

  “No, no no no no no no no no no no. I'm not telling you. It's totally embarrassing. Like, the worst middle name ever!”

  “Oh, well now I have to know,” John said.

  “What's she saying?” Clara asked.

  “She's saying it's the most embarrassing name ever.”

  “I'm waiting, young man,” Mom added, tapping her foot in annoyance. Dad was watching this, too. His face had softened a bit.

  “Lona, what is your middle name? Tell me. Come on,” John said with a grin.

  “Adelaide,” I muttered just loudly enough for him to hear it.

  “What?” He asked, holding a hand to his ear. “Didn't quite catch it.”

  “Ugh! Adelaide!” I exclaimed, annoyance piercing every syllable.

  “Adelaide, huh?” John asked. “That's kind of cute. Could go with Adel for short, that wouldn't be bad. Though, that would make your initials L.A.A. Laa. Shame for someone who can't sing.”

  “He's right.”

  “Yeah, and she did hate that middle name.”

  “It was my grandmother's name! It's beautiful!”

  “Unlike your grandmother. She hit me with that rolling pin.”

  “Yeah, well, you were stealing her favorite granddaughter.”

  “Never gave her back, either. I can hold a grudge for a while.”

  “Hah! Yeah, you can.” Mom and dad got lost in their own conversation for a while before sobering up and turning back to John and Clara. My mom said, “You still could have found that on the internets or something.”

  “Yeah, maybe I could have. But I do have other proof,” John responded, holding up the Ouija Glasses.

  “What are those?” My father asked, stepping out onto the porch to stand next to my mother.

  “Ouija Glasses. If you put them on, you'll see her. She's standing just there to your left.”

  “Hah! Boy, you must think we were born yesterday!”

  “What's the harm? If I'm lying, you tell me to get lost and I go. But if I'm telling the truth, you get to see your daughter again,” John said, offering the glasses again. My mother walked down the steps and took the glasses. She held them up and looked at them.

  “These sure are weird.”

  “I assure you, this entire situation is weird. Even for me, and I talk to ghosts,” John said. Mom held the glasses over her existing ones. She never needed glasses when I was alive. Time is a bitch. She looked across the porch and her eyes fell on me. I tugged at my shirt, which was a little more revealing than she would have liked. My belly button was showing. So were my shoulder and bra strap. I shifted awkwardly and smiled at her. Tears began to stream down her face and her hand started shaking.

  “L-Lona. Is that you?” My mom asked. I rushed forward and hugged her tight. I squeezed her tightly enough to pop her back a few times.

  “Stella, what in blue blazes are you talking about?” My dad asked, making his way down the stairs. He snatched up the other pair and put them on. His eyes fell on me and mom, both hugging and crying. “Oh, oh my God!”

  “Stanley, look. It's our daughter,” Mom said. I reached out and pulled him into a hug as well. I was so happy. They could see me. John let out a sigh of relief. Dad broke the hug first.

  “And how do you two fit into this?” He asked, roughly. He sniffed and was trying to hold back tears.

  “I . . . Uh, well,” John stumbled over his words. Clara walked down the stairs and smiled.

  “He's dating Lona. They live . . . They have an apartment together.”

  “What?” Mom asked. “Lona Adelaide Anderson! Moving in with a boy before marriage! Didn't I teach you better than that? And someone so old!”

  “Mom! I'm twenty-one! And forty-three! I'm old enough to live with who I like.” I whined.

  “Oh, oh my, I can't hear her. She's saying something, though.”

  “Oh, right. Sorry,” John said, then repeated what I said.

  “How do we know you're saying what she's saying?” My father asked. John shrugged and took out my phone and handed it over to me.

Dad! C'mon lol you can trust john. He's great. And yeah! I'm old enough to live with who I like!

“What does lol mean?” My mom asked.

  “Laugh out loud.” Clara and John clarified in unison.

  “Ah, okay. And what about you, missy?” My father rounded on Clara. “How're you involved?”

  “Mister Anderson, I . . . I stole your daughter away from you. I didn't mean to, but that doesn't matter. It was a mistake and I can't bring her back, but I can at least give you this,” Clara said, her face screwed up and focused. She was trying to hold back her emotions. She looked a little constipated honestly.

  “That don't mean we'll forgive you,” my mom said.

  “I . . . I know. I wanted to do it anyway,” Clara said, her voice cracking a bit.

  “Well, alright then,” mom responded. She turned to John. “Well, you can come in, dear. With Lona, of course. But I don't want her here.”

  “I . . .” John began, but my mom glared at him.

  “Now you come on, we need to talk.”

  “Al-alright. Lones, grab your . . . Stuff. We can explain that. Um, Clara, I'm sorry about this. Could I call you when we need to be picked up? I don't suppose there are taxis in this town.” Clara watched my mom and dad for a while before nodding.

  “Of course, Johnny. That'll be great. I'll catch up with Bobby and Bear. It'll be great,” she said, more for herself than us. I sped off and got into my body and stumbled over to my boyfriend and my parents. They looked shocked.

  “Lona, dear, what are you wearing? Your . . . other self was wearing something just as . . . You look like a hussie, dear.”

  “This is what I like to wear. And you can't exactly ground me for it anymore! Like, I'm already in the ground, anyways,” I said, with John translating. They both looked a little sad at that but shook their heads.

  “That's Lona for you. Always a free spirit.”

  “Haha! Spirit! Dad's got dad jokes!” John groaned and explained it to them then they all groaned. Clara got into the car and sped off.

  I helped mom prepare dinner, chopping potatoes. She was kind of scared when she saw me pick up a knife but I was pretty good at it. Even with the doll's sluggish movements. I could hear John and dad making small-talk in the other room. After a few hours, we had dinner prepared and we put it all out on the table. I had to refuse a serving and mom was not thrilled about that.

  “You're so thin, though. Even in your weird . . . doll body.”

Yeah, but I can't exactly fatten up now, can I? lol

We said grace. John stumbled through it. He was not religious to my knowledge. And in college, I kind of ditched the whole religion thing. Like, I believe in something, but I do not think a bunch of desert guys got it completely right, you know? But I do think that there is more out there. I mean, technically, I am some of what there is out there. We ate and talked a little more. After dinner, dad and I cleared the table. John tried to join us but mom sat him down before he could, insisting he was a guest. And saying that she needed to talk to him. I listened carefully.

  “Now, John. You sit. We're gonna talk.” my mom said as she broke out her knitting needles. John sat across from her, pale as a ghost (haha, get it?). “What are your intentions with my daughter?”

  John paled a little further. “I . . . Well, I mean we live together.”

  “And are you going to make an honest woman out of her?”

  “H-honest?” John asked. “Well, I mean, she's pretty honest already. Sometimes, she's a little too forward. Will just say whatever is on her mind.”

  “Boy, are you an idiot?” My mom asked.

  “I mean, kind of, yeah.”

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Are you going to marry my daughter?”

  “M-marry?” John asked. “I don't know that the government would recognize a marriage between a living person and a ghost.”

  “Marriage ain't about the government. And besides, they let the gays get married these days. This is no different. You love her, don't you?”

  “Well, yeah. Of course, I do. What's not to love?”

  “Then you find you a church that'll tie you two up. I mean, the, until death do you part, is a little late, but that's okay.”

  “Uh,” John started to say something.

  “And can ghosts get pregnant? I want to be a grandma before I'm also a ghost.”

  “I don't think ghosts can get pregn-”

  “Well, then you find a way. And John?”

  “Uh, yeah?”

  “If you hurt her, Lona won't be the only ghost in your apartment, ya hear?”

  “Y-yes, ma'am.”

----------------------------------------

John and I stayed over that night. Mom and dad insisted. John was really uncomfortable with this, but I was excited. My room was basically the same that it had always been. There was a little more dust, but it had all of my stuff. Posters of the actors that I liked. Of music like Poison and, much to mom's dismay at the time, N.W.A. It was so weird. Like being in a time capsule. I put my body to rest at the desk. John found my yearbook and started flipping through pages. I went to tackle him.

  “No! You can't!” I shouted. He dodged me and continued to flip through pages. I tried to reach around him and grab the book but he put his arm out and held me away from it. I appeared at his other side and he instinctively turned away and managed to keep the damn thing away from me. He stopped and grinned.

  “Found it!”

  “No!” I whimpered. He pulled me over to the bed. It was about as small as John's old bed was. Too small for two people, really. He wrapped an arm around me and I hid my face in his shoulder.

  “You were cute!”

  “No! I was a total uggo!” I whined, looking down at the picture. There I was, smiling up at the two of us. I had huge braces and my hair was so awkward. I had tried to cut it myself to save us some money, but that had not gone well. It was terrible and uneven. There was even some glare coming off of my braces.

  “Psh. You should see my yearbook picture. I went through a bit of a goth phase.”

  “Really? Did you do the makeup?”

  “Well, just the eyeliner, really.”

  “Oh! I totally gotta see that.”

  “When we get home, I promise, I'll show you.”

  We settled down in the bed, cuddling. The blanket was thin and John was very cold, but I just rested my head on his chest and listened to his heartbeat. It was nice to be home. It was nice that my parents approved of John. At least I think they did. Daddy didn't bring his gun out like he did for one of my other dates.

  I heard my parents get into bed. The walls had always been really thin here. Which made some things I was trying to do with that same boy really awkward. I could hear them talking.

  “Stan, she's back,” my mom whispered.

  “Stella, I don't know about all this. Ghosts? Why . . . Why didn't she pass on? And this guy . . . This John.”

  “I don't know. Maybe she has unfinished business. Maybe he can help her.”

  “What if this is a con? Damn city folk just do this kind of thing to people, thinking we're dumb country-bumpkins. And you're just acting like she's come home. Talkin' about marriage like a damn fool. We don't know him. We don't know that we can trust him.”

  “Stan . . . It's been . . . She died so suddenly. Sometimes . . . Sometimes I felt like she was here still, though.”

  “I know that, honey. I do. I felt . . . I felt the same way.” This made sense. I visited them a lot. I . . . wished that I could say goodbye to them. But I didn't even, like, know that ghosts could ever talk to people. It also had never occurred to me to write anything to them. It would occur to John.

  “I know that I shouldn't act like she's back. She's . . . She's here, but she's not. I don't really know what to think. She brought home this man. She has that weird harlot doll. I don't know what to think. But . . . Maybe she has a chance . . . A chance to be happy.”

  “Maybe, but is it healthy?” My dad asked. “What kind of man goes out and . . . dates a ghost? What kind of man befriends his woman's killer? What kind of man is this John?”

  “The kind who adores Lona,” mom said. “I don't know much about much, Stan. You know that, but I know people. He loves her. He doesn't want to be here. He was like a scared kitten the entire time. But the way he looks at her. When she's in that . . . thing and when she's not . . . I want her to be happy. I never thought I'd get to see my . . . My little girl grow up and have . . .”

  My mom cut off and I could hear her sobbing. My father cooed to her softly, trying to comfort her.

  The next day we got up and mom was making breakfast. John offered to help but she waved him off. “Men don't know how to do anything in the kitchen. Get.”

  “John,” daddy greeted him. “Sit down, boy. We have some things to talk about.”

  “Oh, uh, sure,” John responded, shifting uncomfortably, before sitting across from him.

  “Boy, why're you doing this?”

  “Doing what? Sitting? Y-you asked me to.”

  “No, boy! God in heaven, are you stupid?”

  “Yeah, very.”

  “Why'd you bring her down here? Tryin' ta stir up all of our emotions, cause a bunch of strife for us.”

John considered this for a moment, before responding. “Be-because Lona wanted to see you. You're her parents. She misses you. She found out that she could talk to people again and I could tell that she wanted to be a part of your . . . your life again.”

  My father stared at him for a long time. “An' what d'ya get out of this?”

  “I get to see her be happy. She gets to see her family again and I get to watch her experience that.”

  “This ain't normal, boy. This ain't natural.”

  “So what?”

  “What d'ya mean so what?”

  “I mean . . . Ghosts exist. It happens. I'm just helping speak to the people she cares about. It's not a matter of natural or supernatural. It's a matter of . . . Doing something. Bringing her comfort. M-maybe bringing you two, and her, some closure.”

  “Closure? You ripped open wounds that had been closed for twenty years!”

  “Yeah, and apparently they were still sore,” John spat sourly. Mom came out and put a plate in front of John and her husband and tsked at both of them.

  “Boys, no arguing at the table,” she said, sitting down. I hugged her and she jumped but patted my arm. John looked angry and pensive. The vein in my father's head was bulging. Both of them were heated. I let go of mom and made my way to my dad and kissed his balding head. He looked up and then sighed.

  “You're right, of course, honey.” Mom grinned at the statement and nodded.

  “I know I am. Good of you to recognize it, though.”

  I made my way around to John and gripped his hand.

  “Lona . . . Why aren't you using that . . . thing of yours.”

  “I'm just a bit tired, mom. Takes a lot to move my body around,” I said, John repeating the statement so they could hear it. Mom nodded and my father stared at John, mouth working. He then looked down, said a prayer, and started eating breakfast. John nibbled at his toast, apparently not interested in eating.

  We left not long after that. I gave them my number and John's. We flew back home and John was silent most of the way. It was weird, seeing them again. Mom just wanted things to go right back to how they were. As though I wasn't dead and twenty years hadn't passed. Dad couldn't deal with me being back. With everything that had changed. Granted, I, like, don't know what I'd do in that situation either.