(Dianne) Fox Writes

Stumbling to her feet, Becky headed for the door. She could get out, go to the diner on the corner, and call Jack from there.

“Don’t leave!” the woman cried. Maybe Becky should just take the bus back to his place. She couldn’t stay here. “Please. I can’t… No one else can hear me. Please, don’t leave me alone again.”

Becky’s hand was on the doorknob, but she found herself turning around, turning back to the woman and asking, “Are you real?”

She knew, before the woman answered, that the question was a stupid one. If she were hallucinating, she’d hallucinate the woman giving her the answer she wanted to hear.

So she was surprised when the woman said, “I… I’m not sure. I mean, I think so? But none of this makes sense.”

Becky ran her fingers through her hair, tugging a little. “Okay, okay… Let’s…” She cast around for an idea, for some notion of how to figure all this out. “Let’s start with your name. Who are you, and how did you get into my apartment in the first place?”

“My name’s Sam,” the woman – Sam – said. “And, uh, I don’t know?” She waved her hands around a little, expressing confusion. “I mean, I remember leaving home to go to the market, and then there were these voices and bright, round lights… hospital, I guess.” Her hands dropped down to her sides, and her face lost its color. “Oh, shit. I’m dead, aren’t I? I’m… I’m a ghost. Haunting you, or something.”