I was planning to finishing the ghost confrontation tonight, but it was a… challenging day. A big hike with my brother didn’t go exactly to plan. So here is a completely unrelated story in the meantime!

“Deanna! Want to see something weird?”

I’d been a librarian at the main public library for exactly one month. Linda had been there for 13 years. So, when she asks if you want to see something weird, you say “yes.”

“You know how I said this place was haunted?”

This was going to be good! “Yes…?”

“It’s happening right now! There’s a book on the shelf that’s jiggling on its own! Come here!”

I followed her down the aisles of bookshelves until she peeked down one set of stacks then gestured for me to quickly follow her.

I moved carefully to peer down the aisle and saw a young woman – maybe 24, 25 – poking at a book on the third shelf. The tip of her tongue stuck out the corner of her mouth in deep concentration as she stabbed her hand at the book which was, in fact, jiggling on the shelf.

Linda doesn’t know I can see ghosts – that’s our little secret, okay?

“Do you see it? Do you see the book moving?” she whispered. The woman-ghost turned towards us then turned back to poking the book.

“I do,” I confirmed. “Go get Ian,” the other librarian who started about the same time as me, “he loves this sort of thing!” He did. But he was also down in the basement.

“Ooh!” Linda said enthusiastically. “I’ll go get him!”

I waited until I heard the door to the stairs close behind Linda, then I started down the aisle. “What book is that?”

The ghost jumped in surprise.

“Wait, did I just scare a ghost?”

“You can see me?” the woman asked.

“I can. What’s with the book?” I looked up on the shelf. “Cyber Oblivion, A Jordyn Bassett novel. Volume 9.” I read on the spine. “Oh, that’s a good one!” I said. “That’s the most recent Jorydn Bassett novel where she—”

“Shh!” she hissed, “Don’t tell me, don’t tell me, don’t tell me!”

“Oh, you haven’t read that one?”

“No,” She said with a huff. “My boyfriend got me hooked on the Jordyn Bassett series. I was so excited for Cyber Oblivion! And then…”

“You died.”

“I died. And never got to read it! It’s been driving me crazy!”

“Why are you poking the book?”

“It’s taken me months to figure out how to even touch it! I’m trying to knock it off the shelf so I can read it!”

“Good plan…” I said. “You know what? I’ve got an idea. Can you meet me in my office tonight after the library closes – maybe 7?”

“Sure! What are we going to do?”

“Trust me.”

—

The library closed at 6 and we had everyone out by 6:30. At 6:45 Linda stopped by my office. “Still here?”

“Yeah,” I said, “I wanted to finish shelving the Fantasy books before I go.”

“Okay,” she said. “Lock up on your way out!”

“Will do!”

At 7 sharp the ghost appeared in my office. I jumped.

“Ha! Scared you this time!”

I laughed, “You got me!”

“So…? What’s your idea?”

I smiled and grabbed my phone next to my computer, scrolled through a few things and hit the “play” button.

“This… is Audible,” the vintage Audible intro played.

The ghost raised her eyebrow at me.

A woman’s voice started, “Think Dude Think Audio presents, Cyber Oblivion, A Jordyn Bassett novel. Written and read by the author, A.L. Donnelly.”

The look on the ghost’s face was pure, unadulterated joy! “Are you serious?!”

I hit pause. “So, it’s an 11 hour audiobook and I’m not going to be here all night. Can we do this in one-hour chunks after work?”

“Oh my god,” the ghost said. “Absolutely!”

So, she came by every evening after the library closed and listened to an hour of Cyber Oblivion.

After the 11^th night when A.L. Donnelly had finished reading and the vintage Audible voice said, “Audible hopes you’ve enjoyed this program…” the office lit up as a tiny sun erupted in the corner.

I shielded my eyes against the brightness. “Is that…?”

The ghost turned towards the shining light, “It looks like… it looks like the way to cross over!” She looked at me with tears in her eyes. “Thank you so much! I don’t know how I could ever thank you eno—” her eyes locked on the screen of my phone.

A notification had popped up reading, “Final ‘Black Panther: Wakanda Forever’ Trailer Released Ahead of November 11 debut!”

“Oh, what?!” the ghost put her hands to her face. She looked at the light, then back at the phone, then back at the light, then to the phone…

“You know,” she said, “That’s only like a month away…”

I had every intention of doing Part 2 of yesterday’s story… But that didn’t happen. So here’s a shorter story…

When they come to me, they’re desperate. At their wit’s end. I am their only hope.

And I always come through.

“Please, please, you have to help us!” The most recent clients – let’s call them the Joneses – begged my assistant over the phone. “The ghosts have made our lives a living hell! Our house in untenable! Please!”

Was that the exact thing they said? I’m not sure – it was a variation on that theme. It always is. And the story is always similar: they got the place cheap – too cheap. They moved in only to discover that things go bump in the proverbial night – that’s how it starts. But it always escalates. And they always try “everything.”

For the record, “Everything” includes mostly things that just piss the ghosts off: seances, Ouija board sessions, psychics, maybe the odd clergy member, some burning of sage, and the worst: ghost hunters. Oh Jesus, nothing will turn a ghost from fuss to fright quicker than a tattooed 20-something with copious piercings and a film crew. If they get that far and the ghosts haven’t figured out a way to, uh, disappear the residents (it happens, believe me), then that’s when they call me.

First and foremost: the NDA.

It’s been vetted by a collection of lawyers that scare people more than the ghosts we take care of. Calling it “Iron clad” is the understatement of the year. Suffice it to say: we cover our butts – that’s why you won’t find my name on reddit, or Facebook, or, you name it.

Word of mouth only. And, trust me, we have plenty of business.

“Please, please, you have to help us!” That’s right, the Joneses….

I will walk the house first. Nice place – craftsman, built probably sixty years ago. They’re the latest in a long string of short-stayed residents. Difference is the market is crap and they’re overextended. Make this work or else (fiscally speaking).

By the time I’m back my researcher, Caitlin, has done a full workup on the place: deeds, titles, and property records since time immemorial. I want to know who’s owned it, what they did to it, and what the people they ultimately stole the property from did there. Everything. There’s even a call into the University archeology department. Did I mention Caitlin was good? The best.

Now we know the who, the why, the when. With my boots (well, kitten heels) on the ground, I’ve at least felt the angry denizens of chez Jones. Now it’s time for work.

First: outfit change. I prefer my black leotard with lavender leg warmers ­– yes, I picked those up in the 80’s, and if they were good enough for Jane Fonda, damnit, they’re good enough for my ghosts. Headband on, back to the house.

The Joneses are out of the house – non-negotiable. First thing upon entering, even the most combative spirit is confused by my ensemble. Getting them off-balance at first is key.

“Gather ‘round, spirits, ghosts, ghouls, demons,” this is where they look at each other in confusion. It’s rather amusing, really, if it weren’t so terrifying.

I get right into it. Caitlin presses play on her phone and the Sonos speaker is blasting Bonnie Tyler’s “Holding On For a Hero.”

“Let’s go, ghosts!” I start bouncing back and forth, “Let’s get moving! Get those legs up!” I kick in time with the beat. The spirits are trying to figure out what’s going on, but nothing on earth or beyond can deny Bonnie Tyler. Blood – or ectoplasm – is flowing as Bonnie ends and we drastically change the tempo with some Duran Duran’s “Hungry Like The Wolf.”

“Come on, ghouls! How do you plan on rattling those chains if you can’t keep up here?” I say, moving to the mid-tempo rocker.

I hear you – you’re doubting my methods. Understandable. Stop reading right now – go to the media player of your choice and put on Kenny Loggins’ “Footloose” – the next track I unleash on the undead – and dare tell me that you’re not moving by mid-chorus. I assure you, there isn’t an undead fiend out there who is beyond the reach of Kenny Loggins.

By this point I’ve worked up a sweat (please note the head band is more than aesthetic – it’s absolutely functional!). I can see the ghosts are starting to become more translucent. Some of the younger shades might have already winked out of existence. That’s when I bring out the big guns.

“Eye Of The Tiger.”

It’s double time now, and those ghosts are moving. By the time Dave Bickler announces that the last known survivor stalks his prey in the night, even the most entrenched, depraved, terrifying ghost has winked out of existence.

There’s always the exception, though. The Joneses’ had one ancient spirit that kept time with Bonnie Tyler, it shifted to Duran Duran. Even Kenny Loggins wasn’t too much for it, and for Eye of the Tiger, I guess you could say this ghoul was the real Survivor…

When the song ended, I stared into the ghost’s red eyes and said, “Great job on the cardio. Next we start leg day!” Poof.

The house is clear.

Another successful round of exercising the ghosts.

I know I just finished a multi-part story, and here I go again splitting this one. It felt right, though – there’s two distinct locations for this story and this seemed like a natural place to split it. And I’ve got a big weekend coming up, so it’s nice to have the second half already mapped out in my brain. In any event, get a coat – it’s going to get cold…

“Yeah, I’m a San Francisco girl,” Melissa smiled. God, that smile!

“I didn’t think anyone was actually, you know, from San Francisco. It seems like everyone moved here. You must feel like an endangered species.”

“That’s me,” she laughed and flipped her blonde hair, “a rare bird!” We both laughed. “How about you? I know now you’re not of the same endangered species as me,” she waggled her eyebrows and I swear something melted inside me. “Where did you grow up?”

“I grew up in Michigan,” I said.

“Oh,” she said. “Like Detroit?”

“You get points for naming a city in Michigan,” I laughed. “No, I lived in a tiny town in the Upper Peninsula. Have you heard of Marquette?”

“Just their basketball team.”

“College basketball fan,” I gave an approving look. “Another point in your favor.”

“Thank you, thank you,” she said nodding.

“But Marquette University is actually in Wisconsin. Milwaukee. Marquette, Michigan is a town on Lake Superior and was like a thriving metropolis for the tiny town I lived in.”

“That sounds adorable!”

“If by ‘adorable’ you mean cold as hell in the winter, you’re spot on,” I laughed. “My dad owned the gas station and garage in town.”

“Wow, small town boy!” she said as the waiter brought our drinks and we were both quiet for a moment as she tried her Sauvignon Blanc and I tasted my Old Fashioned. “I’ll remember not to make any comments about being cold in our California ‘winters’” she actually made air quotes with her fingers when she said “winters.” “What brought you out to California?”

I thought about how to summarize so much. This first date was going great and I felt genuine chemistry. But it was our first date, so I went for the abbreviated version. “My dad died when I was in high school,” I said. “My mom had left when I was a little kid, so I didn’t have anything tying me to the upper peninsula… I got a cross country scholarship offer for Berkeley and, well…” My blood ran cold as I saw my glass frost over. I needed to change the subject. “That was, fifteen years ago… how long until this transplant gets native status?”

She raised an eyebrow and said, “You know, the red-tailed fox has been in the state since the 1880s and they’re still considered invasive…”

The frost on my glass had gotten so thick that I had to take my hand off it. It didn’t look like Melissa had noticed, though. “So, you’re saying I have no chance.”

She tipped her head and smiled a gorgeously wicked smile. “Well, like Vulpes vulpes, here you are preying on a native species…”

The frost was spreading and I could see ice crystals radiating out from my glass. Not now, I thought. Shit. “You know a lot about the red-tailed fox,” I said.

“I’m a wildlife manager for the East Bay Regional Park District and we’re studying whether we want– Oh my god, what is that?” she said as she noticed the frost spreading towards her side of the table and instinctively recoiled.

Before I could say something —and I had no idea what I was going to say to explain it — the rocks glass, thick with frost cracked with a loud pop, its liquid contents spilling across the table.

Melissa leapt up to avoid the spilled alcohol. Then she screamed.

I looked in the direction she was looking and saw Him sitting next to me in the booth. He looked the same as always –ten years old, mop of black hair, freckles standing out starkly on the unnaturally-pale skin, eyes black. Not dark – fully black, empty eyes stared at Melissa who grabbed for her purse as she scrambled back through the restaurant towards the door. I didn’t move. Every eye in the diner was on me and the booth but by that point the boy had vanished, as had the frost leaving behind just a spilled drink and me, alone. Again.

—–

“Oh shit, Richie. It happened again, didn’t it?”

“’Hi Richie, how are you?’ ‘Thanks for asking, Jules. Not great, actually…’” I said into the phone as I walked up 23^rd Street towards the house I shared. “Jesus, am I that predictable?”

“Hi Richie, how are you?” she recited her line. “No, that doesn’t work. Look, it’s not that you’re predictable, but for fuck’s sake, it’s 9:30 on a Friday night. You’re either calling me from jail or because your ghost ruined another date.”

“There’s no other reason?”

“It could have been the coroner calling because I’m listed as the emergency contact.”

“You’re a morbid bitch, Jules.”

“That’s why you love me!”

“What am I going to do, Jules? He keeps showing up! I swear it’s getting worse!” I fumbled with my keys in the front door of the three-story Victorian.

“You’re going to have to face him or…”

“Face him? How?” I asked stepping inside and locking the door behind me.

“Sooner or later you’re going to have to come back to Ishpeming.”

I waved at my housemate, Lyra, doing yoga in the front room as I walked to my room. She waved and then turned inclined her head curiously. “Yeah, because I want to go back to Ishpeming in the dead of winter…” I fumbled with the lock on the door to my room.

She sighed, “I’ve got a spare room for you, Richie. You know that.”

“Thanks, Jules. You’re a good friend.”

“Was she cute?”

I closed the door and flopped onto my bed, “Ugh, so cute!”

“Shit.”

“Shit,” I repeated. “It’s after midnight there. I’m keeping you up. I’ll call you later. Thank you,” I said sincerely.

“You’ve always had my back, Richie; I’ve always got yours.”

“You’re a good friend,” I said with a smile on my face.

“Don’t you forget it!” she said, laughed, and hung up.

A knock came at my door. I opened it and saw Lyra standing there with a funny look on her face. “Hey Lyra,” I said. “Everything okay?”

“Who’s the kid that followed you in?”

My blood ran cold. “Oh geez, you saw him?” I looked around wildly for Him. “Where is He?”

Lyra stared at me for a long moment then her eyes widened in recognition. “He’s you!” she said.

“He… yeah… I mean… was me, I guess….” I kept peering around her tiny frame trying to get a glimpse of Him.

“He’s behind you. Sitting on your bed.” Then she screwed up her face. “I mean, I guess you’re behind you on your bed? This is getting complicated…”

I spun but didn’t see anything on my bed. “I don’t see anything.”

“Oh sorry,” she said, then leaned really close to my face and said seriously with wide eyes, “I see dead people.” Then giggled.

Jesus Christ, why do I surround myself with these people?!

Her giggle subsided and she walked past me into my room and sat in my desk chair staring at my bed, presumably at my ghost. “Why are you haunting yourself?” Then she held up a finger, “No, how are you haunting yourself? That’s a better place to start.”

I moved to the bed and sat down right where she had indicated my ghost was sitting.

“He’s right– ooh,” she winced.

“Good,” I said. “I hope I smothered the bastard for ruining my date.”

“Ooh, with Melissa?”

“Yeah,” I said sadly.

“So, how?”

I let out a sigh and started at the beginning. “I died when I was ten,” I said. “Me and Joey Turturro were skating on a lake just outside town. It was the middle of March and we had an early thaw. We weren’t supposed to be out there, but we…” I scoffed, “I don’t even remember why we thought it was so important to skate that day.” I looked up and met Lyra’s eyes, “Kid logic, right? Everything is so important in the moment…” I thought back to that unseasonably warm day on the ice. I remembered the cracking. The careful moving back towards thicker ice. “The ice cracked beneath me. I fell in. Joey went for help, but… small town, you know? They pulled my body out and I was…” I made a flat gesture with my hand, “cold. Dead. I was dead, clinically. Life Flighted to St. Cloud. Something about the frigid temperature preserved my body… I’ve read stuff about it since but it doesn’t make much sense to me. But they… brought me back.”

“And your ghost?”

“He didn’t show up for a few years, and then it was just fleeting glimpses – I’d see him standing on a frozen pond looking at me as I drove past, or I’d see him in the reflection of a window…”

“It’s gotten worse?”

I nodded.

“You’re going to have to face him.”

I laughed, “You sound like my friend Julie.”

“Work friend?” Lyra asked.

“From Michigan. We grew up together. She might as well have been my sister.” I put my hands behind me and leaned back in the bed only to sink my hands into a layer of frost on the bedspread. I jumped up at the shock of cold.

Lyra, for her part, didn’t so much as flinch. “Yeah, Julie is right. You’re going to have to face your ghost.”