It’s ridiculous to think ghosts could be about in sunlight, but there she was, I had
seen her before and I wasn't scared. I watched her out of the corner of my eye as I sipped my coffee. The ghost was openly studying me, so I in turn gave her my full attention. Perhaps she was twelve or thirteen with a steady gaze and soft brown eyes, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt.
Daylight, no sheet, I could just see my husbands eyebrows rise in that supercilious
way if I told him that there was a ghost, wearing jeans, in our kitchen. She was certainly a ghost, the kitchen clock said 10.20 and I could read it through her shirt. What do you say to a ghost? I waited hoping she would speak first.
If I reached out, would my hand go through the shirt?
The ghost smiled,could she read my mind? That wasn't in any movies. I suppose I’ll have to speak first, perhaps it's ghost etiquette to only speak when spoken to. The ghost smiled again.
“Now look here,” I said,’ I don't think you should be able to read my mind if I can't read yours”
'What makes you think you can't read mine' the question was there, but the girl hadn't spoken, I could feel her speaking to my heart.
How silly, drinking coffee and mind reading with a ghost.
“How did you die?”, the words came more easily.
“Do you have unfinished business?” Surely all those movies couldn’t be wrong.
'Well no, I haven't died, but I’m not born yet either', her spirit sounded small and lost,
'I need your help because I want to live.’
“I don’t understand, who are you?” I gasped as I felt her reply.
'You're my mother,or you could be if you help me.’
“How can you be mine? If you can read minds you know I take contraceptives.”
How could I bring any child into this marriage? I studied my bruised cheek in the window.
“I’m not your mother and you wouldn’t want him as a father.” It sounded harsh,
“I can’t protect a child from him. I’m sorry, I wish you were mine.”
'I could be if you leave before he comes home,” her eyes were warm and pleading.
‘Leave and I will be your child in the future, stay and he will kill you tonight.’
“I can't leave, he will come after me.”I panicked,“You can't want him as a father , you would never be safe”
'He isn't my father, my father is in your future. A safe future, if you leave now.’
This beautiful girl could be my child , I stepped closer, her image wavered.
‘Hurry, leave now!’
“How will I know your father?” I asked, grabbing the case hidden in the broom cupboard after yesterday's beating.
The child had gone, but the thought came to me with her laughter,
'I have his eyes'
​

Dragging his carry-on suitcase behind him, Carl wearily pushes through the door. After three connections and a delayed flight, he’s finally home.

Wiping his brow, he looks up to see Marci, their “babysitter,” lost in a book sitting in the recliner. She’s brought back to the real world only when he clears his throat.

“Oh, Mr. G! You’re home. Mrs. G said you’d probably be late. She had to go to work.”

“Yeah, the wonderful world of flying. How’s Mark?”

“You know, other than grumbling about me having to be here, he’s lost in that video game, Dark Fantasy.”

Carl smiles. “Something about being 12 makes you think you’re ready for the world.” He reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out his wallet.

“No need, Mr. G, Mrs. G paid already.”

He nods, but yet pulls out a 10. “Here, a little extra for all you do...and puttin’ up with a 12-year-old’s attitude.”

She laughs and takes the bill with a thanks. Tossing her book in her pack, she starts for the entry.
“You need a ride or anything?”

“Nope, but thanks. Got my dad’s car.” She flashes another quick smile and waves, then slides through the door.

Carl moves over to the front window, keeping an eye until she’s safe in the car and on her way. Loosening his tie, he heads up the stairs, giving a light tap on Mark’s door before stepping in.

“Oh, hey, Dad. Didn’t know you were back.”

“Just got in. How’s Mom?”

“Good. Think she had to work or somethin’.”

“So I heard.” Carl juts his chin in the direction of the curtained window. “You know, there’s this bright thing called the sun out there calling for you. We could go out and toss a ball or something. Supposed to be nice tomorrow again and I’m off...maybe we could go fishin’?”

“Thanks, Dad. Maybe some other time. I just got to Level 16, Shadowland.” He takes a deep sigh.
​
“But I’m kinda stuck. My partner has been off line since last night, and you really need to team up for this next demon.”

“Partner?”

“Yeah. T-Rex44. He’s really a cool dude. We’ve been kickin’ as...uh, butt together since Level 5.”

“A cool dude, eh?” He smiles and shakes his head. “Okay, well I’m gonna get these stinkin’ work clothes off and kick back for a bit. I’ll come get you for dinner later.”

“Can’t we just order a pizza?”

Carl gives his head another shake. “Okay, sounds good.”

He heads down the hall, tucking into the master bedroom, twisting the lock on the door as he closes it behind him. He tosses his suit jacket and tie on the bed, then slips into the “sitting nook,” a little alcove in the large room. He sits at the desk, jet lag taking its toll, and fires up the PC.

A beep tells him the PC is alive, and clicks on the application. 

Twelve-year-old Katy Moore sometimes thought jealously of her friends, who all were seemingly having a great Summer. Going to the mall, having pool parties, talking about boys, and at least two of her friends had their first boyfriend.

But not her. She was invited to do things, of course, and sometimes she went, but when she did, she found it hard to pretend to be happy. It was the middle of July, and it felt like mostly what she had done this Summer was either listen to her parents fighting, or wait in dread for the inevitable next one.

They fight about a lot of things, but one thing that stuck in her mind was when her dad told her mom they had nothing in common anymore, and that was one thing she agreed with him about.

It hurt her when they fought because she loved them both. She yearned for their happy family again. Or at least, she used to. Lately, she mostly felt resentment towards them because of their never-ending fighting about the same stupid things, and how they hardly ever talk to her anymore.

She used to hide in her room and cry when they fought, but now she just felt kind of numb. She didn't even really fear them getting a divorce anymore. She sometimes wondered why they didn't just get one, instead of torturing themselves and her.

It was a hot, sunny Saturday morning and even before the fight, she felt the same old tension in the air. She sat at the kitchen table, playing with her hair, and stared at the bowl of Frosted Flakes that she didn't want anymore. Her mom had walked in and stood over by the oven. Her dad had followed and stood by the refrigerator, and right away they started arguing. As usual, they didn't seem to even care that she was there.

Nothing in common, Katy thought, angrily. I wonder if I could change that today?

She'd thought about it for a while, and it was becoming more than just a morbid fantasy, but something she thought she could really do. In fact, the thing was in her room right now, hidden under her bed since early this month, and all ready. She smiled bitterly. She was tired of all this.

She got up from the table and went into her bedroom and shut the door. Neither of them noticed.

***

They continued.

"That's not it, at all,” he said.

"Then what is it? Why don't you just tell me that?” she said.

"Your goddamn attitude, for one thing!" he yelled.

"You made me have this attitude!” she yelled back.

"Oh, bullshit! You—"

A loud bang roared through the house. They both screamed in surprise and stared at each other, eyes wide and mouths open. All their anger was forgotten.

"My God, that sounded like it came from Katy's room!" her mom said, frightened.

They both yelled her name and ran to her bedroom together
​

On a particularly sunny Wednesday afternoon, the Twin rushes home like a wretched shadow of his former self and hands his heart to you. ‘Here, take it. I don’t want it anymore.’
You receive the heart smeared with blood and grime on the palm of your hand, the way one might receive a delicate chicken. The organ was still beating.
‘Why? What’s the matter?’
‘I don’t want to talk about it. Just take it.’ The twin retires on the sofa like a war-torn general.
‘But it makes no sense. Your heart should belong to you only. In any case, what I am supposed to do with it?’
‘Burn it. Throw it away. Slow-boil it, for all I care. I’m done with it.’
He falters towards the bookshelf and picks up a copy of ‘The Outsider’ by Camus. You just stand there dumbstruck, having no clue what to do with a beating heart.
You almost throw it away, but then decide against it. Maybe it’s better to slow boil it after all. ‘A peppery broth of the Twin’s heart’-there’s a certain flavor in the phrase.
You’ve always been an innovative cook and a voracious reader for that matter. The Twin had his mind over football and motorcycle repair.
You wash the heart of the grime and blood. You put the heart inside a pot with some water and light up the stove.
‘Camus was a filthy bastard!’ the Twin proclaims and throws away the copy. He was never much of a reader.
From inside the pot, you could still hear the faint lub-dub under the hissing sound of the boiling water.
‘Gosh, that’s a strong heart. Wonder why he wants to get rid of it’-you think.
The Twin has picked up a copy of ‘A Moveable Feast’ by Hemingway.
You start chopping onions and garlic.
The Twin rushes through the pages.
‘Hemingway is just a drunk guy who is profoundly over-hyped’. He throws away the book.
You sigh. You’ve seen the pattern enough times to recognize. It’s a downward spiral. He’ll end up settling for Dostoyevsky and feel miserable for no particular reason.
Inside the pot, the vegetables flow in a serene manner centering the heart, quite like ballet dancers. The Twin is rummaging through the bookshelf.
‘Isn’t there a single decent book in your collection??’
You toss fish sauce and pepper into the pot. The broth is almost done. Sure enough, the Twin has picked up a torn copy of ‘Crime and Punishment’. You gracefully scoop up the heart along with some broth and put it in a soup bowl.
‘Do you wanna taste of it?’
The Twin doesn’t reply. He just sits there with his hands over his temple. The book lies open on his lap.
You put a spoonful of heart inside your mouth. The visions rush in like a torrent. Ah, now you remember. It was raining. You were inside a cafe. She was wearing a red dress. You start to feel miserable for no particular reason.
​