AN ELECTRIC BLUE 1971 Dodge Demon rumbled into the driveway of a creaky old two-story house. 

After killing the engine, Dean Ransom climbed out of the American muscle car with a laden brown paper grocery sack and made his way to the front door of the house, oblivious of the opaque face watching him from an upper bedroom window. 

Six months ago, Dean had moved in with the five cats that he had collected since university. Within the first week, four of five cats ran away, leaving him alone with a rambunctious cat named Hahn. 

Letting himself into the house, Dean shut the door behind him. “I’m home!”

An orange cat exploded from around a corner and made a mad dive for his shoelaces. 

Sighing, Dean walked gingerly down the front hall to the kitchen with the furious furry flurry attached to his ankles, careful not to step on a paw or tail, or trip, as he’d done many times.

“All right, okay, gimme a sec.” 

Setting the bag on the small round kitchen table, Dean pulled off one shoe and tossed it into the living room. Hahn the cat tore after it with an arched back, her paws slipping on the hardwood floor.

“You’re so weird.” 

Dean rummaged in the paper sack. He withdrew fresh fruit, frozen vegetables, and a fresh round of sliced sourdough bread. As he did, he noticed movement in his peripheral vision and, wondering if Hahn had already lost interest in the first shoe and needed another, glanced back over his shoulder. 

A pillar of black fog loomed at his elbow.

Yelping, Dean looked away quickly, wide-eyed. Heart hammering, he took a deep breath in through his nose and then exhaled for a very long moment before lifting his chin. 

“Okay.” Dean faced the fog. “You got me good that time.” 

The fog condensed into a pale young woman wearing a vintage grayscale sundress, with a mute giggle and long inky hair that floated in frozen waves. 

“Seriously,” said Dean as he put groceries away, “when Fabian stops by on Halloween and tries to pull his usual crap, you and I are going all out… Oh hey, look what I got.” 

From the bag, Dean pulled a paperback book and a small bouquet of white daisies nestled in a cloud of angel’s breath. 

The ghost’s face lit up which made Dean smile, too.

“I thought you’d like that.” He placed the bouquet in a glass vase with water and set it in the center of the table.

The ghost sank into one of the four chairs like a ballerina underwater and studied the blooms dreamily. Whenever she gazed like that, her usually murky dead eyes glittered a striking unearthly blue. 

And Dean always caught himself staring.

Shaking it off after a moment, he folded the now empty paper bag, setting it aside, and picked up the paperback. “You want me to read to you today or not…?”

The ghost sat tall and flapped both hands at him, shaking her head in a distressed way.

“I don’t know what that means.”

She gestured to the flowers, the other chairs, pointing vaguely at everything around the kitchen as though her mode of communication made perfect sense, before looking up at him imploringly. 

Dean fought to suppress a grin. She was fun to tease. However whenever she realized the joke was on her, she’d smile along with him which sort of made him feel like a jerk so he didn’t do it too often.

Honestly, if I didn’t already know what she meant, we’d never get anywhere. 

“I’m kidding, just kidding.” Dean sat and cracked open the crisp new book. “You ready?” 

She beamed beautifully.

Hahn hopped up on the table. 

Wearing only one shoe, Dean read aloud from The Black Arrow by Robert Louis Stevenson as the ghost, ignoring the meowing feline, settled with her elbows on the tabletop and her chin in cupped hands, and lost her glittering gaze in the flowers.

So what if it’s creepy? He smiled at his new home, oblivious to the opaque face watching him from an upper bedroom window. “I like it.”

Six months ago, he moved in with the ten cats he’d collected since university despite his sisters’ constant harassment about becoming a male “cat lady.” He didn’t care, though; he loved cats. Unfortunately within the first week of moving in, nine cats out of ten ran away, leaving him alone in the big house with the youngest – a happy-go-lucky, abnormally friendly orange-and-white female named Hahn.

Entering the house, he shut the door behind him. “I’m home!”

Hahn exploded from around a corner and made a mad dive for his shoelaces. Unsurprised, Dean walked gingerly down the front hall into the kitchen with the furious furry scramble attached to his ankles, careful not to step on a paw or trip as he’d done many a time.

“All right, okay.” Setting bags on the small round kitchen table, he pulled off one shoe and chucked it in the other room. Paws slipping on the hardwood floor, Hahn tore after it with an arched back.

“You’re so weird…” He rummaged in one of the paper sacks. Setting canned fruit on the table, he noticed a tall shape in his peripheral vision. He looked. A dense human-shaped fog loomed at his elbow.

He flinched wildly, then leant on the table with both hands, hanging his head, to compose himself. After a long exhale, he straightened with a mildly grey face. “Okay, you got me good that time.”

The fog condensed into a petite young woman wearing a sundress his grandmother might’ve worn in her youth, with tame inky hair and a mute giggle.

“Seriously.” He winked, returning to the bags. “When Eric stops by on Halloween and tries to pull his crap on me, we are going all out. Hey, look what I got.”

From the emptier bag he pulled a paperback book and a small bouquet of white daisies nestled in a cloud of angel’s breath. The ghost’s pallid face lit up which made him smile, too.

“I thought you’d like that.” He proceeded to put the bouquet in a vase with water which he set in the center of the table.

She sank into a chair at the table like a ballerina underwater and studied the blooms dreamily. Whenever she gazed like that, her usually murky dead eyes glittered a striking unearthly blue. Dean always caught himself staring.

Shaking it off, he put away the few groceries and returned to the table where he picked up the paperback. “You want me to read to you or are you good?”

Blinking, she sat straighter and flapped both hands at him, shaking her head.

He paused. “I don’t know what that means.”

She gestured to the only other chair at the table, pointing vaguely at everything around the kitchen as though her mode of communication made perfect sense.

Attempting to feign confusion, he fought to suppress a grin. She was fun to tease. However whenever she realized the joke was on her, she’d innocently smile along with him which sort of made him feel like a jerk so he didn’t do it too often.

Honestly, if I didn’t already know what she meant, we’d never get anywhere. “I’m kidding, just kidding.” He sat and cracked open the crisp new book. “You ready?”

She nodded.

Hahn hopped up on the table. Wearing only one shoe Dean read aloud from The Black Arrow by Robert Louis Stevenson as the spirit, ignoring the meowing feline, settled with elbows on the tabletop and chin in cupped hands, and lost her gaze in the flowers.