I was born a chatterbox, and I pride myself on having a rock-solid moral compass. I’m willing to debate anyone, anytime, about anything. If you need advice or a hot take, I’m your girl. And by "anyone," I don't just mean the living. I mean the dead, too. I’ve been haunted by this brooding, clingy male ghost. Every night, he insists on being the big spoon. "Babe, why aren't you reading those affirmations today?" he whispered. Affirmations? I wasn't manifesting! My throat was just scratchy, okay? 1 I talk too much. It’s a condition. I love lecturing people. Even when I’m in an Uber, I can’t help but coach the road-raging driver. "Swearing is bad for your cortisol levels," I told him. "And passing on the shoulder? That’s a traffic violation and morally ambiguous." The driver, fueled by caffeine and fury, kicked me out halfway to my destination. Before he sped off, I leaned into the window. "You need to be rational. Acting on impulse is a trauma response. You’ll feel better when you accept that." He flipped me off. Then, to prove a point, he floored it. It was an electric car, so the acceleration was instant. Too bad he ran a red light. He didn't see the speed camera. I sighed. I forgot to warn him about that trap. I called my dad. No answer. I texted my mom. Ding. A notification from my bank app. $10,000 deposited. Mom’s text followed: [Sweetie, your father and I are finally having a peaceful spa day. Please, go buy something shiny and leave us alone.] Another $10,000 hit my account. Seriously? Why does everyone find me annoying? What did I do wrong? I’m just trying to make the world a more civilized place. I couldn’t call my friends. They’ve all muted my notifications. I was stranded on a desolate road. I had to rent one of those electric scooters and wobble my way to the new property my dad bought for me. By the time I arrived, the sun had set. I looked up at the house. No wonder it was cheap. It was a mid-century modern nightmare in the middle of nowhere. Who builds a mansion in a dead zone? 2 I walked inside. It was spotless. My dad had already sent a cleaning crew and movers to unpack my stuff. He really wanted me out of the main house so he could enjoy his empty nest. Rude. The porch light flickered. Probably faulty wiring. It flickered again. Definitely faulty wiring. Just as I stepped into the foyer, a gust of wind slammed the front door wide open. Leaves swirled in like a tornado. Creeeeeak. It was the classic horror movie entrance. I relaxed. At least it wasn't a zombie. Ghosts I can handle. Ghosts are rational; they used to be people. I cleared my throat and used my "customer service" voice. "Hello, original inhabitant. I’m the new owner. I know you hate gentrification, but my dad dropped five million on this place. I have rights." "You can haunt the guest house if you want." The wind stopped. The lights stabilized. But I smelled a distinct scent of annoyance in the air. I doubled down. "Moving is stressful, even for the spectral. We can be roommates. But let's set boundaries. You don't pay property tax, so you don't get master bedroom privileges." "Also, scaring people is rude. Didn't your mother teach you manners? Be a polite ghost." The lights in the living room flared to life. I saw a silhouette. Even in the dim light, I could tell. This was a god-tier handsome man. I guess my luck was finally turning. I skipped into the living room. The ghost drifted to the corner where a grand piano sat. He sat down and began to play. My family is "new money," so I don't know Mozart from Beethoven, but it sounded expensive. Melancholy. Beautiful. I sat on the couch and entered "Hype Girl" mode. "Damn! That’s fire!" Compliments need to feel raw to be genuine. "Seriously, that was spiritual. My ears have been blessed. I feel purified. The emotion? The angst? Unmatched. No Grammy winner could touch you." I rambled for three solid minutes. I got distracted by his profile. He was stunning. Pale skin, sharp jawline, messy hair, and a tear mole under his eye that made him look tragic and sexy. "This song is so handsome... I mean, this ghost is so catchy..." The music stopped abruptly. He turned. His eyes were dark and moody. High nose bridge. Thin lips. Prominent Adam's apple. Holy... He was gorgeous. It’s a tragedy that we’re on different planes of existence. Wait. Ghost movie starring Demi Moore? It can work. He faded away before I could ask for his Instagram handle. 3 Delivery fees out here are criminal. Good thing I have my parents' credit card. I ordered everything. Spicy wings, crawfish boil, truffle fries, a whole cake, and three boba teas. I was ripping into a bag of wings when the hot ghost reappeared. I offered him a wing. He looked at me with infinite sadness. "I’m not alive." Right. My bad. I opened all the containers and set them out like a shrine. "Inhale the vibes," I suggested. He actually tried. Then he started coughing. Or, the ghost equivalent of coughing. His face turned red. He choked out one word: "Spicy." I hurriedly poked a straw into a milk tea and offered it to him. He looked like he’d been through a war. His lips were swollen and red. I stared. A six-foot-two ghost looking this disheveled? If I had a physical form that could touch him... well, let's just say I’d be cancelled for my thoughts. He felt my gaze. "What are you thinking?" "Just admiring the aesthetic," I lied effortlessly. "You’re giving Victorian Prince mixed with Calvin Klein model." He blushed. Cute. After eating, I showered and flopped onto the king-sized bed in the master suite. In the middle of the night, I felt a dip in the mattress. I opened my eyes. The hot ghost was lying next to me. He was asleep. This was it. The universe was rewarding me for all my good deeds. I was living in a paranormal romance novel. Weirdly, on the bed, he looked solid. I poked his cheek. Soft. I got bolder. I touched his collarbone. Then his chest. Abs. I went lower. His hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. I froze. I quickly scanned my brain for "laws against molesting the undead." "Sorry," I squeaked. "The flesh is weak." He stared at my left wrist for a long time. "You’re still wearing the bracelet." "So, you admit you’re still my fiancée?" Huh? I looked at the vintage emerald bracelet on my wrist. I swiped this from my mom's jewelry box before I left because it looked expensive. "This is an heirloom my family gives to the daughter-in-law," he whispered, tracing the green stone. What? No. My mom has a shopping addiction; she probably bought this at an estate sale. This ghost is delusional. "You've got the wrong girl, Casper," I said. He was silent for a moment, then vanished. I lay there, mourning the loss of the abs under my fingertips. Later that night, half-asleep, I felt strong arms wrap around me. I was too tired to fight it. It felt safe. I snuggled backward into the cold embrace and slept like a baby. 4 I woke up screaming. I was tangled in the ghost's limbs. "Ahhh!" He woke up, sat up, and rubbed his eyes. Sunlight streamed through the window, hitting his face. He looked like a painting. Wait. Sunlight? Ghost? "Why aren't you burning up?" I asked. "It's noon." He looked confused, his hair messy. "Why would I burn?" He stood up and walked directly into a sunbeam. Okay, so movies lied to me again. Not a vampire, not a traditional ghost. Maybe a day-walker?
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