Page 110 of Love at First Fright

Choices flickered through my consciousness like a bad slideshow:

Hide under the covers.

Jump out the window.

Roll over and play dead.

No. That last one hit too close to home.

Right. Time to face the music. Or in this case, face the gorgeous, angry man who’d just caught me red-handed. Or red-pawed, I suppose.

Leaving a body wasn’t pleasant. Like peeling off a wetsuit that’s been glued to your skin. The cat’s consciousness pushed back against mine, confused and irritated at the intrusion. I pulled myself free, feeling the awful wrongness of occupying space that wasn’t mine.

The separation happened in stages. First the edges—whiskers, tail, the tips of the ears. Then the core. The cat’s heartbeat faded from my awareness. The scent of salmon treats disappeared. The warm weight of fur and flesh evaporated.

I drifted upward, formless.

The cat shook itself violently, let out a confused meow, and bolted from the room like its tail was on fire.

Charlie’s eyes darted around, searching. Left, right, up toward the ceiling. His breath came faster.

“Where are you? I swear… I swear I can feel you here. But I can’t see you…”

The stress in his tone. The sadness underneath. That got me.

I pulled myself together—literally—forcing the memory of my body back into existence. The familiar weight of my form. The sensation of occupying space. The leather collar around my neck, the fabric of my shirt, the cold press of my smudged eyeliner.

I materialised at the foot of the bed.

Charlie’s eyes locked onto me immediately.

“Nice pyjamas,” I quipped.

He did not look impressed.

“Please don’t be mad,” I said.

“For what, exactly?” he hissed. “Licking me to death? Neglecting to tell me you enjoy possessing furry felines too? Kissing me and then literally ghosting me?”

What? “Um… all of the above?”

“Leaving me alone in that creepy garden to find my way back myself?”

“Okay, okay, I get it. I’m sorry.”

Charlie’s frown deepened behind his glasses. That familiar curl of self-loathing twisted inside me. Did I really have to go and fuck up the one good thing that had happened in my entire afterlife?

Years and years of haunting this manor. An eternity of the same faces, the same rooms, the same endless nothing. And now this beautiful, kind, lovely man had stumbled into my non‑existence, played my guitar, fetched me books, danced with me in Thomas’s garden, and I’d gone and ruined it.

Classic Bat. Self-sabotage had been my speciality when I was alive, apparently carried over into death.

“So… what happened?” Charlie asked. His voice dropped lower. Quieter. “You just… left me.”

“I know. I’m so sorry. Really.”

“You know what, Bat?” Charlie shoved his glasses up his nose. “I’m already being treated like crap by Brad here. On top of being terrorised by ghosts—no offence—and stuck in this nightmare of a job. I don’t need you fucking with me on top of that.”

The words hit like a punch to the heart. “That was never my intention.”