Page 72 of Love at First Fright

“I just told you, he’s fine.” Definitely annoyed now. “All that muscle would have protected his precious bones.”

I turned in a slow circle. Trees. Bushes. Crumbling stone fountain. No person.

“Where…” I wrapped both arms around myself. “Where are you?”

“You can’t see me.”

“No shit.”

Silence stretched between us. Me and the invisible voice. Me and the ghost.

Because that’s what this was, wasn’t it? A ghost. A real, actual ghost. Having a conversation with me in a garden while my colleague lay possibly unconscious or dead in an attic.

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“Do you…” The voice hesitated. “Do you want to see me?” Was he hopeful? Uncertain?

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “Well, it might be more polite?” I paused, heart hammering. “As long as you aren’t scary looking, like that one-eyed maid.”

A weighted silence.

“I’m not… scary looking. Not like that, anyway.”

“Okay. Well.” I forced my breathing to slow. “Any time today, then.”

Nothing happened. Just the rustle of leaves. The distant call of a crow.

“Come under that tree.” He sounded… almost miserable? “It’s harder to see me in bright light.”

I glanced around. The nearest tree—a gnarled oak—spread its branches a few metres to my left. Its shadow clustered dark and cool beneath.

My legs moved before my brain caught up. I stepped into the shade.

And watched as reality tore itself apart.

First, just a shimmer. Like heat haze rising from summer tarmac. Then the shimmer gained depth. Substance. The vague suggestion of a shape, human-sized, standing directly in front of me.

Colour bled into existence. Black first—black hair, falling almost to his shoulders in a curtain of darkness. Black T-shirt. Black jeans, ripped at the knees. Then pale skin, so pale it seemed to glow in the shadows. A face materialized. Young. Sharp cheekbones. Kohl‑rimmed eyes. Multiple ear piercings glinting silver.

A ghost.

A real ghost.

Standing three feet away from me.

His weight shifted from foot to foot. One hand rose, gave a small, awkward wave. “Um… hello.”

The laugh that burst from my throat sounded manic even to my own ears. High. Breathless. Bordering on hysterical.

“You’re really a ghost.”

“Yes.” He watched me carefully, head tilted slightly. “Really a ghost.”

If I didn’t know better, I’d think he seemed nervous. But ghosts didn’t get nervous. Did they?

“Um… thanks for showing yourself to me?” It came out stilted. Formal. Like I was thanking someone for holding a door open.

“Oh… well.” His teeth caught his lower lip. “That’s okay. It’s just… I wasn’t sure if you’d um… like my appearance.”