Page 7 of Haunt Me, Maybe

“Absolutely not,” he growled, voice low and rough. “No witches.”

My heart slammed into my ribs, and my breath caught. Not from fear, but because I could see him. Perfectly. He wasn’t see-through. Wasn’t wavery or floaty. He looked like a man. An annoyed, muscular, ghostly man.

He scowled at my unpacked belongings, at the giant toad rooted defensively at my feet, then at me. “Get. Out.”

I pushed my shock aside and squared my shoulders. Perhaps once he saw I wasn’t easily cowed, he’d go haunt some other room. I waited, the silence stretching, but the ghost still hadn’t dissipated into a wisp of smoke. Joy. Everything about this day was going right down the proverbial toilet.

The ghost stepped closer, and a gust of cold air moved with him. “Get out of my attic.”

“No.”

He blinked, like he wasn’t expecting me to respond. Then anger flashed. “You can hear me.”

“Great deductive skills, Casper.”

“Then why haven’t you left yet?” He pointed to my satchel. “Put all that witchcraft away and go.”

“Look,” I snapped. “I don’t care who died up here⁠—”

“That would be me. Thanks.”

I found myself crossing my arms, mirroring his stance. He was intentionally antagonizing me, and his half-sneer made my stomach flip in a weird way. Could one be offended and intrigued at the same time? Oh, and annoyed. Still that.

“Okay, then maybe move on,” I demanded. “Find the light or whatever?”

“I tried that. Light’s overrated. And you’re in my room.”

I blinked. The audacity.

“Excuse me?” I still couldn’t…

“You heard me, or do I need to use simpler words?” His head cocked to the side, and his lip curled in disgust. “Although I don’t know what’s easier than, ‘Get. Out.’”

Obvious distaste rolled off him in waves, so strong I could taste it. I met his gaze with a hard stare and set my hands on my hips.

“And I don’t know why you can’t seem to understand the word no.”

My defiance enraged him even more. Between one blink and the next, he was right in front of me. Another attempt at intimidation, and this time it worked. My hands rose on instinct…and landed right on his chest.

Fenn croaked with alarm, but it was too late. We both froze.

Looking down at where we touched, his eyes widened in terror. “What—what did you do to me?”

I stared back, breathless. “I didn’t do anything!”

I didn’t. I wasn’t even sure how touching a ghost was possible. But he didn’t feel like a ghost. He was warmth, and muscle, and heartbeat; all things that weren’t synonymous with the undead. My fingers curled into the planes of his chest before pushing him away.

Fatigue swept over me, and it was a struggle to keep my shoulders from slumping. I planned to be curled up in bed and fast asleep by now. This new hurdle was detrimentally cutting into my peace. And to top it off, my palms tingled.

With a safe amount of distance between us once more, the ghost watched me warily, and perhaps with more respect.

“You’re a problem,” he whispered, voice rough with fear. But his body language betrayed his temper. “I don’t want problems in my house.”

Neither did I, buddy; we were both limited on choices right now. Tears flooded my eyes, but I didn’t let them fall. Tilting my chin so he wouldn’t see my moment of weakness and pounce on it, I clenched my fists.

“I have nowhere else to go,” I quietly admitted. “So, if your plan is to chase me out, you’re going to have to try harder.”

None of this was fair. Not my life. Not losing my family. And not being made to feel so small after everything I’d already been through. I really should have grabbed my shit and slept in the car like a sensible witch, but I deserved that damn bed, and no obnoxious ghost was going to chase me out of it.