Goose Groupie Challenges

My body stretches, shifts, contorts, and I know instinctively what is happening as my limbs rearrange themselves, my snout shortens and my hair thins. My awareness of my environment shrinks, sounds becoming muted, smells fading; in inverse proportion, my internal awareness grows; synapses begin to fire again as I slide from sentient to sapient. It’s all mildly inconvenient, but I’m used to it. Some of the giddiness stays with me, and I let out a trembling sigh that might be part laughter. I usually don’t remember anything, but a lot of the time a feeling follows me through the process, and I get the sense I had a generally good time.

I don’t open my eyes, letting my head back on the floor of the Hail Mary. It’s hard, but not uncomfortable yet; the air wafts pleasantly against my exposed skin. There’s a luxurious relaxation to my limbs and muscles, like all the built-up tension has been erased in the regrowth and renewal implicit to the change. My mind feels floaty, detached from anything immediate except how comfortable I am, and a general sense of happiness. I haven’t had to think about anything or solve any complex problems in several hours. It’s beautiful, really. I don’t have to Know.

I’d be content to lie like this for hours, riding the gentle come-down like a parachute or a hammock, dozing with a tiny smile until humanity claws at me enough to get up.

It’s just, there’s something — a noise. A banging nearby. A frantic voice saying something I can’t quite understand.

I hum and give a lazy swat in the direction of the noise. Later, do this later.

“Grace! Grace!!”

I crack my eyes open to the glaringly bright light of the ship — ugh — and close them again. I’d rather nap.

“Grace wake up, wake up, wake up!”

The combination of octave and repetition lend urgency to the voice. The sounds become words; the background noise irises into a sharp hammering. I squint my eyes open again, turning my head toward the source. A familiar shape on the other side of a window, frantically slamming two fists against it. I am immediately reminded of a field trip to the zoo and spending most of the day scolding students for banging on the glass.

“Grace okay, question? Grace need help?!”

 “G’mornin.” It takes a stupid amount of concentration to make my lips shape the sounds, but I manage it with a groggy smile.

“What happen Grace?! Grace change! Grace disappear!!”

Uh oh. The good feelings swiftly dissipate as I start to put two and two together. First of all, I am lying on the floor with an alien, humanity’s only representative to other intelligent life, completely in the buff — and I don’t just mean my muscles. Second, I managed to forget to tell Rocky something extremely important about myself. My bad.

“Yeah,” I yawn. Maybe I can play it casual. If we treat this as normal from the start, there can’t be any of the weirdness there was on Earth. “This happens sometimes.”

“Why, why, why?! Rocky scare Grace dying. Not know how to fix.”

…Yeah, I missed any chance of doing this casually by a long shot. I sit up and look at him. Rocky is swaying on his feet in a worried way, antsy to help but powerless to do so. He must have felt like he was watching his crew succumb to a mystery killer all over again. “I’m sorry, Rocky. I meant to tell you beforehand, I just thought I had more time and then…kinda forgot.”

“Grace know this going to happen, question?”

I reach for a nearby sheet — there seems to be plenty of bedding scattered around on the floor from last night’s adventure — and tug it over myself. I’m sure Rocky’s sonar sees straight through it, but it makes me feel like I have some kind of shield. “Yes. I wasn’t sure when, though. It’s kind of hard to predict—”

“GRACE KNOW AND NOT TELL ROCKY?! GRACE LET ROCKY SPEND WHOLE TIME PANIC BECAUSE ALONE AGAIN AND SAY NOTHING, QUESTION?!?”

Yeah, a sheet is not a big enough shield against Rocky’s very reasonable upset.

“I should have!” I agree, all of my post-shift confusion gone. Good, I need my head on straight so I can make this right. “This shouldn’t have slipped past me. You’re right. I’m so sorry I scared you, bud.”

“Grace useless! Grace forget eat, forget sleep, forget deeply important biological information. Rocky can not trust.”

What? I reel back in shock. Is he right? Am I untrustworthy? That can’t be how this goes. We’re stuck in space together on the galaxy’s most important mission. We have to be able to trust each other. I crawl over to the barrier, huddled under my sheet. Emperor Comatose, humbled. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I promise I wasn’t trying to keep it from you.”

Rocky has shifted his stance slightly; a little more on his far legs than near. He hasn’t changed the direction he is facing, but this is very much him turning his back to me. 

I rest a hand on the window. “But you have every right to be mad at me. That was an awful way for me to make you feel, and you didn’t deserve it. You’re my friend. I’d never want to hurt you, but I did it anyway. I’m sorry.” 

Rocky continues to ignore me, but he stays where he is. Finally, after a few minutes of silence that have me reliving two or three childhood heartbreaks, he clicks the claws on two hands. “Could have been avoided.” His voice is low and flat. I am still being reprimanded, but at least he’s willing to talk about it.

“I know.”

“Grace tell Rocky about sleep. About eat. Bad memory. Grace Rocky discussed needs and set boundaries and expectations. Grace not forget to tell about this. Is lie.”

Ouch. I shift to lean my back against the barrier, letting my eyes roam the sterile whiteness of the ship. Well, mostly-sterile. There is bedding all over the floor, a row of upset lab equipment, the scattered remains of a shredded burrito wrapper, and a line of paw prints crossing the room. “I was going to tell you,” I repeat, but now I’m not even convincing myself, much less Rocky. “I just needed to know that it wouldn’t affect anything. There’s a lot at stake and our planets depend on us being able to trust each other.”

“Amaze. Grace inspire trust. Immense.”

“Sarcasm,” I say. “But I get your point.” I give it a minute. He has every right to his feelings, and maybe some space to feel them will get it out so we can talk better. That’s one of those things I learned about adults from working with kids. It’s all the same, really. Besides, I need the time too: I’m really not helping my case right now. I’ve made a mess of everything, like I usually do.

Eventually, I hear Rocky shift behind me. “Why would truth affect, question?”

I duck my head, tucking the sheet around me a little tighter. I’m not ready to face him yet. Benefit of having a face is that I don’t have to. “It’s not as accepted on Earth. Not that it was a secret or anything, but…people kind of look down on guys like me. They think we’re lesser. Closer to animals. Some people think we shouldn’t be able to participate in society, shouldn’t have the same rights, shouldn’t be allowed to marry. Some people think we shouldn’t be teaching their children.” I know it’s unfair to project all of that onto Rocky when he doesn’t know better. I guess French amnesia drugs and 11.9 lightyears can’t get rid of your baggage. “People have left my life over it. I keep remembering it for the first time. How my dad left. How my mom struggled. Friends, partners.” My flipout at UNESCO had been partially blamed on it, and it ended up having a ripple effect for people like me in the sciences. Too unstable, too wild. Until Stratt came along. She didn’t have time for petty idiocies like prejudice. She just needed someone who could do the job, and that someone was me. 

“Humans stupid.”

“And that’s the thing,” I sigh with a bitterness that surprises me. “I’m not human.”

“Rocky would not know difference! Would not care! Human, not human — are still Earth thing. Are still friend.”

Okay. Still friends. I try not to let that hit me too hard. “I’m sorry I expected you to be the same. That wasn’t fair.” We’re not gonna talk about my cracking voice here, okay?

Rocky is quiet for a while. “Grace protect self,” he says eventually, his voice soft but less flat. Thoughtful. “Protect self to protect Earth. Even if Earth not protect Grace.”

“It’s bigger than me, that’s all. Once I realized you were the best person I’d ever meet, I kept forgetting that we didn’t already know everything about each other. And if I remembered, it usually wasn’t a good time — we do a lot of important stuff where we can’t have distractions, y’know? And then I thought I had time, and then…didn’t have time.”

“Cannot predict, question?”

I shrug. “I used to. Back on Earth, it was tied to the phases of the Moon.” I’d explained the phases to Rocky before, when I talked about the Earth. The concept of a “full moon” is purely visual, even if the cycle behind it physically affects things like the tides. Maybe at the time, I was trying to psych myself up to tell him everything. “I used to think the Moon caused the change, but maybe all it did was keep me regular. Cause it still happens now with no moon at all, and I never know when.” I used to be able to plan ahead for it — it was easy when it was on the calendar, same time every month. Now, I only know immediately beforehand because there’s a bit of vertigo leading up to the change. I get maybe ten minutes’ warning, tops. “I don’t know what I’ll do if it happens in the EVA suit.” That scares me more than I’m willing to put into words.

Rocky hums in thought. “Then Rocky fix.”

“It doesn’t work that way, pal.”

“Can’t stop Rocky from trying.”

“Nope. Sure can’t.” I let my head rest back against the barrier with a quiet, melodic clunk. There’s an answering clink from his side, and I try not to smile. “How can I make it up to you?”

“First Grace put on clothes. Then Grace clean up ship. Then Grace explain everything in detail. Even if think Rocky not need to know.” 

“I’m gonna do all those things regardless.”

“Mm. Then Grace sleep when Rocky say so. And. Do puppet shows for next three days.” 

Ugh, puppet shows. “Fair enough.” Oh well. It’s better than I deserve. “Hey, Rock? Could you tell me what happened? Up til now, I haven’t had someone around to watch me.”

“Grace no remember, question?”

“It’s kind of like losing consciousness. Turning human is like waking up after sleep.”

“Explains why Grace no recognize Rocky or tell Grace was okay.”

I shake my head helplessly. “I can’t talk when I’m like that. I don’t know who I am.”

“...Explains many thing actually.”

“I didn’t do anything embarrassing, did I?”

“Mm. Grace do toilet all over ship.” I cover my face with both hands and groan. “Grace do toilet directly at Rocky.” Yup, there it is. I can see the dried puddle, partially crystalized at the base of the barrier.

I can smell it, too. Fox pee is ripe. “Very stinky on this side, but I bet it would smell like fresh air to you,” I muse. All that ammonia? Then something occurs to me. I feel my face heat. “Hey, wait a minute — how d’you know what doing toilet looks like?!”

That dang scary space monster suddenly looks reeeeal squirrely. “Rocky have to go now! Forgot something need to fix!” The little rascal starts to skitter away down his tunnel.

“Come back here—” I chase after him, clutching the sheet to myself. Deal’s off, buddy!

“Very important! Talk to Grace later! Much much later!”

Coco was also giving him the cold shoulder. Normally, she’d creep down the fire escape and paw at the mesh to get his attention, but just like with you, all contact had ceased, and it was making him anxious. 

Colt knew not much time had passed but the fear of you never speaking to him again was rapidly increasing with each passing day. He didn’t know how to fix things, nor did he know how to get you to talk to him, and if it weren’t for the fact that his calls and texts were still going through, he would have been convinced that he’d lost you for good. 

—

“You should write a note or something,” Dan says over the phone. “You said you guys did that before.”

“She won’t even reply to my texts. Do you honestly think a sticky note in the hallway will do the trick?” Colt mumbles into the mic of his wired headphones. 

“It’s better than nothing. You sound like a wounded animal talking about her.” 

“Well, if you tell the person you’re in love with that you are in love with them and then follow it up by asking if they put a spell on you, insinuating that you loving them in a natural way wasn’t possible, so it had to be magic, won’t you?” 

“I would. But she’s got to know you didn’t mean it like that, right?” 

Colt lets out a huff, trying to focus on arranging the bouquet in front of him. “I tried to explain in one of my texts that I assumed it was magic because I’ve never felt so strongly towards someone before, but it just went unread and unanswered like every other message.” 

“Maybe send another?” 

“I already look like a desperate ex! I can’t risk her blocking me right now.” 

Dan goes quiet. “Maybe I could talk to her? You’re kind of in this because of what I said, and production is about to start for Tom’s new movie in the area—“

“What are you talking about?” Colt cuts him off. 

“I didn’t tell you? We’re filming in town. There’s this big jump that Ryder’s character is supposed to make off the dock and onto a boat while chasing the bad guy,” Dan explains, “I can have you do the job if you’re up for it?” 

“I’m not sure I’m ready for that. When are you supposed to be here?” 

“Thursday. Some of the cast and crew are already there, but we start filming the scene on Monday night.” 

He hums and wraps the bouquet. “We can hang out over the weekend then.”

“We can…and I can talk to her for you.” 

Dan’s confidence was admirable and in theory, it could work but after being iced out by you the way he had, Colt was far from hopeful. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. What if it just digs a deeper hole?” 

“It won’t.” 

The shop bell chimes. “I think the person who ordered the bouquet is here. I’ll call you later,” Colt tells him before hanging up and taking out his headphones. 

“Hi! Welcome to Rooting for You—” His voice gets caught in his throat as his gaze lands on who entered the shop. 

“Jody,” he whispered. 

Her eyes widened, a small gasp escaping her mouth upon seeing him. “Oh my god.” 

They both stood frozen in place, the shock of seeing each other again filling the room with tension. He’s pictured what it would be like to see her again, to reach out and bury the hatchet, after getting in contact with Dan again, but he never had the guts to call. 

“Are you–is this–is this your bouquet?” He sounded like an idiot stammering over his words, but it cut through the almost suffocating silence.  

“It is,” she says, eyes scanning the shop, “So this is where you disappeared to.” 

“Yeah.” 

She approaches the counter, “It's a nice town. Cute shop too.”

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out. The apology was long overdue but it needed to be said. “I’m so sorry.” 

She shakes her head, “I don’t know if I should be happy you’re alive or if I should slap the shit out of you for disappearing.” 

“I deserve the second,” he whispers. 

She taps her fingertips on the counter, a clear sign that this situation was making her feel as anxious as it was making him. “Maybe you do.” 

“I do,” he huffs, letting his head hang in shame. “I know saying sorry isn’t enough and no explanation can undo all the hurt, but I am sorry, and if you’d let me, I can explain.” 

Jody pauses, mentally weighing the options in her head, “Okay. When’s your break?” 

“I can take it now and close the shop. My boss left for the afternoon.” 

She nods, “Okay. Now works. I saw a smoothie shop up the street. We can go there.” 

Colt untied his apron, walking into the backroom and hanging it up before walking back out and rounding the counter to where she was standing. 

“I haven’t paid for these yet,” she points out. 

“Right!” She could see the mental facepalm he was doing as he went back around and stood in front of the register. “It’s nice to see that you’re still you.” 

—

Sitting across from Jody wasn’t as strange as he thought it would be. He expected her to be angry and snippy, but she was patient. “I’m sorry there’s a lot to say and I’m not sure where to start,” he mumbles. 

“Take your time.” 

He takes a deep breath and tries to gather his thoughts.“I thought I was doing the right thing by leaving.” It was far from the perfect way to word it, but nothing other than another ‘I’m sorry’ and he was almost certain she would hit him if he mumbled another apology without saying anything else. 

“Why’d you disappear like that?” There was no malice in her voice as she spoke. 

He couldn’t look her in the eyes, “It was hard and we were so new that I…I didn’t want to push everything I was going through onto you.” He pauses and takes a deep breath before starting again, “I felt like such a failure. I thought I was invincible, and then I almost died in front of you and the crew. I was afraid and ashamed of what happened and of who I was becoming. The thumbs down version of myself wasn’t someone I wanted you to see. I didn’t think I was worth picking back up.” 

Tears started pricking at his eye as he spoke, “I know I went about it the wrong way and I should’ve been honest with you, but I was just too prideful. Leaving felt right for me, I wanted to get away from the Hollywood scene, I didn’t want to be reminded of being a stuntman or anything in the industry. You didn’t deserve what I did. It was wrong to ghost you and I’m so sorry. I can’t take it back, but I do want you to know that I am sorry.”

Jody puts her hand over his and softly says, “I would’ve been for you if you would have let me.”

“I know,” he whispers. 

“Is it still the right choice?” He knew what she was really asking: did he regret it?

“It was.” He admits, “It was a necessary change, and I’ve started feeling more myself. I made a friend who has been my rock since I got here. She encouraged me to start reaching back out to people like Dan and possibly get back to work now that I’m in a better place. I don’t think she knows how much she’s helped me since I moved here, but she has.” 

“Doesn’t sound like just a friend,” she teases. 

He was relieved that she was poking fun at him instead of calling him every name under the sun, but his face also felt out at how quickly she was able to figure it out. “Is it that obvious?”

“Just a little bit. Is she your girlfriend or just someone that you’re seeing now?” 

“Neither.” He answers, rubbing the back of her neck, “She’s actually a friend or at least I hope she still is.” 

“What does that mean? Why wouldn’t she be your friend?” 

“I was talking about her with Dan and he started teasing me about being in love with her because of how I was talking about her. He made a joke about her putting a spell on me, and it just made me spiral because she’s a witch who owns the bakery I live above, and a lot of her treats are magical. None of them are love spells, she’s really against them, but I just got in my head about it cause I didn’t realize how much I felt for her until Dan brought it up.” 

“A ‘once you see it you can’t unsee it’ kind of situation,” she chimes in.

Colt nods, “Yeah. I kept replaying everything, trying to pinpoint when it was happening, so I asked if she thought maybe something went wrong with a spell or potion and if that could be the reason why I thought I was in love with her.” 

“Oh god.” 

“I regretted it the second I said. Seeing her face drop made me sick and I tried to backpedal, but she just wanted to leave. She told me would never do that and that she wasn’t wicked or as cruel as I thought she was, and we haven’t spoken since.” 

“Did you really think it was magic?” She asks. 

“For a second, yeah,” he admits. “I didn’t feel myself falling, y’know? This was so different and by the time I realized how I felt for her, it became overwhelming because I had to confront all my feelings at once, so I convinced myself it had to be anything other than authentic. And honestly? The more I think about it, the more I feel like I was also self sabotaging. She’s so good to me, and I guess I don’t think I’m worthy of her.” 

Jody shakes her head and pinches the bridge of her nose. “You just told me that your inability to understand just how worth it you are was the reason our relationship ended the way that it did. You’re letting it happen again.” 

He was letting it happen again. “I don’t know how to fix it. She doesn’t want to talk to me. I’ve tried talking to her, but she doesn’t want to see me.” 

“She’s hurt,” she says. “Witches already have a bad reputation. It probably hurts hearing something like that from someone who’s supposed to be your friend. And it probably hurt extra because she’s also in love with you.” 

“You don’t know that. I don’t know that,” he interjects. 

“I don’t think she’d be acting like that if she didn’t also have feelings for you, too. If she didn’t also love you, then she could have just laughed it off and you’d be nursing a broken heart instead of trying to figure out how to get her to talk to you.” 

She was right and the realization crushed him. You having feelings for him would have made the situation pack an even greater punch than he originally thought. “She’s never going to talk to me again.” 

“Give her time.” 

“I miss her. We live in the same building and she uses her magic so I never have to see her. I don’t want time. Time will only make it go on for longer.” 

“Then what’s your plan? Continue talking to yourself in her messages?” 

“I wanted to make her dinner and hopefully talk things through. I was going to text or maybe call the bakery and pray she doesn’t hang up the second she realizes it’s me and ask her to come upstairs. It’s not a solid plan, but I think she’d like it. I could make her pasta. I made it for her a few times, she really likes it.” 

“Maybe you should cut your hair too,” she suggests.

He reaches up and smooths out his hair. “What’s wrong with my hair?” 

“A man bun is not for everyone, Colt. Plus, hair holds trauma. You haven’t fully let go of the past.” 

“So you’re not a fan of the hair,” he muses.

“I hope to never see it again.” Her response was immediate and made Colt laugh. “Enough about me. What about you? How have you been?” 

— 

Anxiety was running rampant through his veins as he drove home despite his conversation with Jody freeing him from the guilt he had been carrying around from leaving and ghosting her. He decided that he would go through with his plan of making dinner and then inviting you to join. It was a long shot but it was better than nothing. 

You come into view when he turns onto the street, standing outside the bakery, talking to a man with Coco in your arms. At first glance, it looked like you were just chatting with the guy, but as his truck got closer and eventually stopped, it became clear that you were arguing with him. 

“Is everything okay?” Colt asks, stepping out of his truck after double parking in front of the shop.

“We’re fine, man.” The guy grits, glancing over his shoulder at Colt. 

“I’m not asking you,” he retorts. “Are you alright, Sunshine?” 

Coco meows in your arms and you take a few steps towards him before the man grabs your bicep. “Don’t walk away, we’re not done talking,” he snips.  

You pull your arm back, "I'm not interested in speaking with you. I thought I made that very clear when we broke up.” 

He rolls his eyes and tries to get closer, retreating slightly when Colt approaches. “Don’t be like this. We’re made for each other, you know that. Your family loves me, my family loves you, we could be so powerful together.” 

Your frustration bubbles to the surface and you snap at him. “I don’t care what our families think. I want nothing to do with you. You’re embarrassing yourself by showing up here and harassing me about getting back together.” 

“C’mon, baby, stop being so difficult—“ 

“She doesn’t want to talk to you, dude.” Colt cuts him off, standing beside you and resting his hand on the small of your back. “Ready to go?” He adds, nodding towards his truck. 

You recognize immediately that he was giving you an out, “I am.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are!?” Your ex shouts as Colt guides you to the passenger side of his truck and opens the door. 

“Her boyfriend!” He calls out over his shoulder as he rounds the front of his truck, the lie rolling off his tongue with ease. 

He slides into the driver’s side, adjusting the shopping bag wedged between the two of you on the bench seat before pressing down on the gas. 

“Thank you,” you say softly, watching your ex shrink inside as he drives away. 

“Don’t even mention it.” 

“You cut your hair,” you whisper. Your hand reaches out to touch it, but you stop yourself before making contact. 

“You can touch it,” he encourages with a smile. 

On any other occasion, you would have jumped at the chance to run your hands through his hair, but tonight you decline. “No, no, it’s alright. I shouldn’t.” 

“Okay.” He wanted to reiterate that it was perfectly fine for you to touch him but held his tongue given the delicate state of your relationship. This was the most contact he’s had with you since that night and he wanted to play his cards right. 

“I talked to Jody,” he tells you at a red light. 

You sit a little straighter upon hearing that. “That’s good. I’m glad you finally worked up the courage to call her.” 

“She’s actually in town. She ordered a bouquet and we talked during my lunch break.” 

“Is everyone’s ex in town?” Coco quips, making the corner of your mouth twitch up. 

Colt watches you smile at the cat perched on your lap. “Does she talk? I’ve been reading up on witches online and at the library. Familiars popped up in a lot of the things that I read.” 

“She communicates with me telepathically,” you answer truthfully. “How was talking to Jody?” 

“Good. I feel a lot lighter after talking with her.” 

“I’m happy for you.” 

The light changes and the truck starts moving again. “We also talked about you.” 

“Plotting to melt me with a bucket of water?” It was a bitter joke that you regretted making the second it fell from your lips. 

“I guess I deserve that one,” he mumbles. “I talked about messing up things with you and trying to figure out how to get you to talk to me again and how to tell you I was sorry.” 

“You don’t have to be sorry, I’ve just been overreacting.”

He shakes, hating that you’re so quick to dismiss your own feelings and exempt him from any blame. “You weren’t overreacting at all. I offended you immediately after saying I was in love with you. I said what I said because I was oblivious to my own feelings and couldn’t process or articulate them properly.”

“It’s okay, Colt."

“It’s not okay!” His grip on the steering wheel tightens as he scans the street for a place to pull over. “It's far from okay! I hurt you. I don’t think you’re wicked or cruel or anything like that and I hate that I made you think I did.” 

The truck stops and he turns off the engine and angles his body toward you. “I call you sunshine because that’s what you’ve been for me since I got here. I came here at the darkest point in my life and meeting you made everything better. You made me better because you pushed me to not give up on my dreams and settle for just being content. I’m not a shell of myself anymore, and that’s partly because of you. You mean the world to me and I hate that I made you think otherwise.” 

Coco moves out of your lap, striding across the seat and over to Colt, and purred against his chest. His attention briefly shifts away from you to the cat to give her scratches under her chin.

"Please say something," he pleads. "Anything at all, yell, scream, cry, just no more silence. I can't handle any more silence."

A moment passes and you find yourself focusing on anything but him. You wanted to yell to show him just how much he hurt you, but the sadness you felt never simmered and solidified into anger. “Do you..." Your voice catches in your throat and you take a second to compose yourself, "Do you still think you’re in love with me?”

“I know I’m in love with you.” He spoke with conviction, a sharp contrast to his initial confession. “And if you let me, I’d love to show you." Tears begin to well in his eyes as he continues, his voice starting to lose its confidence and shake, "If that's something you want, I'm more than okay with us just being friends. I just want to be back in your orbit, in whatever way you'll have me."

You blink rapidly, trying to stop the tears that prick at your eyes from falling. “And what are you thinking?” You asked, hoping he'd ignore the way your voice quivered.

He sniffles and reaches into the shopping bag that sat between the two of you, pulling out a bouquet of your favorite flowers and handing them to you. “The game plan was to cut my hair, get home, shower, make pasta, and then shoot you a text inviting you to join me so we could talk and pray that you turned up.” 

“These are beautiful, thank you,” you hum, taking a whiff of the flowers. “And pasta does sound nice.” 

He perks up at the comment; this was his green light. “In that case…would you like to have dinner with me?” 

A tear rolls down your face and you brush it away with a half-hearted smile, “I’d like that a lot.” 

Colt shuffles closer, moving the bag to the footwell of the seat and reaches for your waist, “Is it okay if I hug you? I just want to hold you.” 

You nod and wrap your arms around his neck, leaning forward in your seat to hug him. “You’re squishing me!” Coco complains when Colt pulls you closer and squeezes you. You pull away enough for her to slip out from between your body before allowing yourself to melt into Colt’s embrace. “I missed you,” he whispered. 

“I missed you too."

“Do you think your ex is gone?” He questions while rubbing your back.

You nod your head, pulling away just enough to look at him. “Definitely. He’s not the kind of wizard that sticks around if no one’s there to watch him cause a scene.”  

“He’s a wizard?” 

“Yeah, they don’t all look like Gandalf,” you joke.

Colt raises his eyebrows, “Does that mean you know a wizard that does look like Gandalf?” 

“How 'bout I tell you about it over dinner?" You suggest, attempting to pull away completely, only to be stopped by the tight hold he had on your waist. "Just a little longer, please?" He whispers, drawing you in until you were flush against his chest again.

—

You saw him for the first time through the display window of your bakery when he stepped out of the gold and brown two-toned truck. His arrival piqued your interest immediately. The coastal town of Seymour’s Bay was no stranger to tourists, but judging by the slew of boxes in the bed of his truck, he was here to stay.  

Coco, your familiar who had taken the form of a cat, jumped onto the stool you kept behind the register and followed your line of vision. “He’s cute.” Her voice echoes throughout your head.  

“Do you think he’s our new neighbor? Mrs. Murphy didn’t say anything about a new renter when she dropped by the other day.” The apartment above your shop but below yours had been vacant for months after the couple that lived there previously moved out when the wife’s job moved them to the other side of the country.  

The shop bell chimes and pulls you from your train of thought. “Welcome to Spellbound Sweets. What can I get for you?” The greeting had fallen from your lips hundreds of times, but this was the first time in recent memory that you felt nervous.  

He stood tall, with a short beard and his blonde hair tied back in a small bun, a few strands falling across his face, and offered a small smile. “Hi, I’m Colt. Mrs. Murphy told me to wait here for her and meet the… witch?”  

You took note of the way his smile never reached his eyes and how he spoke in such a neutral way before returning the polite smile and extending your hand across the counter for him to shake, “That’ll be me. I’m Y/n. It’s nice to meet you. I assume you’ll be moving in upstairs?”  

Colt nods and shakes your hand, “I am.”  

“I can give you a hand with the boxes once Mrs. Murphy gives you the keys,” you offer. 

He shakes his head, “That’s alright, I didn’t bring much with me.”  

“It’s no trouble, really. It’s been a slow day at the shop anyway. I don’t mind helping you out.”  

“No, it’s okay. I’ll manage.”  

“Alright,” you say, sensing that he wanted to be left alone. “Can I at least give you a sweet? On the house, of course.”  

Colt takes a step back and looks from the menu and then to the displays in search of a treat, “You really lean into the witch theme,” he mumbles after seeing that the drinks menu was titled ‘Witch’s Brew.’ 

“It’s not—” you were beginning to correct, but you were quickly cut off by the bell chiming again, and Mrs. Murphy’s honeyed voice boomed through the bakery, “Oh! You’ve met my darling girl!” 

You and Colt exchange a quick glance before he addresses her and her larger than life personality, “I did. You must be Mrs. Murphy, it’s nice to meet you.”  

She grins at him and motions for him to follow her outside. He looks back at you for a second, and you smile, “If you change your mind about needing a hand and you can’t find me down here, then I’m probably in my apartment on the top floor. Just knock.”  

He nods and follows your landlady out the door.  

“He’s sad.” Coco communicates, her voice ringing through your head.  

“I picked up on that, too,” you tell her. “It was exuding from him.”  

“Talk to him.”  

“Coco, he wants to be left alone. I'm not going to disturb him and neither are you. Understood?” Your feline companion scoffs at your dismissal and curls into herself on the stool.  

—

The day carried on, and aside from Colt’s arrival, was uneventful. You stood behind the counter for most of the day, watching him carry box after box up to his apartment until locking up the shop and heading upstairs. His door was cracked open and despite being tempted to poke your head in to see if he needed anything, you ultimately decided against it. He seemed like the hermit type and intruding on his space was far from neighborly.  

He had been at the forefront of your mind throughout the entire day and remained there well into the evening as you made dinner. Your mind kept drifting back to the sadness that surrounded his spirit and how unnatural it felt. You didn’t know Colt, but it felt off.  

You try to shake the thought of him and refocus on the chicken searing in the pan when you hear a knock at the door. You lower the heat on the stove and peer through the peephole before opening up to reveal Colt, who was sporting a red muscle tee and sweatpants, with Coco cradled in his arms like a baby. “Hi,” he greets, setting her down, “I found her on my fire escape.”  

She brushes up against your leg and purrs, something she only did to soften you up when she knew she was in trouble. “Oh god, I’m sorry. I’ve been so focused on following this recipe, I didn’t even notice she slipped out the window.”  

Colt waves off your apology, “No worries, and I’m sure whatever you’re making will turn out just as great as it smells.”  

“Invite him to stay.”  

Despite how irritated you were with her, you considered Coco’s words. “Thanks! It’s almost done. You’re more than welcome to join me if you’d like.”  

“I shouldn’t,” he starts, “I still have so much unpacking to do.”  

“My offer still stands. I really don't mind lending a helping hand. If you give me a few minutes to finish cooking, I can fix both of us a plate and bring it downstairs.” It was a last-ditch effort, but you still threw it out there; he didn’t know anyone here, and at no point did you see him leave to go grocery shopping either.  

You could see him hesitate. “If you’d like, of course. You don’t just have to say yes.”  

“I know, but I’d like to,” he says softly.  

—

You and Colt sit crisscrossed on the floor of his apartment, leaning against his boxes while you both eat. “This is really good. Thank you for sharing with me,” Colt hums before taking another bite of the creamy chicken and mashed potatoes you made.  

“I’m glad you like it. I’ve made it plenty of times, but found my grandmother’s recipe a few days ago and decided to try my hand at her version,” you explain.  

“Well, your grandmother has a gift,” he says after swallowing his food.  

A comfortable silence falls over the room and you find yourself just looking at him. Taking in his features, the slight bump on his nose, the mole just off the corner of his eye, and the faint lines across his forehead. 

He glances up at you and you look away, your cheeks warming up at being caught staring at him. “How long have you lived here? Mrs. Murphy said your bakery is a staple in the town and attracts a lot of tourists.”  

“A few years. I took a trip here with some friends a while back and fell in love with the town,” you explain. “What about you? Why’d you decide to move here?”  

“I needed a change,” he says after taking a deep breath.  

You notice the way his body deflates and the distant look in his eyes. You were touching a sore subject. “If you want to share, I don't mean to pry.” 

“You aren't,” he assures. “I was a stuntman up until about a year ago. I had an accident and decided to leave the entertainment industry afterwards.”  

Your eyes darted towards the inversion table in the corner of the room. You saw him unload it from the back of his truck and turn down the help of Mr. Jackson from across the street when he walked over, ready to assist. “Your back?”  

His shoulders sink further and he nods. “I broke it and basically almost killed myself in front of the cast and crew of the movie, including my girlfriend.”  

Your eyes soften as he speaks. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, but at least you weren’t alone, right? You had your girlfriend and your family?”  

Colt goes quiet and lets his head hang, “Jody…she tried to be there for me. She really did, but…but I just couldn’t do it. I was just so…”  

“Ashamed,” you conclude. It was all making sense now, why his energy felt so bleak. Colt was a man ridden with guilt and shame. He was a shell of himself. 

“Yeah,” he chokes out.  

Coco pokes her head out of the empty box she was playing in, jumping out, and cuddling up to Colt to comfort him.  

“Going through something like that, especially alone, couldn’t have been easy. You’re very strong.”  

He huffs out a humorous laugh, “I feel far from strong.” 

“You don’t have to feel strong to be strong. You said it yourself; you came here because you needed a change. It takes strength to keep going and you being here is all the proof I need to know you’re very strong.”  

He absorbs your words, letting them sink in and erode the sharp pains in his chest. “Thank you…I think I needed to hear that.”  

“Anytime.”  

—

Months passed and Colt found himself around you more and more. It started off small, with you helping him unpack the day after you had dinner together on the floor of his apartment. It was the first time he saw you use your magic. You had gone upstairs during your lunch break to see just how much progress he had made after hearing all the shuffling from the bakery, and offered to use your magic to speed up the process.  

“So is the witch shtick a lifestyle choice?” He asked you as he unpacked all his jigsaw puzzles.  

“It’s not a shtick, I am a witch.”  

“And I’m a werewolf.”  

“I’m serious,” you insisted.  

“Prove it.”  

He was eating his words in seconds when the boxes he had stacked in the kitchen opened, and his utensils and appliances were floating through the air. “What the fuck!”  

“Tell me where you want everything to go.” 

“How are you doing that?”  

“Magic. We’ve been over this. I’m a witch.”  

“Okay, okay, okay. This is so cool and also a little terrifying. My neighbor's a witch!” He walked through the kitchen, weaving past the floating objects and opening the drawer by the stove. “Can you put the forks and stuff in here?”  

He remembered the sound of your laugh at him jumping at the sound of all the silverware clacking against each other.  

“Does that mean that the stuff down at the shop is magical too?”  

“Some are, but not everything. Most of it is to just help people. I have muffins that help relieve pain, cookies that help heal fresh wounds—that one is a big hit with parents and their kids. There’s also coffee that makes you super energized, that’s a hit with college students during their midterms and finals," you explained.

“Is the Love Potion latte an actual love potion?”  

“Well, you know what they say about love potions, shake well and never tell,” you joke, earning a soft smile from him. “I guess you aren’t wrong about me leaning into the witch stuff because I do have things on my menu like the latte that aren’t actually magical but sound like they are. But I don’t make love potions; love should be natural.” 

—

You and your friendship were proving to be exactly what he needed. You helped him shop for furniture and decorate, you showed him around town once he settled in and started working at the flower shop in town, for him to see the beauty of his new home. You introduced him to the townsfolk and clued him in on town gossip. But most importantly, you encouraged him not to abandon his passion and reconnect with his past. 

“I think you should call your friend, the stunt coordinator,” you tell him one afternoon when he comes into the shop on his lunch break.  

“Why?” He asks while petting Coco.  

“I know you said you were putting that life behind you, but the way you talked about stunts during movie night yesterday, it’s so obvious just how much you miss it. I know you’re scared that something could go wrong again, but you can’t let fear dictate your life. Stunts are your passion, yes, you have a green thumb, and you like being a florist, but I can tell it’s not fulfilling for you. And plus, you said you missed him because I don’t get your movie quotes.”  

He didn’t listen right away. He was a little too stubborn for that, but he kept your words in the back of his mind for the weeks to come until he found himself dialing Dan’s number.  

“Hello?” 

“Hey man, it’s Colt.”  

Dan lets out a laugh upon hearing his voice, “It’s about time! I’ve been waiting to hear from you.” 

Reconnecting with Dan was a lot easier than Colt expected. He was ready for a tongue lashing about dropping off the face of the Earth, but Dan only welcomed him in with open arms and told him the door was always open for him after he expressed his interest in dipping his toe back into stunt work, even if he wasn’t entirely ready. It was relieving to know that not all his loved ones were mad at him like he originally thought.  

They started speaking regularly after that, catching up on their lives after Colt pulled away. Dan spoke about what it was like making the change from stuntman to stunt coordinator, traveling, and his relationships. Colt talked about his recovery and the hobbies he picked up while in isolation. He talked about moving and putting his love for plants to use at the flower shop and all the people he’d befriend or become acquainted with. But above all else, he talked about you. 

He talked about you and how you were melting away the icy fortress he had banished himself to. He talked about how much he enjoyed your company over anyone else’s. He talked about your movie nights, how you laughed at his terrible jokes, how you bullied him into doing face masks with you on the weekends, how good of a baker you were, and that you mixed potions into the batter of some of the baked goods you sold to help the townsfolk. He talked about having dinner and doing puzzles together, and he even talked about how much Coco liked him.  

“Man, you are so far gone. Are you sure she didn’t cast a love spell on you?”  

“What?” His voice coming out more high pitched than normal.

“The way you talk about her? You’re in love with her, Colt.”  

“I’m not,” he insists, “Do you think I am?”  

“Relax,” Dan says, sensing his panic, “I was just teasing you.”  

“Right, right.”  

—

Dan’s playful accusation lingered in Colt’s mind more than he’d care to admit. He had started not only replaying every moment shared with you but had also become hyperaware of every small action that was slowly setting his heart ablaze. He was in love with you, and now that he knew it, he couldn’t unsee it; unfeel it.  

He had been trying to wrap his mind around the way he felt and how he’d fail to realize his feelings sooner. A part of him believed it was because of how gradually it happened; it didn’t happen all at once, but slowly enough for it to go unnoticed. But he’d be a liar if he said that he’d completely ruled out a spell or potion taking effect on him.  

Tonight was movie night and the two of you were seated on his couch, you with a bowl of ice cream in your lap, Colt with Coco in his. He was acting strange all week and behaving even stranger now. 

Colt was a talker. He talked through nearly every movie and show you had seen together, so to see him so quiet and spaced out tonight was concerning. You fish through your pocket, pull out a coin, and hold it out to him. “Penny for your thoughts?”  

The sound of your voice pulls him back to reality. "What?" 

“You’ve been acting weird all week. What’s wrong?”  

He rubs the back of his neck, and you squint at him, trying to assess his behavior. “Is it your back? Maybe I can make you something to help relieve the pain.”  

“No,” he starts, “I was talking to Dan a few nights ago and he said something that’s been eating away at me.”  

You sit up and turn your body towards him, giving him your full attention. “Oh? What’d he say?” 

His gaze drops and he focuses on petting Coco, “He said that I was in love with you and made a joke about you putting a spell on me because of the way I was talking about you. I know it was just him teasing me, but it really stuck with me, and I kept going over everything in my head, and I think he’s right…I think I am in love with you.”  

“You think you’re in love with me?” You whisper the words back to yourself, your chest growing warm with his admission. 

“I don’t mean to spring something like this on you, but do you think you might have accidentally cast a spell, or maybe something went wrong with one of your potions, and that’s why I feel like this?” The second the words leave his mouth, and he sees the way your face falls, he regrets it.  

“Oh." You shake your head, "No, I would never do something like that. Do you really think I’d do something like that to you?”  

He hesitates and your shoulders sink. You’ve dealt with your fair share of people accusing you of using your powers for awful things; it was easy to blame the witch and be freed from accountability or punishment. You were lucky enough to have never dealt with something like that since living in Seymour's Bay, at least not until now. Colt was the last person you expected it from, even if he thought it was an accident, it still stung. The change in your mood doesn’t go unnoticed by Coco, who was moving off Colt’s lap and hopping onto the floor. She could sense your hurt. “Let’s go.”  

“I think I should go,” you say, setting the bowl in your lap down on the coffee table and standing. 

Panic starts to set in, and Colt stands too, attempting to reach for your hand. “No, wait! I’m sorry, Sunshine, please stay. I didn’t mean to–” 

“It’s alright,” you whisper, stepping back before he could make contact. “It’s getting late anyway.”  

It was a poor excuse that neither of you believed, but you wanted to leave, and he knew he couldn’t force you to stay. “Can we talk about this tomorrow? I didn’t mean to upset you, I just never felt like this before, and I wanted to make sure it was real and not–”  

He watches as you walk to his door, stopping just before you turn the knob and glance back at him. The somber look in your eye made his chest feel like it was caving in, but your words are what truly crushed him. “I would never do that, not on purpose or by accident either. I’m too careful for that. Love potions and spells are selfish and cruel. Maybe that’s what you think of me, but I can assure you I’m nowhere as wicked as you think I am. Have a good night, Colt.”  

It was sunny in Los Angeles the day it all ended. The mountains inland were stark and clear and unmoving. The waves beat against the golden shores in the same unceasing heartbeat as always. It was beautiful.

A beautiful, perfect day when they pulled the plug on Barbieland. Under pressure from the FBI about alternate dimensions and imaginary, sentient beings, Mattel had shut it all down. Nobody knows what truly happened to all the dolls; whether the sun went out, whether everything is still there but simply stopped in time, whether anything changed at all and the perfect plastic life just went on without a connection to Reality.

Or if everything and everyone that had ever been there just…vanished. 

Barbara Handler tries not to think about the last one. She can’t know for sure. Nobody does, that’s what everyone keeps saying. Sure, Aaron’s Sparkle-Sensor isn’t picking anything up, and sure, Gloria’s been spontaneously unable to draw since then, and sure, maybe that teeny tiny pull in the back of Barbara’s heart has gone slack, but those could be any number of things. Aaron needs a connection, Gloria’s depressed, and Barbie probably has indigestion or anxiety or heartburn or, or, or

Or she has lost all the people she’d ever loved, and the place that had been her home. Her friends. Ken.

Ken, who had been made just for her, in the way all things in Barbieland were, but still — her first and oldest friend. She’d be lying if she denied that some part of her hoped he would finally have the freedom to grow, and then they could find each other again, some day, some day, and make it work in whatever way made sense. To come together as new people with a greater understanding of themselves and of each other, and be all the things they couldn’t be before.

Only now, Some Day will never come, either because they’re cut off, or because he is dead, and she’s pretty sure he was dead and gone forever, which isn’t something that’s supposed to happen to dolls and she certainly hadn’t been prepared to outlive them with her newfound precious mortality, this wasn’t supposed to happen and it isn’t fair they’re all dead, they’re all dead, everyone is dead

***

It’s hard to sleep or to concentrate very much lately. Gloria tells her that is grief, and understandable, and human. Barbie had experienced a tremendous loss, it’s going to take time to process, and it might never stop hurting.

Barbara thinks that’s a stupid mechanic. What purpose does it serve? She’s probably never going to see any of them again. The course of her life hasn’t been impacted by this. It’s just that

All of theirs had. They’d ended. All the possibilities, all their futures, their entire beautiful, plastic world, erased — and she is the one who has to carry their memories.

Gloria says that is empathy, and also very human. Barbie screams at her until she goes away.

***

Sometimes she swears she can hear the melodies of her old home, hiding around a corner but vanishing whenever she tries to find it; or camouflaging under the other noises in her home, behind the voices on the tv or the rain outside the windows.

Barbie has started leaving the windows open when it rains, posting up to watch it fall and trying to catch the melody. If she stares long enough, never moving from her exhausted drape over the chair, hovering between waking and dreaming, she can almost see little chips and pieces of Barbieland in the static of the falling rain. Never enough to form the full picture, but enough to sigh over. Enough pin pricks of memory to keep it from fading entirely. Maybe if she stays like this and doesn’t eat or close her eyes, the rain will keep falling and Barbieland will still be there. It only exists in the warmth of her gaze, after all.

Remember what it felt like to dance?

The thought feels like it came from outside her body. Most of her thoughts do at this point, drifting past her like someone else’s conversation she can choose to eavesdrop on, or ignore. 

She remembers: the music was there for her to dance.

Come on Barbie, let’s go party!

She rises, heavily. Each movement is a labor, her limbs leaden and her mind a haze. The weight of the memories is so heavy; and her responsibility to keep them alive. All of them. Everyone. Because she is The Barbie.

The motions are more sinuous than a plastic body might have made. More heartfelt, now that she has a heart that beats. The quiet music, half remembered, once so intrinsic to her being, plucks at her form. 

Sometimes when it rains, Barbie dances.

***

C’mon, Barbie! Let’s dance!

She waits for the prompt when it rains. Waits to be invited, even though she’d never had trouble taking the initiative in the past. She imagines a hand taking hers, pulling her onto the dance floor. Wide and square-palmed and sure. A hand that is as familiar as her own skin, because it’s been holding hers almost from the very beginning.

The pull into the music, the rhythm matching the beat of her heart, an instinct to move with it like the light follows each drop of water threading down the window panes. And each drop of water contains the entirety of Barbieland, and when it reaches the ground, it goes out. So Barbie dances faster. She has to follow the music before it is over, she has to recapture the feeling of, the ceaseless joy, the bright mirth, the complete innocence. She must, because she’s the only one who remembers it. She’s the only one who carries it.

And maybe that is why she imagines hands on her, on her back or her shoulders or holding her own, clasped in the most important dance in the world. Because she’s the only one who carries it, and she wishes anyone could help her bear that load.

***

Sometimes that hand imprints on her arm when she sleeps, a startling return to wakefulness to realize it is raining again.

C’mon, let’s dance!

She lets herself picture her Ken, eager as a child who can’t wait all the way to Christmas morning. His eyes would be bright, his smile a little crooked but genuine. All of him was so genuine, and he never got the chance to…

She closes her eyes against the empty darkness.

The rain falls.

The tug on her arm, or her heart, or her mind doesn’t.

The distant echo of a song she swears she knows but cannot name.

And so she gets up, and lets the hand pull her through the steps. 

And maybe this is dreaming, or maybe she is awake, but in this moment it doesn’t matter. There is a piece of home inside her, and it feels like she isn’t alone.

***

Another rainy day. Barbara rushes home from work and throws open all the windows, thrusting out her hands in expectation. “Come on,” she says excitedly. Two hands catch them and pull her, laughing, into the familiar choreography.

***

“You look better lately,” Gloria comments. The last time she’d seen Barbara, she had been a wreck. She hadn’t called or texted much, and whenever they had spoken, it sounded like she was still having trouble eating or sleeping. But Barbie hadn’t wanted visitors, or company, or pity.

Barbara smirks mysteriously at her over her latte. “I took up dancing,” she says, and explains nothing further.

***

Ken visits when it rains. He washes in with the slivers of home, reflected and refracted and distorted and unseen.

Lost in the hush of the rain and the barely heard music, Barbie hears him laugh as they spin together. 

She twirls through the house, alone but not, and through the gauzy curtains she swears there is another person in the reflection, a blurry shadow that glides with her.

He only comes when it rains, and he only dances when he comes.

But that’s okay, because Barbie remembers the rest for the both of them. And she will carry that for him, and he will carry her.

Eventually though, his appearances became more frequent, and all the while, the very look of him made shivers run down her spine akin to prey being watched by a predator.  What was he? And why was he here?  Why was he following her?  Were there others who could see him?  It certainly didn’t seem to be the case.  No one else had the look of horror cross their face at his sudden appearance, and no one else had the blood drain from their cheeks like she did.  Literally no one else knew there was the dark shadow that stared at her among others in the crowd.  She had to be the only one. 

But why? 

After a couple of months of seeing him with no other interaction, she decided he wasn’t going anywhere, and since she was still alive, perhaps he was not the Angel of Death after all.  But still, there had to be a reason she could see him.  She had questions and if he could talk, he might be the only one with the answers.  She just hoped and prayed that the next time she saw him they would be alone.

She got her wish two days later as she walked towards her typical haunt for lunch.

Now that she was face-to-face with this semi-transparent being, the idea of actually speaking to him terrified her.  In the bravest voice she could muster, though in the moment it was a mere whisper, she managed to spit out, “Who are you?”

He blinked once but made no other moves.  She waited, but nothing else happened.  A little louder, though still a whisper, she asked again, “Who.  Are.  You?”

He dropped his gaze just a bit before answering with, “You’re the first to talk to me.”

That didn’t surprise her.  What did surprise her was how soft and gentle the voice coming from such a terrifying specter was.  His answer threw her for a loop though, and she could do nothing but stare at him for a moment, unsure how to proceed.

Sensing she was at a loss now, he decided to finally answer her question.  “They…called me the Gray Man.”

Despite the situation, she managed to crack a joke, her way to alleviate stress, as she gestured to the whole of him.  “Uh…a little bit on the nose, don’t you think?”  To her great surprise, the ghost released the smallest but genuine smirk of amusement.  Finding courage in that, she said, “But that’s not what I asked you.”

He looked back up at her, and she was struck by the grief in such a gaze.  “That’s not important.”

“Yes, it is.  Who are you?”

It took everything in her not to shiver as the ghost silently stared at her.  He opened his mouth to speak, but then he stiffened, that predator stance returning.  “You need to leave.  Do not walk your normal route.  Go back to your office.”

His tone and his instructions froze her legs with fear, making her unable to comply. “But–”

“Now,” he growled as he took a challenging step towards her, and that was enough to reboot her fight or flight instinct to make her run.

She slept miserably the following night, haunted, for there was no better term here, by memories of the Gray Man and every frightening detail of his short existence in her life.  Too many unknowns and too many what ifs that only add to the mystery and fear that this ghost carried with him every time he appeared. 

As far as hauntings go, this was nothing quite like she’s read in books before.  It would be one thing if he shook her walls or screamed like hell in the middle of the night, causing mischief and misery like ghosts from the stories do.  This ghost…this ghost felt like a true definition of trapped between life and death.  Too close to life to be held by what he did while breathing and too far gone to realize he probably didn’t have to be held back anymore. 

And what the hell did she have to do with any of this?  She had not studied what features of his that were still human enough to recognize him, and if someone had died in her apartment, her nosy neighbors would have told her as much already.  Nothing about this made sense, and it kept her up at all hours.  Either she was trying to unravel the mystery of the ghost or when she closed her eyes, she saw the stone cold face of the Gray Man.

The nights since his first appearance have been just about like this, and the mornings after have been equally as miserable.  Sleep deprived and jumpy, every shadow made her wonder if the ghost had reappeared once again, but so far nothing that shifted in the dark was him.  

However she was not holding her breath that he was gone.  If anything he had shown he was not going to leave for good any time soon, but as long as she kept within whatever invisible boundaries he set she seemed to be safe from seeing him.  

That was until one morning after another sleepless night did she spy the Gray Man ghost peering at her through the outdoor window of her office, three stories above ground.  The sight was enough to make her jump out of her chair, knocking papers, books and the computer mouse from her desk to the floor.  She hissed a curse as she jumped, and as the mess piled up on the floor, the curse was repeated a bit louder.  She was thankful she was not in the process of drinking her morning coffee because not only would it have crashed on the floor, but she would have spewed all of her hot beverage at the sight of him.  

Turning back to the window, she found the ghost was gone.   She quickly turned her head this way and that, repeatedly looking at every corner, shadow, and crevice in her office to make sure she was in fact alone, before breathing a sigh of relief.  

It was short-lived.  

He stood in her doorway with a soft, sad look on his face.  “You look exhausted,” he pointed out.  “Are you alright?”  

That was a question she did not want to answer.  No, I’m not alright, and do you know why?  Because of you, that’s why!   No matter who or what he was, it didn’t feel right to her to tell him that truth.   

She peeked around the semi-transparent being as well as she could to make sure the coast was clear before side-stepping his question completely and hissing out a sharper one of her own.  “What are you doing here?”  

The ghost dropped his gaze from hers completely, which made her wonder if that was as close to a flinch as she’d ever see from the Gray Man.  He didn’t answer but just slowly let his gaze travel across her office space, silently assessing the premises.  Then he scowled, more at himself than her, before muttering quietly, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”  Then he vanished.  

She groaned as she covered her face with her hands and rested them on the tabletop.  The sudden and unexpected guilt pooling in her belly made her feel an inch tall.  “Now I wish I could disappear.”   

Figuring out how to apologize to a ghost felt like a more appropriate use of her time than doing what she was put on payroll for, but it was the last thing she expected to be doing today. 

He had yet to invade her apartment space, but on the morning that changed, she sensed him coming before she saw him.  The very air stiffened around her, and she suddenly understood what stories said when the air had a bite.  His presence carried a bite.

Her cup of coffee slipped through her fingers when red eyes manifested before her a mere foot away followed by the rest of him.  A scream got caught in her throat and choked her.  

“Do not leave this building.”

She had to cough out the scream that suffocated her before asking, “Why?”

“You want to see tomorrow?”  She nodded quickly with a wide-eyed stare.  “Do not leave this building.”  And then he was gone.

“Wait!”  The scream she wanted to release seconds earlier came out then with that word, but the ghost was gone.  Daring not to go against him, she called in sick and hid under her covers, leaving the coffee mess on the floor.

A few hours later when she was calm enough to think again, two important dots connected in her mind.  You want to see tomorrow?  Do not leave this building.  Every door he blocked, every street he barricaded, every person he scared her away from, surely that had to be for a reason.   For whatever reason this ghost’s hauntings were actually…protective.  That was a first.  She had never heard of a ghost looking after his charge before.

And he was lonely.  He had to be, right?  She would be.  You’re the first to talk to me.  And the morning at her office.  The more she thought about it, the more she wondered if he was there to just be somewhere. 

What was this ghost’s story?  And why in the world did he care about some nobody’s safety?

She never watched the news, but for once, she felt the need to flip the channel over to the local news to find story after story after story of people meeting bizarre ends that day.  Unexplained, unnatural ends.  Supernatural ends?

“What the hell is going on around here?”

The Gray Man’s ghost was absent for another week, and nothing confused her more than hoping to see the frightening specter again, even if that meant he was the harbinger of danger.  She wondered if there were others he watched over that took up his time which was why he was absent.

Whatever was going on, she quickly realized the ghost wasn’t as absent as she thought.  She caught him more than once patrolling various sections of her apartment building, from the parking area to the stairs to her hallway.  In fact, this felt more like ghost behavior than anything else, stalking areas at random times at his leisure.  But the fact she caught him was surprising to her.  The last time he made himself known, he proved he could be there without fully manifesting his appearance.  So why could she see him as he kept guard around her building?  

A message, she decided.  He wasn’t as absent as she thought.  “You offer more questions than answers,” she whispered into the air as she watched the ghost stalk through the shadows, red eyes scanning his surroundings.

Three days later, the night ran too long, and her social battery ran out before the rest of the crew was ready to depart.  Desperate times called for desperate measures, and she decided she would rather brave the streets looking for a cab than to wait any longer.  Call it what you will, she had enough of the scene she was leaving for the rest of the week.  Besides, she figured she would not be missed enough to ruin their good time.  

Nevertheless, the cabs were surprisingly absent at the moment, so she started walking in the direction of home.  “Might as well be productive while waiting for a cab,” she mumbled to herself as she started the trek home.

It wasn’t long before she heard something on the wind, what was that?  A groan?  A growl?  Whatever it was, there was a clear tone of disapproval in it.  Before she could think about the odd noise, the air froze and crackled around her, and that’s when she saw the red, angry eyes of the ghost staring down at her.  Either it was too dark to see the rest of him, or he remained too transparent to be seen.  It didn’t matter in the end, the eyes were enough to make her halt and stand stiff as a board.

“What the hell are you doing out here alone?” the Gray Man growled.

Yep, definitely disapproval, she thought.  She swallowed hard and tried to keep what bravery sent her on her way to begin with as she answered, “I’m - I’m going home.”  The eyes shrunk to slits, and she quickly added, “I’m keeping my eyes peeled for a taxi, but there aren’t any right now!  And - and it’s better to stay on the move than to just stay in one place.  Right?”

He didn’t answer for a moment, but she could tell he was relenting to her way of thinking by how he made more of himself be seen.  And even now, she couldn’t decide whether to be freaked or to be comforted.  “You don’t know what’s out here at night.”

“I have pepper spray with me, and I took karate back in high school.”  The look he gave was something between amused and horrified, and under different conditions, she would have thought it hysterical for a ghost to look horrified.  “Besides, I’ll keep to the street lights, and I can scream really loud.  I’ll be fine.”

“There’s more than just dipshit thugs out here,” he told her, voice dropping low and thrumming with the urgency his warning brought.  “There’s things worse than me freely roaming the streets, and they wouldn’t think twice about ripping someone like you to shreds.” 

If there was ever a time to test her theory, it would be now.  She fought the shiver that ran through her system at the thought of specters worse than him wanting to rip her to shreds, and she looked him in the eye.  Her plea was soft and unsure.  “Will you help me get home then?”

He stared at her for the longest time, and it became clear to her after a moment that he was actually wrestling with her request.  Maybe this went beyond protocol for a ghost?  If ghosts had protocols anyway.  But if they did, would being hauntingly protective go against ghost protocol or not?

Finally, the Gray Man nodded his agreement and waited for her to start moving before he kept in stride with her.  Everything about her was at war right now.  Some part of her, perhaps the survival instinct part of her, did not like being in the presence of a ghost.  An actual ghost.  She had gooseflesh all over her arms and legs, she tried to hide a tremble with each step, and it took some self control to not run away.  And yet, the other part seemed to have no qualms about walking beside and conversing with said ghost.  You are losing your mind.

After walking for about ten minutes in silence, save for the few times he took them on a different path due to things only he could see, she finally got to voice what she had been wanting to since the morning in her office.  “I’m sorry.”  He actually stopped short in surprise as she continued, “Back at my office.  I…I believe you didn’t mean to scare me, and you were just being kind in checking on me. And I’m sorry.”

He didn’t speak for a moment, and he actually started moving again with her having to catch up before he said, “It’s alright.  I get it.  I’m not exactly the most comforting sight.”

She wanted to deny that, and she was beginning to find that denying it would be more true than not.  Another layer of the paradox of the ghost beside her.  But she knew he wouldn’t believe her if she tried, so instead she asked, “Can I ask you something?”  He thought about it for a moment before nodding approval, expecting a question about why he was there or what kind of things were worse than he was, but instead she asked, “What’s your name?”  

“I told you what you could call me.”

“The Gray Man is not a name.  Or even a ghost name.”

“Yeah, it is.  More than you realize,” he replied quietly.

“It’s a title at best.  And this title carried a lot of weight, I guess, right?”

He nodded once.  “Still does.”

“For those who know it anyway.”

“Like I said, there’s worse out here than me.”

The shiver that ran up her spine was not one she could hold back this time, and she felt annoyed by it.  But his comment made her ask about something else she had wondered about.  “Did something worse than you give you that?” she asked as she gestured to the claw marks on his chest.  His gaze dropped as he covered the scars with one of his arms.  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t’ve–”

“No, it’s okay.”  He looked up slightly and answered quietly, “I…I encountered a lot of people in my time who…who tried to make me more a machine than anything else.  And it was…it was a challenge to keep this part of me protected and secure.  Keep this part from being stolen by all the shit in the world.”

She was right.  Something vile did try to claw its way in, just not the kind of monsters she expected.  The kind among the living.  The realization made her gasp.  “They tried to take your heart,” she whispered.  It took him a moment before he nodded slowly.  “And they failed.”

He nodded again but slower this time.  “So they killed it instead.”

That statement broke her heart.  Here he was protecting ordinary people like her from God knows what was out there when he needed support in life to protect him from monsters who tried to break him.  That wasn’t fair.  For the first time in her life, she found herself wishing she had the ability to hug a ghost.  

What she would give to make the Gray Man’s heart beat again.

She didn’t see the Gray Man Ghost again for another week, and to her surprise, the absence of him worried her as much as his presence.  She exited her car after an exhausting day, popped her back with a groan, and started making her way towards her building with a bag of carry-out food in hand and purse over her shoulder.  The Gray Man appeared before her faster than the air could warn her of his coming.  “Run to your apartment,” he commanded with urgency.

He was greeted by a jump and a scream shrunk down to a hiss as she tried to compose herself and calm her rapid heartbeat.  “What the–”

“RUN!”  He ordered again before a large clawed hand came out of thin air and smacked the ghost away - a ghost can be smacked away?? - leaving her paralyzed as a large, looming mass of black smoke took the crude silhouette of a man and sneered at her. 

It spoke, but its voice didn’t come from its mouth.  Instead it seemed to reverberate around her with no discernable source.  It was deep as earth and venomous, and the words it spoke shook her to her core.  Well, well, well…quite a light within you.  Nothing tastes quite as sweet as a dying light.

A gray shadow literally zoomed past her in a blur and attacked the monstrous figure, and she heard her ghost’s voice growl in her ear with an urgency that sent frantic, electric shocks up her spine, bringing her back to her senses.  “Run to your apartment, lock yourself in, and do not look back!”

She didn’t have to be told twice.  

The bag of to-go containers was left behind as she raced through the parking garage as fast as her legs could carry her.  Her adrenaline and fear only propelled her further with the sounds of unnatural shrieks of rage coming from the area right behind her.  Is this what deer being chased by wolves feel like?  Her heart painfully slammed into her ribcage and her breaths grew harsh as she skipped stair steps and pumped her arms furiously, demanding her body to move faster.  There was a crash somewhere behind her, a little too close to comfort, and she heard groans mixed with a roar also too close for comfort.  

Unaware of tears sliding down her face, she prayed with every harsh breath her lungs could scrape out, “Please  - don’t let - me die  - and please - don’t let - the ghost - get hurt.” It was a sincere prayer for herself and for him, but she was too terrified to consider that ghosts couldn’t get physically hurt.

Another crash from behind, much larger than the first, almost made her disobey the ghost’s command, but she pressed on, also afraid of whatever retribution her specter protector decided to inflict if she got out of this alive.  She was so close now.

After an eternity of terror, she finally reached her hallway, and running while scrambling to find her keys in her purse felt ridiculous and slowed her down, which only made her anxiety skyrocket all the more.  “C’mon, c’mon,” she muttered breathlessly, voice high-pitched and tight.

The black smoky monster’s claws slid their way through the floor by her feet, anchored themselves in the carpet, and pulled the rest of it from below. The air’s temperature plummeted, and she looked down at her feet, screamed, and launched her left foot towards the monster’s head. Her foot not only flew through its head as if nothing was there, her foot actually stung, forcing her to cry out in pain. 

Get in the damn apartment! she screamed at herself, and she stabbed the lock with the key, turned it, and was halfway through the door when the monster somehow grabbed her by the left shoulder and pulled her back into the hallway. The pain burned mercilessly; this was how she imagined acid burns to feel because it felt like her shoulder was slowly eroding away. “GRAY!” she shrieked desperately, clinging to the doorframe with everything she had because her life literally depended on it.

Death to the light, she heard the monster snarl.

Suddenly, the monster let out an angry shriek and let go of her as she heard the sounds of energies clashing and winds whipping about in fury. The noises didn’t make sense to her, but what did make sense was the fact she was free. She flung herself through the door to her apartment, slammed the door behind her, locked it for good measure.

She shivered and trembled as the lights in her apartment flashed repeatedly.  The pain in her foot and shoulder made her lightheaded and dizzy.  Or was that how her lungs begged for air?  The noises from the hallway were muffled now, distant and faraway.  She felt like she was going to vomit.

“Gray?” she whimpered.

Then her world was swallowed up in darkness.

–

The cold tile floor felt like a balm against the fire in her throbbing shoulder and foot.  Her vision swam as she slowly opened her eyes, but at least her lungs didn’t ache like before.  Her nausea still felt prominent, but she didn’t feel in danger of having to clean up a mess.  In fact, somehow she didn’t feel in danger at all anymore.  Save for the injuries she had, she felt…safe.

She groaned softly and attempted to get up, but she didn’t get far before she heard a gentle voice nearby.  “Don’t.”  She relented and let her eyes adjust instead.  The ghost remained close, ever watchful.  Somehow his sharp, deadly features were softer now, and his posture was…worried. She settled with worried.

“I feel sick,” she mumbled with a hoarse voice.

He nodded slowly.  “It’s a side effect of the attack, but that’ll pass soon.”

She studied him for a moment, trying to figure out if anything was amiss for him.  But he was a ghost.  Everything about him looked amiss.  “Are you okay?”

His eyes grew wide, clearly startled by her question, but he recovered quickly and shrugged it off.  “Perks about being a ghost, I don’t get hurt like I used to.”

“That implies you still get hurt, Gray.”

His gaze softened, and the smallest smile tugged at his lips.  “I’m fine.  It’s you we’ve got to take care of.”

“I’m going to live, right?”

He nodded with gentle assurance.  “Yeah, you’re going to live.  You’ll need to stay here for a few days.  As long as you remain in your apartment, you’ll be safe.”

“How do you know?”

“I made sure of it.”

“How?”

“Just trust me.  I’ve made sure you’re safe here.”

Realizing that she did trust him and didn’t need to ask any more about that, she asked, “Why were we attacked?”

“I was attacked because I was protecting you.  You were attacked because you’re a rare breed of person.”

“What kind’s that?”  She feigned a tough look despite feeling sick and asked, “Tall, dark, and threatening?”

The Gray Man actually scoffed at her.  “You couldn’t darken a doorway if your life depended on it.”  He was pleased to be rewarded with a chuckle from her, and he allowed himself to listen to it before continuing, “But you are more of a threat than you realize though.”

“How?”

He asked softly, “Do you remember three years ago when you offered to pay for a meager meal for a gruff-looking loner in a gas station?”

Her brows furrowed as she begged her muddled brain to go back that far.  A gruff-looking loner in a gas station…well that could’ve been a lot of people.  But she vaguely remembered paying for food for someone.  He didn’t look that gruff as her memory recalled.  He looked tired, lonely, and in need of a damn break.  She remembered wishing to do more for him, but that was the best she could do at the time.

The surprised but soft smile was what she remembered the most.

Recognition hit her then, and her eyes snapped wide open.  “Holy shit,” she gasped as she studied the ghost now as if with fresh eyes.

He gave her that soft smile again as he greeted, “Hello again.”

“Holy shit,” she repeated, trying to wrap her head around this news.  “You…you…I don’t understand.”

“You’re kind.  You’re genuinely kind, and there are forces in the shadows that would rather there not be any kind people around.  My job is to help protect people like you.”  He sighed and slowly shook his head, silently rebuking himself.  “I could have done better for you.”

“I’m alive because of you, Gray,” she told him gently.  “I owe you a lot.”

He watched her for a moment before saying quietly, like he was revealing a secret, “Court.  My name’s Court Gentry.”

She smiled warmly at him.  “Nice to meet you again, Court Gentry.”  

For the umpteenth time, he found himself starting a thought with In another life… before forcing himself to drop it.  There was no point in letting himself go down that trail when there would be nothing but more misery at the end of it.  No rest in life and no rest in death it seemed either, since he was drawn to one particular charge more than the rest.  But there surely was no hope for a specter such as him.