You in Real Life

I'd already curled myself into the fetal position by the time the ghost opened my bedroom door. Most reasonable people would say a draft did this rather than a paranormal being, but not me. I wasn't most people or particularly reasonable, especially when sobbing my way through a panic attack.

I tucked my knees closer to my chest so that my feet were as far from the haunted door as possible. It was only a matter of time now before the ghost sought revenge for its untimely death by claiming my innocent, fragile life. I spent my remaining moments on Earth practicing the grounding techniques my therapist taught me.

Name three things you can feel, Mazie.

The grooves in the wooden floor below my palms, the cardboard box against my neck, sheer terror.

Name three things you can smell.

Paint, mold, fear.

Name three things you can see.

Boxes, an open doorway, a transparent boy standing in my room, facing the window.

I blinked, tears cascading down my cheeks, and the spirit was gone.

Holy shit, this was really happening. Reasonable people and their drafts be damned!