You in Real Life

The new house was a nightmare, starting with its vomit-yellow exterior and the triumphant moss that seemed to consume everything. Mazie, curled in the fetal position in her new bedroom, knew this was it. Not because of the move, not because of the new school, but because the door, against all reason, had just opened on its own.

She tucked her knees closer, eyes squeezed shut, performing the grounding techniques her therapist taught her.

_Name three things you can feel._

The wooden floor, the cardboard box, 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 her room, facing the window.

She blinked, tears streaming, and he was gone. Holy shit, this was really happening. "Stay away from me, Ghost Boy."

Bracing herself, she stood, legs shaking, and made it one step into the hallway before the door slammed shut behind her. Never had she moved so fast, tearing down the stairs to the blessed noise of her parents and the movers below, her heart thumping a frantic rhythm against her ribs. This wasn't a nightmare; it was a series of events, a loop playing in her head, confirming the impossible.

Two hours later, after cycling through every rational explanation, Mazie decided fear was her only ghost. Grabbing a box, she trooped back upstairs, hair on her arms raised, and pushed open her bedroom door. The room seemed as she'd left it, airy, half-unpacked. She placed the box by the window, taking in the view of treetops and a sliver of bay. "I don't know what's happening."

Her breath caught. She whipped around. The room was empty. "I don't know what's happening." The voice was clearer now, closer. "Yeah, that makes two of us, Ghost Boy."