"There. Look, she's doing it again," exclaimed Levi.

Olivia frowned, "Willow what are you looking at there's nothing up there, you weirdo."

Levi adjusted himself on the couch, his eyes following their cat's suspicious glare. He squinted his eyes, hoping to see a mosquito or a fly, but saw nothing. "Yeah, what the hell are you looking at Willow? You know that's creepy right? Staring off into space at nothing...crazy people do that."

Olivia held back a chuckle, and swatted him across the arm, "Jerk. Don't be mean to her."

"What? It's weird Olivia. I think our new cat brought some ghosts with her." Levi rubbed her on the head and Willow responded with a satisfied purr. "Our house was ghost free until you got here you little weirdo."

"I mean maybe you're right..." Said Olivia with a shrug.

Levi frowned and tilted his head upwards, "What's that supposed to mean...explain yourself, Olivia."

Olivia shrugged her shoulders, "Well the other night, when you went out with Kai, I was hanging out with her in our room. I was watching TV and she was lying next to me and all of a sudden she just freaked out. She stood up like a cat in a cartoon, I half expected her fur to stand up. She was staring at the closet for the longest time, then she jumped off the bed and sat outside the room until you got home."

"See now that's weird. Now you got me thinking that our house is haunted." Levi exclaimed.

"Oh come on, our house isn't haunted," replied Olivia with an eye roll. "Right Willow? You're just staring at bugs, there aren't any ghosts here."

"Meow," responded Willow, her gaze going back up to the ceiling. Staring into the hollow, and rotting eye sockets of the tall man that stood above her new owners.

They say that when you suddenly wake up in the middle of the night, that’s because someone is there staring at you. I was only six when Grandma Wendy told me this and I remember being petrified. Mom scolded her every time I woke up in the middle of the night and, unable to control my fear, I let it all out in a terrified scream. I’d scream and scream, my arm too frightened to reach out for the lamp. Mom hated it and eventually forbade Grandma to tell me these things. Why telling nonsense to a young child who doesn’t know better?

‘But it is true, the sooner she knows the better,’ Grandma Wendy would say shrugging her shoulders as if seeing ghosts was the most natural thing in the world. Maybe it was for her. ‘And, as you know, it doesn’t mean they come back to hurt you. Most aren’t that bad.’

‘Oh, please. Just drop it,’ mom would say, rolling her eyes and sighing.

As I grew up my fears vanished. Vanished up to the point that I even forgot about these old wife tales. I attended school, went to University, got a job, my life just went on without grandma or her stories.

Until one day mom called me to the office, her voice feeble.

‘She has passed, Grandma Wendy. The funeral is the day after tomorrow.’

I didn’t react straight away to the news, the reality took its time to sink in. We humans go through these funny phases whereby as a child you adore your grandparents but as you enter adolescence, grandparents become just old boring crones. As an adult I wasn’t close to her either, maybe my unconscious mind didn’t want to hear her stories event though I could swear I had really forgotten about them. I felt guilty though. For not having been a close granddaughter, all thanks to unfounded fears. Or were they? That night I slept with the TV on as if that stupid bright square could protect me from unwanted visits.

The funeral day came quicker than I had wanted. It was a family tradition too to kiss the dead’s forehead, something my mom never forced me to do as a young child or even teen, but now that I was 36 I was supposed to.

I’ll never forget her lemon coloured, lifeless face, her eyes closed, yet I could feel as I approached my lips to her forehead that she was watching me somehow. I was quick, hardly touched her. I was invaded by this irrational fear that she would suddenly wide-open her eyes and grab me.

I still spent a couple of days with mom until she felt strong enough again to be on her own. She was always very quiet, which I associated to her pain. Until the day I left.

‘Don’t be scared if she visits you at night,’ she unexpectedly said as I kissed her goodbye and prepared to get in the car.

‘Sorry, mom?”

‘She loves you, she might want to see you. Just don’t be scared. It’s been in our blood for generations, even if we try to deny it or push it away.’

And she closed the door leaving me wondering if her sadness was making her talk nonsense or if there was any truth in her words.

I drove home slowly and as night time approached I decided to put myself together. I was 36, for goodness sake. I was too big to believe in ghost stories.

It was just after 2am when my eyes wide opened. The stories came back, sweltering in my mind. My heart was galloping. A chill went down my spine but just like when I was six, my hand was too scared to reach out for the lamp. I took a deep breath. It was my imagination, highly affected by Grandma’s recent death. I was very shaken, that was all. I gripped my pillow tight and closed my eyes, hoping to fall back to sleep soon.

‘Hello, sweetheart. Don’t be afraid, I am ok.’

I jumped off my bed panting heavily. I didn’t know if I had fallen asleep again and dreamed of her voice or if she had really been there talking to me. I closed my eyes and as I pulled the blanket over my back, her cold hand grabbed mine. The screamed died in my throat.

‘Shhh, sweetie. I’ve told you I mean no harm.’

The room was stifling as only the rooms of the dying are. Unable to keep himself warm, as his body broke down, the central heating was ratcheted up. The lights were dimmed as though he were sleeping peacefully, as opposed to someone who had headed into a losing battle and had been struck with a mortal wound now struggling to live. I sat by his bed watching every rasping breath hoping it would be the last, but really I knew he still had a way to go yet, no matter how much I wished for his pain to end. Three to six months a doctor had given him nearly three months ago to the day. We only heard six months and expected another Christmas together. A sense of being cheated had pervaded through the house in the past weeks. His three month sentence drawing quickly to a close.

So on and on with the rasping, in and out of air, each a struggle to comprehend, as we continued our vigil. Not letting him be alone as his final hour drew every closer and he quickly drifted away from us. Just the day before he had seemed to wake up a bit and even eaten, but that was a good last meal. His consciousness drifting already. The others had now given themselves the permission of a reprieve to cook themselves a meal and have a break. Leaving just him and me together. Never a comfortable situation even when he was very much alive and well.

The dimness and heat of the room bought me to that strange never-land in-between awake and asleep. It was then I became aware of them. As well as the hushed noises coming from the kitchen downstairs, I heard Them gathering on the other side. Somber men in dark, heavy woollen over-coats suitable for the cold, damp November evening. Shaking hands in greeting, introductions being made, they were quiet, respectful and formal. Brothers, uncles, fathers, friends. All male I noticed. The only woman he ever loved, liked even, was downstairs cooking, fearful for her lonely future. Understanding she was being left behind and not understanding it. A man’s man, not in the macho sense of the word just one who really never understood women. Couldn’t understand the flightiness of his granddaughter; or the ever changing moods of his daughter-in-law; nor the choices of his sisters. Comfortable really only with his wife and son. They had been his world and the world he was now leaving.

And they stayed gathered, as we were, in a quiet vigil, holding their own. Waiting for their brother to join them finally. Ready to greet rather than bid farewell, comfort, explain his new reality, smooth his transition. I heard their whispers, realising there was still some hours to go before the inevitable happened; their quiet catching up on news between each other, biding time, rubbing cold hands against the cold night.

And so we all waited.

It’s so common, isn’t it?

Hearing people talk about paranormal activity. It would seem almost foolish to not believe it by now, right? Well that never stopped me.

But when you’re on the receiving end, it’s hard to ignore.

When lights don’t just flicker—they turn on and off, the entire flip switching, completely all on their own, it does become difficult to chop it up to faulty wiring. Or when I watch doors open wide and then shut, it’s hard to claim it’s just the breeze.

Or when the TV erupts on in the dead silence and I watch channels flip, or even worse, see a specific channel number be manually inputted; that’s when I decide I can’t ignore it anymore. Something was going on here.

I tried to bring myself to leave and go to the library, or maybe the church? Who knows. Anyway, I couldn’t seem to do it. Whatever is here is sapping my energy. The doors feel incredibly heavy—in fact, everything does. The moment I make it to the doorway or—on a particularly determined day—the front yard, I find myself so exhausted that I have to go back inside and rest.

The phone line never works; it doesn’t even beep, it’s like I’m not interacting with it at all.

I was starting to give up hope that I’d ever get out of here, much less deal with whatever entity or energy was in my home.

That is, until it spoke to me.

I was just sitting in bed, trying to focus on some reading, when I heard it. There were no definitive words, just a calling. A beckoning.

I wasn’t sure how I knew where to go, but I found myself anxiously making my way down the hall to the back room. Every step seemed too incredibly loud, that subtle creak I hadn’t really paid much notice to before sounded blaring. It almost drowned out the incessant pounding of my own heart in my ears. Just almost.

When I stepped into the room, of all things, there was a Ouija Board.

‘Great.’ I thought bitterly. ‘I’m actually in a horror movie now...’

Seeing as there was no other option at this point, I begrudgingly walked over and sat in front of it.

I waited for the token to move, but instead, I heard a voice. So faint, like a whisper from another room. I had to strain to hear it.

“Can you hear me?”

I shifted uncomfortably, tentatively putting my hand on the board and moving the token over the word “yes”.

“Why are you here? How long have you been dead?”

Me? Dead?

I dragged the token across the letters, spelling “alive”.

Nothing happened for awhile. And then:

“You don’t know you’re dead?”

Ridiculous. Or so I thought, until I considered the possibility...

I can’t leave, I can’t make calls, everything is so difficult to do, even now I’m the one moving the token in response...

It couldn’t be.

Could it?

I remember the night so vividly it was almost like a dream, awoken from my slumber to see eyes staring back at me. From a holographic figure floating under the ceiling, dressed like the jack of spades thought that this was my last evening.

On this beautiful world, I did the only thing that seemed logical, I buried my head deep under my covers creating an unbreachable obstacle, of cotton and feathers surely no one could get through, locked away in my fort, I was safe from the ghoul

What seemed like hours later, I decided to take a lil peep, because I knew that if that thing was still around i wasn’t getting any sleep, but the ghost had vanished never to be seen again, but his presence was always there, I wish we’d met again

Because as I’ve grown older, I realised I aint afraid of no ghost My biggest regret is hiding, wish that I’d spoke, we get this built in fear programmed from tv shows , when in reality they just want a friend because they’re cursed to be alone

“Bump” it echoed through the hall. Gathering bravado as it went. It fell on Scott’s ear like a plague. He shook. It wasn’t the first time the house had gone bump in the night. He looked around. Nothing. He searched down the hall. Nothing. “Bump” there it was again the sound bouncing off the walls like a ball. Scott was scared now. His eyes darting left and right. A bad omen was at work and he was the hound the bump wanted to own. To control. But he wasn’t afraid. At least not yet. He grabbed a fire poker from the fireplace and held a stance. “Bump,Bump” they were speeding up. “Bump,Bump” they were getting louder, he could feel the hot breath on his neck he turned around.

Nothing.

The Bump had left.