Lake Larson

Water soaked the stairwell from rain sprinkling in areas of Eastern. I jogged up two flights of stairs while my neighbor across the hall rushed down.

He grinned at me with a friendly, shy face as I mirrored his expression. I moved to this dorm last summer and still have not spoken to him. My new room was more like an apartment compared to the shared double twin I had last year.

My hands shook from the cold as I dangled my keys to unlock the door. A wave of warm air hit me when I walked into my studio. I tossed my bag on my bed, center in the room, rushing to my private bathroom.

I stripped off my sweaty clothes and stepped into the shower. The water pierced my skin like needles as I set the temperature to hell. After watermelon soap and keeping my hair dry, I slipped into underwear and a linebacker-sized white shirt.

Tiptoeing into my little nook area, I filled a cup of noodles with water and popped it into the microwave. With my back against the counter, I glanced at my seafoam green wall, knowing the campus would kill me if they saw I painted over their bland white bricks.

A buzzing echoed around my room as I rushed over to my bag on the bed and dug into it. With the square device in my hand, the light shined back at me with a goofy picture of Alex, my best friend. She was the only person who knew me.

"Hey, Alex," I answered the phone while scuffing my foot over the burn mark in the middle of the floor.

"Hey there, bestie, you are still okay with me coming over on Saturday?" she asked, but the truth was she would arrive uninvited, anyway.

"Of course. What do you have planned?" I glanced at my bookshelf of the handful of DVDs I stole from my mom, knowing we would probably stream from one of many platforms now.

"Something came up at work. So I won't be getting in until later, but," Alex said, sounding mischief.

"But, what?" I asked, feeling a pit in my stomach.

"We are going out, and you don't have a choice in that matter," she said while my mind raced. I could feel my heart thud in my chest as my stomach twisted into knots. What does she mean by going out?

"Alex," I whispered, unsure. "I don't know about that."

"Yes, we are going out to the bars," she sped up her words, talking too fast. "Got to go before you protest me. Bye." Alex hung up the phone before my lips could part.

I huffed out, seeing the timer on the microwave beep to zero. Stepping toward the noodles, I sensed my phone slip from my palms, crashing to the wood floor. It slid across the wood, slowing to a stop before my bookshelf.

My heart skipped a beat, hoping I didn't break the screen. I slowly picked it up, seeing no marks. I exhaled deeply as a white paper stuck out from the floorboards.

I knelt on the floor, placing my phone next to me. My fingers played with the material, trying to loosen it from the wood. With a twist, I slipped it between the cracks, pulling the paper from my floor.

It wasn't just a simple paper, but a photo, an older print of a guy. While I sat on the chilly wood with my knees tucked under my rear, I brought the picture closer to my face. The young man had a red beanie on as he smiled with his face up at the snowy sky. He was handsome, super handsome.

I used my thumb to rub off the dust on his face, to reveal him in more detail. The picture captured the campus outside the library, but the landscape looked different with age.

I turned the photo over to the backside. A dark red lipstick mark stained the plastic material with cursive writing. I blew at the dust, seeing the lipstick form of a kiss mark. The cursive writing sparkled purple as I read the name.

"Ian Cros," I whispered. The name copied in my head, mirroring me in someone else's voice.

A lump in my throat caused me to grip my neck as I fought for air. My legs slowly froze as the fog drifted around me. I glanced down to see a man lying there with his eyes closed. His torso stuck out of my legs as I sat inside of him.

A scream echoed from my lips, piercing my ears. The guy's eyes opened as he sat up with his torso inside me. A chilly sensation froze my body to my blood. What was happening?

"What is happening? Who the fuck are you?" a deep voice vibrated from the hazy figure.

I crawled backward, standing with my hands forming a cross toward him. Closing my eyes, I smacked my cheek, hoping to wake up.

"One, two, three, four," I whispered, keeping my lids shut.

"Why are you counting?" the ghost's voice lost vibration, sounding normal. "Get out of my room!" the figure yelled.

I opened my eyes to see him standing before me, confused. He didn't have a ghostly appearance as his eyes danced around the room, taking everything in.

"What happened to my room?" He pointed at the green wall. "Where is my television and couch?"

I panicked, racing into the kitchen and picking up the pepper shaker. "No, this is my room," I said, waving the clay container around as black pepper sprinkled on him.

He tilted his head in confusion. "What are you doing?" He asked as I threw the shaker at him, watching it disappear through his torso, and hit the wall on the other side of the room. He held his chest, looking down with widened eyes.

"Ghost!" I yelled at him.

"I'm not a ghost," he replied. "Plus, it's salt that kills ghosts, not pepper."

I grabbed the salt from my counter, threatening him with it. He tilted his head, pointing at me.

"You wouldn't dare," the ghost said, watching my hand.

"You don't know me," I slowly replied, dancing my eyes between him and the salt shaker.

I tilted my head, side-eyeing him while he mirrored my expression. Lifting my hand, I shook the salt toward him, watching the white speckles fly at his face. The ghost screamed, waving his arms above his head while the salt drifted to the floor.

He paused. "Oh, nothing happened."

I stepped back, wanting to throw the shaker at him, but set it back on the counter without blinking.

The ghost stepped closer with confidence, glancing at me. The guy's hazel eyes dilated as the green on the outer parts danced with the browns on the inner area. He pushed back his shaggy hair, not looking away from me.

"Ian Cros?" I asked.

"Yes?" he confirmed with a questioning tone.

"I don't know how to tell you this, but—" I glanced down at the picture still in my palm, tightened between my fingers.

"Spit it out," he exclaimed, glancing at my hand.

Ian stepped before me, reaching for the photo in my hand. His fingers slipped through my body as he waved back and forth, trying to retrieve the object in my palm. He froze, peaking his eyes at me with a smirk before trying again but with aggressive movement.

"No fucking way," he said, pacing before me. "You have got to be kidding me."

He paused with his hand on the top of his hair, thinking, but continued while shaking his head. Ian glanced at me, slowly walking over with his eyes scanning down my body and back up. A shiver shot down my spine as I crossed my arms over my chest, glaring at his perverted face.

I pulled the picture up so he could see it. "This is you, right?" I asked, already knowing his answer.

He chuckled, making me bite my bottom lip. His eyes danced over the picture.

"Yes." Ian played with the photo by making his pointer finger pass through it.

"Are you a ghost?" I asked, regretting right away because what else could he be?

"I don't remember dying." He glanced at me with a concerned face.

Ian walked around the room, creaking the floorboards. He sported ripped jeans and a blue button-down shirt under a leather jacket, which reminded me of what my sister's husband used to wear in college.

"What year do you think it is?" I asked him.

"Two thousand and two, right?" Ian looked at me like I was an idiot.

I straight-smiled at him, shaking my head. He eyed my lips, stepping before me as I glanced down. His bare toes walked into my view, prompting me to peek up as he read the pity in my eyes.

Not wanting to say it, I pointed at my clock on the wall, which also said today's date.

He gawked at my clock as his jaw dropped in disbelief. "Nineteen years! I've been gone for nineteen years!"

I tilted my head, trying not to laugh. "Your math isn't mathing."

Ian glanced at the ceiling as he whispered to himself, counting on his fingers. "Fuck yeah!" he yelled. "This could be pretty sick."

He ran toward me, jumping through my body. The icy feeling shivered down my legs before the warmth floated back.

"Hey, watch it, man." I glared at him, wrapping my arms around each other.

Ian walked to my bed and sat down. My heart sunk to my stomach at the thought of a guy on my sheets. Not that I am a virgin, but I'm not the type of girl to have random boys over, even ghost ones.

But why was the bed solid for him, unlike other things? "How are you doing that?" I asked, pointing with a wave.

"I'm not sure," he replied, lifting the shirt I forgot for soccer practice.

"Boundaries, Ian." I stomped toward him, ripping my shirt from his hand. "You can't. Not my bed." I tried to grab him, but my hand went through his arm. "This is my room, so you can—" I paused, looking around. I didn't have a couch for Ian. "Well, do you even sleep?" I glared at him. "Do ghosts need sleep?"

Ian chuckled to himself while shaking his head. "So, you know my name. What is yours?"

I closed my eyes, hoping he would disappear. "Lake," I said, opening my lids. "Larson."

"That's a weird name."

"Yeah, my dad had a weird imagination."

Ian stood up from my bed and walked to my table. He stopped, trying to sit at a stool, but stumbled through it. He tried again, falling to his rear with a thud. Ian collected himself to a stance and gave my college books his best try.

"These suckers are thick," he said, waving his hand through the table until his palm hit the surface. "Ouch." He tiptoed toward me, shaking his hand in pain.

"Do you remember anything from your last day alive?" I asked him, feeling sleepy.

He glanced around with a significant expression on his face. Ian stopped to point at the ceiling, and his smile reached his ears. "No."

"Well, you can't stay here anymore, Ian. You are uninvited from my room, so go figure out how to move on to—" I paused, side-eyeing him. "Hell or Heaven?"

Ian pointed at me. "First, rude. Second, I'm not a vampire, so you can't just uninvite me." He smirked with an evil grin. "But definitely Hell."

I palmed my face with a deep exhale.

"I didn't want your help anyway," Ian said.

I peeked at him. "Okay, then leave." I pointed at the door.

He shrugged his shoulders with a sweet smile. "I can't."

"Why?" I shook my head. "What do you mean, you can't?"

"Do I really need to explain it to you?" Ian walked over to my bookshelf, fingering a picture of Alex and me. "Looks like I'm stuck with you." He bent over, getting a closer look at the photo. "You have been a delightful host so far, too," he said with sarcasm spilling from his voice.

You have got to be kidding me. What the heck was happening? Ghosts aren't supposed to exist. Everything had to be a nightmare. Ian looked at me with a side smile and winked. Okay, maybe a dream. I huffed, rubbing my palms on my temples.

Ian knocked my photo to the wood floor, glancing at me with a sorry expression. "Oops."

I stared at him expressionless as he dropped his shoulders. "Lake, the last thing I remember was landing in New York City."

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