With a steaming front end, the rusty pickup truck was towed down the road by good old Uncle Pete. Not only did he run the town's only junkyard, but the only mechanic's shop too. He was a good guy for the most part, but he could get away with charging a little more than was necessary. Afterall, who else was going to fix up people's cars? It's not like they could shop around for the right person the way people do in large cities. You either had Uncle Pete, or you learned to do it yourself. That's how Bernie lost a finger. He got his panties in a twist and next thing you know; he's screaming down the road in an ambulance to the nearest hospital 20 miles out of town.

But I digress. The point is, Uncle Pete towed the truck, and I hopped in the passenger seat for a free ride. He was listening to some jazz music; saxophones ran rampant in the car alongside some snazzy trumpets. Kicking my feet to the music, I tried my best to engage in a conversation with the older man. I asked about his big old Pitbull, about his grandkids, and dare I say it, about his secret corn bread recipe. Of course, I got no reply, but one of these days I was certain he'd finally cough up that recipe of his. It was only a matter of time, and I was incredibly persistent.

As the music continued to play, I let my mind wander to the first time I'd met Uncle Pete. I'd been three years old at the time and dressed up like a ladybug. Uncle Pete went all out for Halloween, decorating his shop with ginormous spiders, the wickedest of witches, and a replica of an anatomically accurate werewolf. It scared the socks off all the other kids, but I wasn't like other kids. My focus was on the prize at the end of the terrifying journey. Forcing myself through the terrifying field of creatures, I came face to face with Uncle Pete. He was younger then, no grey hair to show his age, and no thinning beard either. He was so excited that a youngster such as myself had mustered up the courage to face his house of horrors that he gave me the entire bowl of candy.

"You know, Uncle Pete, I can help you out this year. You could have a real-life ghost in your house of horrors. You only have to pay me in Snickers," I joked, nudging him with my elbow. Eyes locked on the road, Uncle Pete gave a big huff and guided the tow truck into the tow yard. Skeletons of cars lay about, some missing doors, others missing windshields, all of them inhabited by spiders and snakes. It was a strange environment that looked both abandoned and well lived in. As off putting as it was, and as much as it was riddled with tetanus, I'd always been drawn to the tow yard. It felt like I belonged there with all the other abandoned things in life.

Passing through the passenger door, I watched Uncle Pete slowly remove the truck from his tow bed. Chains creaked and groaned, a touch of rust snapping and dissipating in the air. With a final shudder, the damaged pick up came to rest in front of the shop. Dust kicked up as its tires kissed the ground and Pete's tow truck revved across the dirt into the garage. A set of lights flicked on inside casting a warm glow on the pickup.

My dad used to say that you could tell a lot about someone based on their car. Given the truck in front of me, I had to guess that the lady driving was relatively broke, grew up in the country, and had daddy issues. Taking a quick walk around the truck, I noticed chipped paint here and there, a taped taillight, and better yet a flat spare tire in the truck bed. This lady was definitely broke. Shaking my head, I slipped into the passenger seat. I wasn't sure what I was hoping to find, but I was surprised to find nothing lying out in the open. Despite having such a crumby exterior, the interior of the truck was rather nice. The leather was worn but clean and there wasn't a speck of dust to be seen on the dashboard.

"Damn. She couldn't make it easy on me, could she?" Sighing, I grudgingly decided to do something I wasn't particularly fond of. Interacting with the mortal world happened on accident at times, like it couldn't decide if I was dead or not. Other times, I could force myself through the shroud that separated the living from the dead. It took a lot of effort depending on the task. I'd gotten good at small things like stealing remote batteries or misplacing someone's car keys. Opening an entire glove compartment and looking through whatever was inside would be one hell of a task.

Cursing under my breath, I reached towards the glove box, fingers brushing across the latch. Staring intently at it, I focused on the feeling of plastic. If I concentrated hard enough, I could feel its small bumps and ridges. The latch felt cool to the touch with a slight wear pattern running smoothly against my palm. Fingers curling, I tested my luck and gave a firm tug. The compartment fell open with a tiny thud, documents inside unfurling and releasing a hint of must. Nose wrinkling, I did my best to ignore the unpleasant sent. The cause of it was clearly a damp and greasy food bag that'd been jammed inside with everything else.

Rifling through the documents inside, I discovered a small slip of paper describing the vehicle's registration. The truck belonged to one Faith Cohen. It wasn't exactly a name that meant anything to me as disappointing as that was. Part of me hoped revealing the woman's identity would explain why she'd been able to see me. With a groan of frustration, I used what little energy I had left to force the glove box to close. I'd have one hell of a headache tomorrow if I kept crossing into the mortal world.

Having a name in mind, I abandoned the truck to sit lonely in its designated spot. Whoever this Faith Cohen was, I needed to find her, and I needed to ask her some very pointed questions. Making my way back across the old tow yard, I ventured down the main road. If I had any breath, it would have fogged in front of me. Beakersville had some cold temperatures at night that were enough to make a grown man cry. Once more I was reminded that being dead did have its perks.

Owls hooting and hollering were my only company aside from the faint scuffling of hooves as deer loped along the roadway. In their wake were small pellets of poop and muddy hoof prints along the pavement. It always amazed me how they were able to poop and jump at the same time. As far as I was concerned, humans weren't able to do that which was a bit of a disappointment. Walking along the yellow painted line headlights came and went. Cars passed through me without issue, but I found myself nervous that someone else would see me. What if it wasn't a freak accident? What if, after all this time, people started to look into the world of the dead? What if they could finally find those stuck in limbo waiting to be saved? Would that be such a bad idea?

The more I thought about it the more it made me uncomfortable. If everyone could see me then whoever took my life would stare at me too. I wouldn't be safe from them even in death, and that alone felt like an invasion of privacy. No, this had to be a coincidence. It needed to be a coincidence. Maybe it was a fluke.

My desire to find Faith was even more important than before. If I walked right into her house and she didnt react then everything was fine. It was just a moment in time where life and death forgot who was in charge. That was excusable. Forgivable. That was safe.

Head lowered; I made my way through town in search of Faith's residence. I passed through the walls of every residence I came across, never staying long, and always careful not to disturb anything by accident. A few dogs barked at me, a few cats looked on curiously, but none of them were too concerned with my presence. We'd gotten to know each other quite well over the years. I suppose it was true that animals could see things that people couldn't.

Just as I was about to give up hope that Faith had only been passing through town, I stumbled across a cabin. It was far nicer than I expected. Two stories tall, a cute little swing on the porch squeaked in tune with the breeze. The lights were off inside, and the name COHEN was plastered above the front door. I'd never been this far into the woods before. In fact, I didn't recall this place existing at all during my ten years of life. Shrugging, I let myself inside. Not a single sound broke the silence of the lower floor. A set of bags were haphazardly tossed aside by the door. From the looks of it, Faith didn't have very many belongings.

The walls of the cabin were bare save a single dusty portrait above the fireplace. It was hard to make out in the dark, but it looked like some old guy from the pioneer days. Whoever he was, his mutton chops were impressive. Leaving the lower floor behind, I made my way upstairs, past a tiny bathroom, and into a bedroom. Much to my disappointment this one was bare and undisturbed. A single mouse trap sat in the corner by the nightstand with the oldest piece of cheese I'd ever seen. Clearly this place hadn't been inhabited in ages. Still, it cleaned up pretty nicely if you looked past all the dust.

Running out of hope, I found the only remaining room left in the Cohen residence. Just as luck would have it, the bed was occupied. The woman from before was sleeping soundly, arms tucked up beneath the pillow, legs splayed out in a figure four. Moonlight did its best to penetrate the curtains as the ceiling fan ruffled them with a soft wind. For a moment, I considered letting the woman sleep. After all, she'd crashed her car because of me. Then again, that wasn't my fault. She wasn't supposed to see me.

Making up my mind, I found the light switch and with a bit of effort kicked the power on. The ceiling fan lights burst on with a small squeak and a halo of yellow light. One of them burned out immediately. Faith, once dead asleep, sat upright with bleary eyes. She looked about frantically, brown hair a mess. It took her a moment to notice my presence. Those same terrified eyes found mine, and it was then I knew her ability to see me wasn't an accident. Her mouth opened in a silent scream as my hand dropped away from the light switch. With a smile that I thought was somewhat comforting, I approached.

"Boy, do we have a lot to talk about."