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Lucy paused, her eyes meeting mine as if gauging whether to continue. I nodded, urging her on.
"Sarah was persistent. She messed up the ritual the first time, But she didn't give up. She found a book, an ancient tome about bonds between ghosts and living people, and she corrected her initial ceremony. Sarah poured her heart into the chants and used her tears like you're planning to do."
"And it worked?" Ben’s ghostly form wobbled.
"Yes, but let me warn you, it carried a high price. Sarah had to give something up—a year of her life." Lucy paused, her eyes growing damp with tears. "To this day, every time I celebrate a birthday, I remember that Sarah will have one less to enjoy. She gave me a second chance at the cost of her own time on Earth. And so, here I am."
She looked at me. "So that's my story. I was given a second chance, and maybe you two can have one too. Just...be prepared for sacrifices and the unexpected."
"Thank you, Lucy," I said, a newfound energy coursing through me. "Your story gives us hope, and we’ll keep in mind your warnings.”
She nodded and stepped back, her eyes lingering on the circle of candles and the velvet-lined box at the center. "Well, go on then. Finish your practice chants. I won't cause any additional interruptions.”
"Actually," Ben insisted, "you didn't interrupt. You fortified us."
"Glad I could help. Now, chant away."
I nodded, returning my focus to the arrangement before me. I took a deep breath, grounding myself, remembering Lucy's words—about sacrifices and second chances.
I cleared my throat and began the chant once more. The words flowed smoothly. The candles flickered as if dancing to my words.
When the last word left my lips, I exhaled deeply. It all felt complete. We were ready.
Back in my apartment, Ben and I looked at each other. Sleep was impossible. We sat on my bed, chatting about life, love, and what tomorrow might bring.
"Ready for this?" he asked.
"More ready than I've ever been for anything."
Tomorrow would change our lives, one way or another. No turning back.
Ben
The morning sun was barely winking over the horizon, but how could I rest? I hovered above Logan’s bed, watching the soft rise and fall of his chest. The golden glow of dawn kissed his face.
I hated to disturb such a picturesque moment, but, heck, it was Halloween—our Halloween.
I inched closer, letting my energy field gently brush against a stray wisp of hair on his forehead. It twitched, but he remained locked in sleep's embrace. No waking up yet. I backed off, circling over him while I pondered my next move.
Floating silently down to Logan’s nightstand, I turned my attention to the alarm clock. It was one of those old-fashioned ones with the bells on top, and I couldn't resist giving the hammer a tiny nudge.
Ding! A soft, muted sound filled the room. He stirred, but he didn't open his eyes. A smile spread across my face; I was having a lot of fun.
One more try. This time, I moved to the window and gave the curtain a playful sway, letting a ray of sunshine pierce through and settle on Logan’s cheek. For a moment, he frowned, shifting under his blanket. Then, finally, his eyes flickered open, immediately looking at me.
"Happy Halloween," he whispered. We grinned at each other like kids on Christmas morning. It was time to seize the day—or, you know, float through it. Whatever worked.
We decided to roam the apartment building together as one way of saying goodbye to my ghostly presence. It was a creaky, charmingly flawed structure. I had secrets to share that I discovered in my spectral form.
"Check this out," I said, guiding him toward an old, rusty radiator at the end of the hallway. With a sly smile, I nudged it with a ghostly push. It let out a musical creak, almost like an old sailor singing a sea shanty. "The Radiator of Secrets," I announced. "If you listen carefully, it almost sounds like it's gossiping."
Logan chuckled, tilting his head like he was trying to hear the whispers of the gossiping heater. "Wow, Ben. How have I lived here for years without noticing these things?"
“Routine, maybe?” I winked at him.
Next, I guided him to the third-floor stairwell, where the wallpaper was a pattern of old newspapers. "Look closely," I pointed. "Find the hidden word. It took me a whole month to find it."
Logan squinted, scanning the mishmash of words and headlines until his eyes widened. "Hope. Right here in the middle, in tiny print."
