Songs of Love & Death

After that, May came over a lot. She taught me how to bake. She strolled with me through the gardens and showed me which were weeds and which would blossom into flowers come spring. And always, always in the background, Galen hovered at the edge of my vision.

At night, I talked to him. Sometimes he showed himself, others not, but I always knew he was there. I’d tell him about my day while I folded laundry or brought out my paints or thumbed through the newspaper. And meanwhile, I did research on ghosts to find out just what I was dealing with.

But for all my research, I still couldn’t figure out what Galen wanted. He wouldn’t talk to me—I didn’t even know if he could—and he never ventured outside. If he wanted to resolve some lingering issue with his mother, he would have been falling all over himself to appear when she came over. All the books did was to confirm that some ghosts were benign, others weren’t, and that some might just be memories trapped in a space-time continuum.

But as the weeks wore on, I did know one thing for certain: I enjoyed his company. Galen was the perfect roommate—undemanding, quiet, and there every night. And he really listened to me—even though I didn’t know if he could actually hear me.

Eventually, I began to feel more than just friendship… enough to start undressing in front of the antique mirror where he appeared in my bedroom. On a morbid note, it occurred to me that I was probably standing right where he had when he’d died, but I pushed the thought away. And when he stared at me as I let my clothes drop to the ground, I made it worth the look.

HE HAD HER, and he knew he had her. Jason had been right—she was pliable. And before long, he’d have his freedom. The house had held him chained for years. But he always knew there was one way out. He didn’t dare show himself to his mother—she might offer herself and that would never do. He’d never be able to live with the guilt. But this girl… this woman… she would make it possible for him to slip out from behind the mirror. To walk into the light.

He had to win her trust, had to convince her that he was safe. And so he listened to her, night and day, and no one was the wiser.

Except for the cat.

Circe planted herself on Laurel’s lap or on the floor between them whenever he showed up. Whatever the case, he wasn’t afraid. There was no way she could expose him, even though she could see right through his smiles.

Gradually, Laurel began to let down her guard. Galen found himself mesmerized by the sight of her as she stood naked, caressing herself through the dark sultry nights. Autumn wore on and instead of growing more excited about his impending release, he began to dread the turn of the days.

Each night, he hesitated a little bit more. The sound of her voice, static-ridden though it may be, filled him with the urge to smile. Galen began to live for the evenings when they could spend time together.

At the end of each day, they bid each other good night with hands pressed against the glass, touching through the veils. And Galen began to question his plan, because there was something in Laurel’s eyes that gave him pause, that made him think that maybe she really could love him. And no woman had ever fallen for him before.

HALLOWEEN.

I stood by the window, watching the sun slowly lower itself below the treeline. The season was turning, autumn had arrived. May was due over tomorrow, we were going huckleberry picking and she was going to teach me how to make jam. As I took a deep breath, a tangy chill settled into my lungs, and I felt incredibly sad. The smell of wood smoke and crackling leaves reminded me of some lurking sorrow. Just what it was—I didn’t know, but whatever it was, it hovered in the shadows.

I turned back to the bed. Circe was sitting there, staring at me with her brilliant green eyes. She let out a little chirp and I sat beside her, scratching her under the chin. Her eyes were closed—cat bliss—and I let out a long sigh, looking over at the mirror.

Galen was late tonight. He usually appeared an hour or so before I went to sleep and we spent the time together, quietly pressing hands through the mirror or I would read to him, wondering if he could hear me. Right now, I was reading to him from Tennyson and was set to read The Lady of Shalott next.

Circe suddenly hissed, her hackles rising as she stared at the mirror, poised for a fight. I slowly stood, wondering whether Galen was coming. Even though I knew she didn’t like him, she’d never acted like this before.

I slowly approached the mirror, and there he was, standing, his hand against the glass. He looked upset, and I leaned closer, bringing my hand up to the cool glass.

“Is something wrong?” I stared into his eyes, my hand against his. “What’s wrong?”