Page 2 of Ghosted

At first, I tried to tell myself it was fine. We’d had a great time, sure, but I wasn’t that invested. Right? I had my bookstore, my friends, my life. But the silence from him gnawed at me, pulling me back to the memory of his touch, his laugh, his hands on me. The way we connected wasn’t something you just forget.

I spent two days checking my phone every five minutes like a complete idiot. Nothing. Not even a “hey, sorry, been busy!” or a casual, “had a great time, but I’m just passing through.”

It was radio silence.

And the worst part? I couldn’t stop thinking about how good it had been with him. How everything about our time together had felt right—from the effortless conversation to the way his lips had brushed over mine like he couldn’t get closeenough. How could someone vanish after that? Was I really that out of touch with reality? Because I’d started to believe we had a real connection—one of those rare, all-encompassing kinds.

The universe had a cruel sense of humor. I was sure of it. Ghosted. By a guy literally named Casper. I almost laughed at the absurdity of it, but it wasn’t funny. It hurt.

So here I was, two days post-ghosting, lying on my couch, wrapped in a blanket, trying to pretend I wasn’t bothered. The TV was playing some murder mystery in the background, but I wasn’t really watching it. My phone was sitting on the coffee table, and I refused to pick it up again. I’d already gone through the embarrassment of checking it too many times.

Popcorn kernels littered the couch, a half-eaten bowl sitting in my lap, as I tried to convince myself that I didn’t care. “You’re better off,” I muttered to myself. “Just another guy who couldn’t handle Sweetberry Hollow.”

It wasn’t helping.

I threw the blanket over my head, groaning into the fabric, wishing I could just disappear for a while. Why did it always end like this? Why was it that every time I started to believe in something, it slipped through my fingers?

Earlier that day, Daphne had tried to cheer me up. She was good at that, sensing when I was spiraling. She had dragged me intoMoonlit Mysticsafter closing hours, made me sit while she shuffled her tarot deck, and burned some sage to “clear the energy.”

“Maybe the universe is clearing out the bad energy to make space for something better,” she’d said, flipping over the Three of Swords card like it was no big deal.

I’d snorted. “The universe can clear space by sending me a guy who doesn’t vanish after mind-blowing sex.”

Daphne had just smiled knowingly, her soft honey-brown eyes twinkling with that look she always gave me when she thought she knew something I didn’t. She’d handed me a smoky quartz crystal and told me to keep it by my bed. “For clarity,” she’d said with a wink.

Now, two days later, I was still waiting for that clarity. And if the universe had any messages for me, they were clearly lost in translation.

The lights in my apartment flickered, snapping me out of my brooding.

I sat up, frowning. “Seriously?” I muttered to myself. “A power outage now?”

But it wasn’t just the lights. The air in the room shifted too—cooler, like someone had opened a window and let the crisp October air in. A chill crawled up my spine, making me pull the blanket tighter around my shoulders. The TV was still on, but I could barely focus on it. It was late, past the time I usually went to bed, and I was bone-tired after working a busy day at the bookshop, but something still felt… off.

And then I heard it.

“Tabitha…”

I froze, my heart skipping a beat.

The voice was soft, almost a whisper, but it was unmistakable. My name. Clear as day.

I looked around the room, my pulse racing. “Hello?” I called out, because apparently I had a death wish and wanted to make all the classic horror movie mistakes.

No answer. Just the hum of the TV and the flickering lights overhead.

“Tabitha…”

This time, the voice was closer, clearer.

I slowly stood up, the blanket slipping off my shoulders as I scanned the room. My heart pounded in my chest, and my breath came out in short, shaky bursts. I was losing it. I had to be. Too many ghost stories, too many creepy murder mysteries, too much popcorn. That was the only explanation.

But then I saw him…

Casper.

Standing in the middle of my living room.

Or more accurately, floating.

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