Boyer d'Agen
I asked her to show herself to me. Please. I needed her to show herself to me. "I’m all alone," I said, "I swear I won’t be afraid." Sometimes it made me cry when she didn’t show. When not so much as a light would flicker or an object on the dash would move. There was no sign at all. I cried or I shouted or I grew very afraid.
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Yume No Ire via The Ardorous
Because Pauline? She was dead. And it couldn’t have been her daughter because she had stopped by the day before she left and dropped off the secret recipe to Pauline’s strawberry rhubarb jam. That jam had been our family’s favorite for years, but until now, the only way we could have any was when she brought it to us in the summertime herself.
Read MoreBy the time my husband and I purchased an apartment in Alphabet City, all my idols were dead. I imagined their ghosts making fun of people like me who crawled into the East Village hoping to have babies and a volunteer gig in a community garden. But I was desperate to belong to a neighborhood that represented my values, ideals, and dreams of a creative life—a neighborhood with a storied history and its share of ghosts.
Read MoreShe leaned forward a little and it wasn’t until then that I really got scared, imagining her in this new room in my new house, those teeth tearing my guts. I opened my mouth to scream for my mom and dad but right before I could, she vanished, just as if she’d never been there at all. I made a small sound, like the one you make at the doctor’s, when they put the tongue depressor in your mouth. I blinked: nothing. She was still gone. I bit my tongue until I tasted blood—proof I was still awake. I expected something more to happen, and stayed awake a long time, waiting. The girl stayed gone.
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