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“I can’t believe he survived that crash,” Lydia said, kneeling beside Delia and her daughter Astrid in front of her father’s gravestone. His likeness was etched into a chunk of stone shaped like a shark’s fin. Under the portrait, the inscription read:Charles Deetz
Husband, Father, Grandfather
Peace Embraces the Dead Ones
1946-2024 “Yes, well, I can’t believe that dreadful shark has his head in its belly.” Delia replied wryly, dabbing her eyes with a black handkerchief. Silence hung in the air until Delia broke it with a sharp, ill-timed squawk: “Welp!” She slapped her knees and stood up abruptly. “Time to sell the house.” Lydia’s mouth fell open as Delia walked away, and after a brief moment of shock, she scrambled to chase after her.
“Sell? Wha-why? You can’t, I-“ Lydia stammered.
Delia silenced her with a raised, gloved hand. “Lydia, I’ve tried dressing this house in as much metaphorical gold as possible, but it’s still painfully clear that it is shit.”
She lowered her hand, “I only stayed because your father loved it, but now I can finally rid myself of its stench. Not to mention that it is now an ugly reminder that my husband is no longer here.”
With that, she stormed off, leaving Lydia frozen, watching her retreat. Every fragment of her life she held dear seemed to slip through her fingers, and with each heartbreak, the weight of grief grew heavier. She started bracing herself beneath the looming shadow of yet another impending loss. Astrid came to stand beside her mom, gently placing a hand on her arm. Lydia glanced down at her daughter, and for a moment, she marveled at the beauty she had brought into the world. She saw herself in Astrid’s smile, but her inky black eyes, high and rounded cheekbones, and even her cute, small ears were all her father’s.
At 15, Astrid had endured more than her fair share of losses. For years now, it had been just her and Lydia. Before she turned four, her grandparents had been a constant presence, always nearby. Then one day, with arms full of suitcases, they drove off, their car shrinking into the bright summer horizon. Only her grandfather reappeared from time to time, sitting with her to watch the birds while her mother tended to grieving clients. And instead of growing up surrounded by the warm, steadfast presence of her father, Astrid and Lydia had to confront his absence, mourning him when she was barely seven.
Lydia placed her hand gently over Astrid’s. “I’m not going to let her sell the house.” Astrid remained silent, but she didn’t need to say anything. Astrid had never shown any affection for the house or its bygone charm. She had never known its vibrant, ghost-filled days. The town was small, and Astrid had eagerly accepted the chance to go to boarding school when she started her freshman year. To Astrid, this place, steeped in Lydia’s memories, was just a house. Instead, Astrid extended a soft, comforting smile before quietly following Delia’s path.--- A little while later, Lydia found Delia in Charles’ office, researching how to list the house for sale and how soon after a death it could be done.
“Delia, you don’t even live here anymore. I live here, and Astrid lives here. Doesn’t that mean something?”
Without looking up from her screen, Delia replied, “You live here. Astrid goes to boarding school.”
Lydia just stared. Where there should have been a beating, pulsing red glob of muscle in Delia’s chest, Lydia saw a yawning, gaping void. She watched as it seemed to draw in and distort the light around it, bending and warping everything towards its dark, insatiable center.
Noticing the silence, Delia looked up.
“Why are you so determined to stay? The Maitlands have moved on, Astrid is rarely home, and your ex-husband and father are both gone. I don’t see-“
She paused, her gaze meeting Lydia’s. The expression on Lydia’s face made her feel foolish.
“I’m making an ass of myself, aren’t I?”
Lydia responded with a slow, exaggerated nod, her eyes widening and lips pursed as if to underscore the obviousness of the answer.
“I have a business here,” Lydia said quietly, “and memories.”
Delia’s face softened. Lydia could see that her usual scowl had melted into something of a motherly expression of genuine compassion and sympathy.
“Oh, Lydia.”
She rose from her chair and approached her, reaching out to gently touch her face.
“We’ve never really gotten along, have we? But you’re still my daughter, and we only have each other now.”
“Then why are you uprooting my whole life right now?”
Delia had no answer. She hadn’t lived in the house for over a decade. She and Charles had bought a condo in New York, allowing her to pursue her artistic endeavors and escape the ghost house. Charles would often travel back and forth, spending months at a time with Lydia and Astrid to indulge in his seasonal bird watching hobby. Meanwhile, Lydia remained behind, raising Astrid, supporting the house with her psychic business, and keeping Charles company during his visits. “Alright,” Delia began, “I’m going to wait. But I still intend to sell the house.”
Lydia started to interrupt, but Delia raised the same gloved hand to silence her.
“I’m going to sell it eventually. But I’m not doing this out of spite. I want you to have the chance to move on, Lydia. I’m giving you a year.”
Lydia sighed, lowering her gaze. A year might as well have been next week. The pause stretched long. An overwhelming urge to argue or plead spread through her bones and soaked into her throat, but she swallowed it down, managing a quiet, “Thank you,” paired with a soft, sullen smile.
Delia’s expression brightened, and she gave Lydia’s nose a playful boop before leaving the office.--- Astrid found her mom sulking on the couch, playing with her wedding ring.
“You haven’t worn that in forever,” she said, sitting beside her and resting her head on her shoulder. Lydia returned the gesture, gently resting her own head on Astrid’s. She showed Astrid the ring and the inscription inside: ‘I will be with you, always.’
“Why can’t you see him, Mom?” Astrid asked softly.
“I wish I knew, Astrid. Why can’t you?”
Astrid lifted her head abruptly and shifted towards the edge of the couch, as if preparing to leave.
Lydia, sensing Astrid’s frustration, said, “You can see them.”
“So you say, but I have never seen one.”
“You saw one when…“
“That I remember,” Astrid interrupted, cutting Lydia off before she could remind her, yet again, of the ghost she saw when she was four. It had been just over ten years since then, and she hadn’t seen one since. “I’m going to ride my bike around town. I’ll see you later.” Astrid said.
Lydia reached out to lovingly rub Astrid’s back before she left. “Okay. Be safe.”
Astrid gave a slight smile and stood up. She often felt frustrated whenever her mom brought up her ability, or inability, to see ghosts. Thoughts swirled in her mind: Why can’t I see them? Am I not good enough? Are they even real? Would my mom really lie about something like this? She found it best to distance herself in these moments to avoid lashing out at her. It had happened once before. Lydia was attempting to teach Astrid how to see ghosts, despite not fully understanding her own abilities. Frustrated by her failures regardless of her mother’s guidance, Astrid snapped. She accused her mother of being a fraud, claiming her psychic abilities were fake and that her business cheated clients out of their money. Astrid instantly regretted her harsh words. Though she didn’t see her mother’s reaction, she sensed it— the subtle shift—and prepared herself for what felt like the beginning of a strained relationship. It became routine then that at the first sign of rising anger or frustration, Astrid would remove herself from the situation to avoid confronting it altogether. Astrid walked out the front door without a backward glance. Lately, her words had grown fewer, the once-eager stories about her day fading into silence. She barely met Lydia’s eyes anymore, and though small gestures of affection remained, the growing distance was unmistakable. Lydia’s heart ached as she watched her daughter go.
Rising from the couch, she looked around the empty house. It was now haunted not by spirits, but by the echoes of a time when it was alive with the Maitlands’ presence and her family’s warm company.
Longing to reclaim those cherished moments, she wandered through the house. Her eyes settled on her room, and a deep wave of sentimentality washed over her. An irresistible pull drew her toward the attic, driven by a quiet hope that revisiting the past might help her reconnect with what had been lost.--- In her room, Lydia pulled out a small drawer from her jewelry box and carefully took out the old, familiar skeleton key. She smiled at it wistfully before heading for the attic. The stairs were draped in cobwebs and spider silk, hinting at years of neglect. Lydia unlocked the attic door and, after a struggle to unstick it, pushed it open and stepped inside.
Waves of familiarity and longing enveloped her. Everything was covered in thick sheets and layers upon layers of dust undisturbed on top. It was clear that neither Lydia nor any other Deetz had ventured into this attic in years.
She pulled the sheet off the town model and flicked on the switch. The model illuminated, instantly rekindling its old charm and wonder. Lydia leaned on the table, taking in the intricate details of the small buildings she hadn’t seen since before Astrid was born. “Oh, I miss you so much,” Lydia said with a sigh. “I wish you had never moved on. We could have stayed a family, even in death.” She spoke aloud with the same reverence and cadence as one might when addressing an unseen deity. Speaking with the departed had always come easily to her—unless they had crossed beyond the reach of the afterlife. At that point, she was merely talking to herself. She knew they couldn’t hear her, but she needed to talk to them anyway. She lowered her head. “Why did you leave me?”
She poked absentmindedly at a red toy car in a miniature driveway. “I wish you could have met Astrid. She would have loved you both.” She saw visions of Astrid coming home with her class drawings, eagerly showing them off to the Maitlands. She wanted Astrid to experience the joy she felt when they used their silly ghost powers.
“You barely knew Richard before you were given your ticket to the Ethereal Express. Gone forever. And now Richard is gone, too. I can’t even see his spirit. My father is gone, my daughter is unreachable, and Delia is going to sell the house.” Lydia rested her head lightly on the table. She could feel the emotions bubbling up in her eyes, but she wasn’t willing to cry just yet. She straightened up, sniffling back her tears and swallowing the sob in her throat. She lingered for a moment in silence, watching the dust particles swirl around the model town. Her gaze, initially soft, allowing herself to be at ease watching everything blur, suddenly sharpened. A vivid neon red light flickered on in the model, casting eerie patterns across her face. A soundless gasp escaped her as she saw Betelgeuse’s gravestone had materialized, and above it, a marquee sign surrounded by bulbs flashing in a captivating chase illuminated the words:
"I'm still here, Lydia."
Panicked, Lydia yanked a sheet over the model, turned off the lights, and rushed out of the attic, locking the door behind her before bolting down the stairs.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Astrid paused at the foot of the hill, her eyes drifting towards the town’s entrance, framed by the familiar bridge. She’d crossed it countless times, but today, everything seemed washed out—the colors of the day and the buildings dull and lifeless. The town square just beyond barely expanded, with only a few residential streets fanning out. She and her bike had explored nearly every road, sidewalk, and public lawn in this place.
Her tires rumbled over the bridge. The roads on the other side she could ride blindfolded—if not for the occasional car or passerby. At least here, she could lose herself, drifting into her thoughts and daydreams as she pedaled. Before she moved away, she used to ride through the small town, thrilled to say goodbye to the old buildings. Bigger things were waiting, and she looked forward to the day when her old life would shrink into the distance behind her. But boarding school wasn’t as grand as she’d pictured. No antique wooden walls, the floors weren’t speckled stone, and the library was far from magical. “Well, this isn’t Europe,” she mused, offering herself a small excuse for the disappointment—just a regular building with linoleum floors, fluorescent lights, and plaster walls. Her bike sped through the town center, up a small hill, onto a quiet residential street. It was far enough from home that she could pretend, even for a moment, that it was somewhere else entirely. Despite the plainness of the school, she still managed to bury her nose in academic and fiction books alike, but she mostly kept to her room. Her roommate was friendly enough, though they rarely saw each other. Astrid was surprised to find that most of the students were pretty nice. Back in her small town, her family had always stood out. She’d taken after her mom, wearing darker clothes, and often borrowed or was gifted eccentric pieces from her grandma’s closet. While the locals back home would occasionally give her stares or glares—though they should’ve been used to it by now—no one at boarding school seemed to care. This time, it was Astrid who found herself staring at students sporting mohawks and leather jackets with spikes. Finally on the residential street, Astrid passed by quaint houses untouched by corporate sameness, each one displaying its own varied and charming architecture. Some lawns boasted lush gardens, while others had the ghost of a neatly trimmed lawn now fading brown and peppered in orange and yellow leaves. Swing sets, lawn chairs, or empty above-ground pools were commonplace.
Her effort to climb the incline paid off as she reached the top of the hill. This was her favorite part—racing downhill. She paused for a moment, just as she did at the bottom of the hill near her own home, and took in the new view. A brief sense of gratitude washed over her that she hadn’t grown up in a big city. As she began her descent, one or two pedals were all she needed before gravity took over, pulling her effortlessly toward the bottom.
The wind grew harsher as she picked up speed, drying out her eyes. For a fleeting moment, she considered closing them and letting whatever happened, happen, but not wanting to test fate, she blinked, trying to coax tears back into them. The world flickered from blurry to black and back again as she did, making her miss the open manhole directly in her path. At the last second, she spotted the dark void in the street and swerved sharply, her bike veering off into a new route, slipping between houses and into someone’s backyard. She crashed into a tree, her head smacking against its rough bark, and everything went black. “Hey, can you hear me? You awake? Ah, she probably can’t hear me.”
The voice echoed in her skull, bouncing around like a stray thought. She could’ve sworn she also heard church bells, though it might have just been the warning sign of an oncoming migraine. Slowly, she opened her eyes, only for the sunlight to pierce through her pupils, setting her brain on fire.
“Ah.” She covered her eyes with her hands.
“Okay, so she’s awake. Can she hear me? Hello? Can you hear me? Probably not.”
Peeking through her fingers, Astrid saw the tree she’d crashed into—and an old treehouse nestled in its branches. A teenage boy, about her age, maybe a little older, was leaning out from the doorway, checking on her.
“Sorry…” she muttered, moving her hands to shield her eyes again. “Sorry I crashed into your tree. I just need a minute.”
“Holy shit,” he exclaimed, sounding genuinely shocked. The treehouse creaked as its ladder rattled beneath him, and he climbed down quickly.
“Hey, it’s cool. Just take your time,” he said, now standing beside her. “You really hit your head hard. You probably have a concussion.” Astrid sat up slowly, moving her hands from her eyes to her forehead. She winced as her fingers brushed the bruise just above her hairline. Now that her vision had cleared, she could finally see who she was talking to.
He was cute. Tall and lanky, with soft reddish-brown hair that puffed up, defying gravity. His large hazel eyes were gentle and kind.
“I think I’ll be okay,” she said, offering a small smile. “I’m Astrid. Sorry again for crashing into your yard…and then your tree.”
He laughed. “I’m Jeremy. No, it’s really ok.” He looked at her with genuine interest. “It’s really nice to meet you. Where’re you from?”
“From here,” she replied, pointing toward the hill that loomed over the town. “I live in that house.”
“No way, the ghost house? You’re Lydia’s daughter? She’s a legend!” Astrid smiled.
“Yep, that’s my mom.”
Jeremy’s eyes widened. “Wow, so that explains—uh, the clothes.” He gestured vaguely at her outfit: a long black t-shirt, baggy black cargo pants, and chunky black shoes. She had a thick choker around her neck and her hair styled in a spiky bun.
“I just came from a funeral,” Astrid said matter-of-factly.
Jeremy smiled. “Ah, I see. So what are you doing in my neck of the woods?”
“I needed a break from family.”
Jeremy took in a sharp breath, glancing back at his house. “I hear ya.”
“Family drama?” Astrid asked, recognizing the look of child/parent tension in his expression. “Yeah, my parents and I don’t really get along,” Jeremy admitted. He glanced between Astrid and his treehouse. “But I don’t want to bore you with that.” He bounced a little on the balls of his feet and gave a sheepish grin. “Hey, I know we just met, but would you like to see inside?” He pointed up at the tree.
Astrid offered a small, shy smile. “Um, I’d like to, but—“
“I hope I’m not coming off too strong,” Jeremy interrupted, holding his hands up in a gentle, defensive gesture.
“Oh, no, it’s not that. I just… I guess I could.” Astrid said in a soft, hesitating voice. Her eyes darted from the tree to the road and back. Connecting with people had always been tough for her, even when they showed kindness and interest. She longed for friends, but the right words often eluded her.
“Oh, great!” Jeremy beamed.
Astrid looked up at the treehouse, which appeared old and somewhat unkempt. “Is it safe? I don’t want to fall through and hit my head again.”
Jeremy snickered, “It should be; it’s pretty sturdy wood. Don’t be fooled by the rotting parts; it’s held firm since my dad was a kid. Besides, I think you’ll like what’s inside.” Astrid smiled at his warmth and charm. Jeremy climbed the ladder ahead of her. “I’m excited to show you my collection.”
“Collection of what?” she asked, following him.
“You’ll see.” When she reached the top and stepped inside, Jeremy spread his arms in a welcoming gesture. “Welcome!” The interior was cozy, adorned with rugs, posters, string lights, and a collection of nostalgic memorabilia. In the back, by a window, was a record player and a crate full of old records. Astrid’s eyes lit up as she took it all in.
“May I?” she asked, pointing to the crate.
“Of course, that’s what I wanted to show you.”
“Awesome.” Astrid began to finger through the album covers, admiring their artwork.
“Would you like me to put something on?” Jeremy asked, coming to stand next to her. His proximity made Astrid smile, and she felt a flutter in her chest. She stiffened, wondering if the flutter was too loud. She glanced at him, but if he noticed, he didn’t show it. He pulled out a record by Pink Floyd. “How about ‘Dark Side of the Moon’? It’s a pretty chill album to have on while we get to know each other.” He flashed a cheeky grin, wiggling the album side to side.
Astrid chuckled, “Sure.” As the music began to play, adding a whimsical backdrop to the room, Astrid took a closer look at the decorations. The walls were adorned with posters of old movies and music: RoboCop, Nirvana, Ghostbusters, Fight Club, Green Day, and other iconic vintage classics.
“You really like the 80’s and 90’s,” Astrid said, shifting her attention to a small bookshelf.
“Yea, I guess I do.” Jeremy noticed her sifting through the books. “Do you like to read?”
“I do.” She pulled out a book, Poetry of Poe, and flipped through it absentmindedly. She smiled and quoted, “From a proud tower in the town, death looks gigantically down.”
Jeremy’s eyes widened with surprise. “Wow, The City in the Sea, I wouldn’t think many people know that one. Where’ve you been all my life?”
Astrid laughed, “Atop the hill, surrounded by ghosts, apparently.”
“Seen a lot of ghosts, have you?”
“No, actually,” she said, her tone becoming somber. She placed the book back on the shelf. “My mom says I saw one when I was four, but honestly, I don’t remember, and I haven’t seen one since.”
Jeremy looked puzzled, “No? Why not?”
She shrugged, “I couldn’t tell ya.” She settled into a beanbag chair across from the bookshelf, holding her stomach. It started to churn and threaten to bring up what she ate last. “So, this is a small enough town, why haven’t I seen you around?” Astrid’s voice sounded a little strained.
Jeremy had moved his attention to a small stand of classic VHS tapes beside the record crate. He looked over them mindlessly as he answered, “Oh I’m sure we’ve passed by each other here and there, but I go and stay with my grandparents quite often. It’s a small vacation away from Lucifer and his wife.” He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder, gesturing towards the house.
Astrid chuckled, “Ah, that might explain it. I did end up leaving for boarding school, so I haven’t been around much, myself.” She winced, groaning softly as she leaned forward, clutching her stomach a little tighter.
Hearing her, Jeremy’s focus shifted back to her, concern on his face. “You ok?” he asked, approaching her and kneeling by her side.
Astrid initially nodded but then shrugged. “I’m not sure. I suddenly feel sick.”
Jeremy glanced around the room, looking worried, and let out a defeated breath before saying, “Are you hungry? I don’t have any food around, sorry.”
She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. I just feel nauseous.” She placed a hand on her forehead and groaned. “My head suddenly hurts.” She closed her eyes, wincing.
“Uh oh. I think you might actually have a concussion. You should head home.”
“Really? A concussion? This fast?”
“It can take some time for the symptoms to show up, and then—wham—it hits like a train.”
“Okay. Well, I should get home then.”
He helped her up. “I’ll go down first in case you’re feeling weak, so you don’t injure yourself more if you fall.” As he guided her down, Astrid noticed that he kept her hand in his a bit longer than necessary. Despite his warm eyes, warm smile, and warm charm, his hand felt surprisingly cold.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
At the bottom of the treehouse, before retrieving her bike, she turned to him. “Thank you for letting me see your treehouse. It’s really cool.”
“Thanks,” he said with a smile. “Maybe you can come back again sometime?’
She gave a small nod, “Yeah, that’d be cool.”
“Cool. Maybe tomorrow, if your head’s ok?”
“Sure, thanks, Jeremy.” She gave an awkward wave, and he chuckled.
“Bye, Astrid.”
She grabbed her bike and walked it back up the hill. When she glanced over her shoulder, she saw that he was still watching her. She smiled.