Marina stood knee-deep in the snow, watching Ilya’s ghost brush the snow from his corpse. She watched the look of shock come over the apparition’s face. She’d hoped that, with Timmo gone, she’d been done dealing with monsters and spirits.
But Ilya had apparently followed them home. It had taken weeks for her to realize that the strange force knocking things over, occasionally blocking her doorway or even trapping her places, was actually a thing. It had taken her longer to see Ilya’s face, and longer still to hear the spirit speak – a whisper that she could only hear because she was listening for it.