I tried to think of what I knew to be true, and my first thought was of Claudia...
the solid sense of her reality, of our conversation together...
but then I realized that May had seemed no less real. After all, I'd poked her in the arm.
She shut the door of my car after getting in. And she opened it when she got out — didn't she?
I couldn't quite remember. But it didn't matter: if I was the only one who saw her,
then everything she did and said could easily be figments of my imagination.

---

 
2. Figments?
 

For several minutes after May vanished, I stood stock still, my mouth hanging open, my hair standing on end. I'd spent the morning debunking everything May had said, and now my world flipped upside down. I still felt pretty sure that Claudia at least was wrong: I mean, I know that I'm not crazy. On the other hand, until a few moments ago I was sure there was no such thing as ghosts.

I sat on the edge of my bed and ran my hands through my hair. God, I was so desperately tired, but I needed to sort this out. Was May really a ghost? Or is something seriously wrong with me?

The moment I asked the question, a wave of fear swept over me — or at least it started as fear, but grew quickly into a feeling of utter terror that poured into every corner of me. It was overwhelming... to the extent that, if I wasn't already nuts, my growing panic could unhinge me forever.

I can say without exaggeration that I have never been so afraid in my entire life. What if I'd gone crazy? Would I even know? No, of course not! I'd be the very last to know, if I ever knew at all. Even if I were stark raving mad, my wildest thoughts would make perfect sense to me.

I tried to think of what I knew to be true, and my first thought was of Claudia... the solid sense of her reality, of our conversation together... but then I realized that May had seemed no less real. After all, I'd poked her in the arm. She shut the door of my car after getting in. And she opened it when she got out — didn't she? I couldn't quite remember. But it didn't matter: if I was the only one who saw her, then everything she did and said could easily be figments of my imagination.

Claudia, on the other hand, had given me a ride home. Could I have imagined that? No, I didn't think so.

In the end I decided that Claudia had to be real: the other people in the coffee shop had seen and interacted with her. But May? No one had seen May but me. May could well be imaginary from start to finish.

And maybe in the end, I was just overtired. Maybe May was nothing more than a waking dream.

I lay down fully clothed on my bed. How could I sleep? Adrenaline was coursing through my veins, giving me the shakes. Even so, I clasped my hands behind my head. I took slow breaths and tried to calm down. And I did start to relax, at least a little. As I did, something came floating up from the depths of my memory. Something I'd forgotten long ago; something my grandfather told me.

"Ben," he said, "Seeing a ghost is like love at first sight. You can only believe it if it happens to you."

I was twelve at the time, and I reacted like any teenager would: I scoffed.

But now... both things had happened to me, on the very same day.
 

---

 

At twenty past four in the afternoon, my eyes snapped open and I was wide awake. Claudia was coming to pick me up so I could get my car. I hadn't slept anywhere near as much as I should, but I felt great. Later tonight I'd be dragging for sure, but right now I was all systems go.

I didn't remember falling asleep, and yet here I was, lying on top of the covers. I didn't remember getting undressed either, and yet here I was, naked. Still, being naked saved me a few moments: I stepped into the shower, did a quick shave, and brushed my teeth. I pulled on some clean clothes, and dashed downstairs just in time to see Claudia drive up in her old Corolla. She was smiling, I was smiling, and spontaneously, without a thought, we had our first kiss. It was electric. There was an amazing physical chemistry when our lips touched, and when her skin touched mine. It was like the sun coming out. It was warm, it was magnetic, and I wanted more, but she put her little hand on my chest and said, "I have to drop you at the car place and go, remember? I've got an evening class."

As we drove, Claudia gave me a playful nudge and asked, "May's not in the back seat, is she?"

I gave a careful look behind me, and said, "Nope!"

Claudia, her eyes on the road ahead said, "Let's hope she's gone for good."

"Oh, yeah," I agreed, and decided to keep May's fade-out to myself. There was no point in making myself seem any crazier than I had already.

Later, I realized that Claudia had decided to treat the whole May episode as a joke.
 

---

 

I didn't see May again until the next morning. She stood in the very same spot, on the side of the road just before the bridge. This time there was no traffic. I had to stop to let her in. A truck driver behind me nearly blew my car off the road with his powerful horn.

"Why are you always there?" I asked her.

She made an irritated face. "No reason," she said. "I'm just there." She shrugged and shook my question off.

"Anyway," she went on, as if I'd interrupted her, "I wanted to see you because I need your help. It's something simple. Simple for you, but important for me. And then I think I can leave you alone."

"Forever?" I asked.

"Yeah, sure," she replied, turning her head away and looking out the window. "Forever and a day."

She wanted me to drive her back to Unionway, to the address where I first left her. "I need to get into my house," she explained.

"No," I said. "I'm not breaking into anybody's house."

"You don't have to break in," she said. "There's a key behind a loose brick. And it's not anybody's house — it's mine."

"Why can't you get in?" I asked. "Can't you just walk through the wall or the door or whatever?"

"No, I can't. I don't know why. I've tried different times, but it doesn't work."

"Can't you pick up the key yourself and use it? You've opened and closed my car door."

"I don't know!" she replied, exasperated. "I don't know. Nobody gave me a rule book or a manual when I died! And I can't ask any other dead people." She folded her hands in her lap and looked down. In a small voice she said, "The only person I know now is you."

I let out a long heavy sigh, then said, "Okay. But the moment anything looks or sounds fishy, I am out."

"Fine."
 

May pointed out the loose brick. I got the key, unlocked the door, then wiped the key off and put it back behind the brick.

As soon as the door was open, May dashed inside. I didn't see where she went. I entered more cautiously, looking around, trying to not touch anything, but it was obvious — much to my relief — that this really was May's house. There were pictures of her everywhere. None of them were pictures of herself alone: it was always May and someone else. Most of the pictures featured May and two other women: from the resemblance, they had to be her mother and her sister. Other photos were from family vacations or events like birthday parties, a wedding, and so on.

As I looked at one picture after another, it struck me that the May in the photos was always happy, sunny, and smiling. The May I knew was never that way.

And the May in the pictures wore a lot more clothes than the May I knew: I didn't see a single one where she bared as much cleavage or showed as much leg as she did now. She must have died in the most provocative clothes she owned.

Then, from another room, came the sound of May stamping her foot. "Damn!" she shouted. "Damn it! Damn it to hell!"

"May?" I called, quickly making my way through the rooms until I found her in her bedroom. "May, what's wrong?"

She was sitting on her bed, crying. The closet was open, and so were the two top drawers of her bureau. From what I could see, most of it was a lot more modest than the clothes had on: jeans, cotton shirts, and dresses she could have worn to church.

"May, what's wrong?" I repeated.

"These clothes!" she cried. "My clothes! I wanted to come here so I could change my clothes! I don't want to wear these all the time..." she gestured, waving her hand at the clothes she had on.

"So what's the problem?"

"The problem is, I can't change!" To show me what she meant, she ran to the closet and tried to take out some pants and a top. It was the weirdest, most unsettling thing to watch. Her hands scrabbled desperately at the items, but the clothes didn't move at all, and as hard as she tried to close her hands on something, she couldn't get a grip. It was the same with the shirts in the drawer. I lifted a t-shirt and tried to place it in her hands. In a creepy, indescribable way, it slithered over her hands and fell to the floor.

"See?" she sobbed.

"Is this what you were wearing when you died?" I asked.

"Yes."

"May?" I paused for a moment, feeling the delicacy of the question, and unsure if I dared, but then I went ahead and said it: "How did you die, May?"

She stopped crying immediately. She sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. First she said, "I don't want to talk about it." Then she added, "Let's get out of here."

I followed her back to the kitchen. There was a woman standing in the doorway, and I was sure she wasn't a ghost. She was in her thirties, had platinum blonde hair, and wore skin-tight jeans and four-inch heels. Her body was amazing, but her expression was ice cold, and she was holding a telephone in her hand. Her thumb rested on the SEND button.

"That's Ms. Krylova," May explained. "She's my neighbor."

"Hi," I called to her. "Are you Ms. Krylova? I'm a friend of May's."

"You're friends with May?" she asked. "I never seen you here before."

"Well, I'm here now," I said. "I'm looking for May. Have you seen her?"

Ms. Krylova wasn't entirely convinced. She kept a wary eye on me, but she replied, "I haven't seen her since Monday."

Monday. And the first time I picked her up was Tuesday morning.

"Maybe she finally went to Chicago with her boyfriend," Ms. Krylova offered.

At that, May, who'd been standing by in silence, sat down at the kitchen table and fixed her eyes on one of the photos there. It showed her and a skinny, slick looking man who I disliked at first sight. I grabbed the picture.

"Hey!" May protested.

"Is this the guy?" I asked Ms. Krylova, who nodded.

"What kind of person is he?" I asked. "Do you know anything about him?"

Her face took on a flat expression. She looked me in the eyes for a moment, then said, "I know that he is a man. And men? You can't trust any of them."
 

---

 

"He didn't kill me," May told me as I was driving home.

"Who didn't kill you?"

"My boyfriend," she said with a sigh.

"What's his name?" I asked.

"What do you care?"

"Does your family know you're missing?"

She made a vague gesture.

"Can your family see or hear you?"

"No," she said. "I tried for two days to get them to see or hear. But they don't. I tried friends. I tried this card-reader my mother likes. But nobody sees me. Nobody but you."

"Why?" I asked her. "Why me?"

"I don't know," she said, and she sounded exhausted. She sounded emotionally drained.

We drove in silence for a ways, and then she said, "Can I stay with you tonight?" Before I could answer, she added, "I was there last night. I was so scared and so alone, I just wanted to listen to your breathing. I felt like it was the only thing on earth that kept me sane."

"Mmm," I said. I could understand that... and then I had a strange idea.

"May?" I asked. "Did you undress me while I was asleep?"

She looked at me with a complete lack of embarrassment and shrugged. Then she said, "I was curious."

I wanted to ask, Curious about what? but I couldn't get the words out. Her answer sounded strange and wrong and very clinical, although I don't know why I thought of that word at that moment. In any case, it gave me the creeps — and yet, I still brought her home with me. I didn't see how I could keep her out anyway, and I was beginning to feel very sad and sorry for her.
 

---

 

Four days followed in pretty much the same pattern: I'd pick up May at the bridge on my way home in the morning. She'd sit in a chair or look out the window until I fell asleep. She'd be gone when I woke, and I woke up naked and uncovered. Then I'd go see Claudia until it was time to go to work.

I didn't mention May to Claudia, and I didn't bring Claudia home.

The fact that May undressed me each night was weird, but not any weirder than May's being a ghost. I didn't mention it to Claudia. It was just a strange little thing that was part of my life. That's how I looked at it ... at least until I realized that I wasn't sleeping very well.

It was Tuesday that it finally came to a head. Tuesday, a week from the first time I'd picked up May by the bridge.

I was achey and stiff. I had funny pains everywhere, even on the soles of my feet. I wondered whether I was getting the flu or something, because I felt nauseous in a weird way, almost as though someone had kicked me in the balls. I didn't have a fever or chills or sniffles or any other signs of infection.

So, anyway, it was Tuesday morning. I was heading home from work. I picked up May at the bridge and brought her home. I was so tired that I didn't bother getting undressed. I thought with some irritation that May would do it for me anyway.

Feeling utterly spent, I fell onto my bed and immediately dropped into a heavy, unrestful sleep.

After a while I started to dream. I dreamt that May had just finished getting my clothes off, and she was naked, too.

In my dream, she was rolling me onto my back. I could see my face. It was tense and pained, even in sleep.

Then May did the most creepy and bizarre thing. First, she lay down next to me, all the while murmuring softly, "Sleepy sleep, sleepy Ben. Stay asleep, sleepy sleep..." She went on and on like that, oh-so softly and ever so quietly. It was such a hypnotic drone that I nearly fell asleep inside my dream.

Then in a sudden moment May's body flattened out. Flat, like a piece of paper. I was terrified, but I couldn't wake up. I was watching the two of us from above, seeing me looking up, seeing her flattened out, as if a steamroller had squashed her flat, like in a cartoon.

Then May slid underneath me and her smooth, flat body turned into a cold white pool, like quicksilver, if quicksilver could be white, or latex, if liquid latex could be cold. I felt the icy liquid sensation of her underneath my back, my butt, my legs, and the backs of my arms. And then that white quicksilver began to gather and rise and flow up my body, covering my sides, creeping from the edges to cover my belly, my chest, my head, my face.

All the while, May kept up her hypnotic murmur: "Sleepy sleep, sleepy Ben. Stay sleepy sleepy sleep..."

My body wiggled and tried to fight, but it was no use. Gradually the whiteness covered me completely, so that I couldn't hear or see or speak. And all I could do was whimper. And all I could see was the white film that covered my eyes.

I felt myself get up. The film that covered me was May herself, and she was forcing my body to move. I walked, making a few turns, then stopped. Then tiny openings appeared where my eyes are, and I saw that I was standing in front of the mirror, the full-length mirror mounted on my closet.

As I watched, looking at the fear in my own eyes, I saw and felt what May was doing. She was pulling at her skin — and mine underneath it. She was trying to make cat eyes, pulling up the outside corners of my eyes. It hurt, but not too badly.

I looked horrible. My body, my head, was covered in May's pale skin. The only openings were two tiny dots for my nostrils and two for my eyes.

I wanted to scream and cry out, but all I could do was make noises in my throat, sounds something like a gargling whimper. It wasn't loud at all. I couldn't move my jaw, which was covered by the tight, skin-like covering.

"I'm sorry," May told me, "But I can't stop. This is the farthest I've gotten, and I need to try. I need to get this right."

That's when she began to tighten her grip on my body. She tried to mold me, to make me look like a girl. You have to understand that it was hopeless: I look nothing like a girl at all.

She began with my midsection: squeezing first like a vise, then like a corset, constricting my waist down, pushing the little fat I carried up to my breasts and down to my hips. It was so relentless, so forceful and unyielding, that I could barely breathe. I was afraid I was about to faint, when she suddenly stopped. She then tried squeezing my legs to make them slimmer, gave that up as well.

I could hear May grunting with effort as she tried to mold the spare skin and small amount of fat on my chest into a pair of breasts. It hurt like hell to have my skin pulled like that, and the result was not very good. The breasts she tried to mold were tiny, far apart, and nothing like a woman's breasts.

But the worst was yet to come. She pushed my testicles up inside me, pressing without any sense of the pain she was causing. It hurt so bad that tears came to my eyes. She flattened out my penis, kneading and pushing and trying to shape it into something that vaguely resembled a vagina. The pain was excruciating.

In my mind I was screaming at her, screaming at the top of my lungs, sending her the violent, pain-filled message, "May! MAY! For the love of God, stop! May! Let me go!" But I realized that she couldn't read my mind, and I set to screaming, making noise in my throat just as loud as I could (which was not loud at all), and I fought with every ounce of my strength, pushing, resisting, and straining to break free.

"Stop!" May told me. "Stop fighting! I need to do this! I need to try! If I can do this, I can wear my clothes and talk to people!"

"No, May, No!" I screamed in my throat.

"Stop fighting!" she pleaded, her voice filled with desperation. "I NEED to do this! Please, Ben, please don't fight me!"

But fight I did. I struggled to get free, until at last I blacked out from the pain.

I knew nothing until I woke the next morning, exhausted, aching to the bone, and scared almost literally to death.

© 2012 by Kaleigh Way