“She arrived back after five years and the first thing she noticed was that his…”

Grief is like an old porch light. Everyone assumes it will burn out, and yet somehow it never does. Lotte arrived back at her grandfathers house after 5 long years away. The first thing she noticed was that his light was still on after midnight. She cut the car engine and sat there a moment. The sounds of crickets chirping and wind rustling became more clear. Her grandfather always left the lights on. Old habit from the war he had said. No one ever really knew which one he meant. He’d been dead six weeks now. The spare key was still under the miniature plaster frog she had made for him in middle school. The spotted paint had chipped in places, worn smooth from years of hands lifting it aside. The door stuck on the same swollen wood as she opened it, just as she had remembered.

As she entered her grandparents house, she felt their presence. The lights softly flickered as she shut the door behind her. "Ready for another game of mahjong?", asked the ghost of her grandmother.

"Sorry, Grandma, I have a date," she said, slinging her bag across the counter. "He doesn't know about you, so I'd appreciate it if you were on your best behavior. No spooky stuff, you hear?"

Grandma nods with a rock of her whole torso, "Deary, no behavior of mine would spook a man so much as your face." With an artful twist on her cane, she pivots to shuffle away.

As the old woman moves past with an air of smugness at her jibe, a small smile creeps onto the face as they watch her go. Biting their lip to contain the thoughts of the one that they desire, the mention a retort softly at the departing grandma and into the world at large. "I suppose it's a good job that she isn't a man, and she didn't act spooked last night..."