Dara, Page, and the Secrets of the Multiverse

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The spoon sailed past the translucent thing, clattering across the rotting floorboards. She screamed again, throwing her hands over her face in case it went for her eyes. Horror movies surely did a number on her.

"Nice pipes, miss," the sheet said, cutting off her shriek in the middle. A short gasp flitted past her lips, her scream dying in her throat. It talked. To her. A sheet was talking to her. A sheet...which looked like a cartoon ghost floating around an abandoned house. The cobwebs should have told her enough. "I must admit—I'm quite surprised to have company."

She heard of people going insane after a messy break up. This must be it. Now, she was seeing and hearing things in her lonesome. What a ridiculous hallucination though. Was this her mind's best? How about a handsome billionaire who only had eyes for her?

Then, what the ghost said clicked. Dara shielded her body by instinct, arms hugging herself. Tight. Ghost or no ghost, it was eerily inappropriate to watch a girl be herself inside a cabin. "Did you peek?"

"No!" the sheet said a little too quickly. Before her, it shimmered against the setting sunlight peeking through the cabin's frosted windows. Slowly, it took a form closer to that of a person—two arms and legs, a round head, and the beginnings of a shirt and trousers. Was that kind of superpower? Super-ghost? Dara had lost it. Truly.

The ghost scoffed. It could have crossed its arms over its ectoplasmic chest too if it could. "I may be dead, but I haven't lost my manners."

Dara frowned, but her stance eased. If this thing could talk like a normal person, perhaps, it could be reasoned with. Maybe she'd be able to enjoy a night alone and ghost-free. "Am I supposed to be comforted by that?" she snapped. "I'm talking to a ghost."

"Welcome to Pearly Lake Cabin," the ghost replied, bobbing its head. It gestured to the air around them. "The place where victims of unrequited love go. Most of the time, we don't show ourselves, but...well, we're here."

Oh, great. Now, Dara couldn't erase from her mind the knowledge that there were more. Ignorance was bliss for as long as it lasted. "Who are you?" she prodded instead, her voice evening out into a modulated timbre. Just like her forced retreat, she'd get through this insanity the best she could—with fashion. "I believe introductions are due."

"You first," the ghost answered, hovering back towards the spot opposite Dara's chair on the dining table. Was that why there was only one seat? That was...creepy, to say the least. "Guests get first chances."

"Dara." She decided against extending her hand towards the ghost. It would probably just pass by them. "You?"

The ghost dimmed a little. Was it because of the sunset? Did it have a time limit or something? "About that..." It started before pausing. "I actually don't know—my name, that is. One of the things the dead don't get to take to the other side."

She opened her mouth to utter her condolences, but the ghost wasn't done. "In speaking of the other side," it continued. "I have to remember my name in order to move on. I don't know. Death mechanics. Messed up, right?"