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enough to know it was true. The man still waved occasionally, but his excitement had waned. In fact, he appeared downright dejected and desperate as he raised his hand in greeting.
    There was never a camera, though. He clearly wasn’t a reporter.
    Jason wasn't sure how the man had managed to elude Sheriff Ross when she’d searched the building, but no matter how he looked at it, a deluded fan with uncanny hiding ability seemed the most logical explanation. He seemed harmless, at least, and too shy to approach Jason directly, thank goodness.
    Nonetheless, he had to go.
    Jason wasn’t about to call the sheriff’s department again though, so that left him one option: deal with it himself.
    On his fifth day in the new house, he went to confront his intruder, feeling the boy’s gaze on his head as he crossed the grass to the garage. He stopped just inside the door to let his eyes adjust to the low light. The guest room was built into an enclosed loft, taking up only half of the upper portion of the building. His knees wobbled and his pulse raced as he climbed the stairs. The landing was only a few feet wide. The door itself was closed, and Jason stopped, suddenly unsure. The boy knew he was coming, but he hadn’t opened the door. Jason was hesitant to be the one who opened it. What if the boy was waiting for Jason on the other side with a camera?
    Or an ax?
    Jason shook his head, chuckling at himself. This wasn’t one of the two-bit horror movies he’d acted in over the years.
    Still . . .
    After a moment of debate, he came up with an alternative plan.
    He knocked.
    Boom , boom , boom .
    The sound seemed unbearably loud as it echoed through the empty garage. Jason waited, bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet.
    “Hello?” Jason pounded on the door a second time. “I know you’re in there. I don’t know who you are, or why you’re in my guesthouse, but this is private property. If you leave peacefully, I won’t press charges.”
    No answer. Not a single sound. Not a gasp of surprise, nor the shuffle of feet hurrying across the floor.
    Jason frowned, debating. Finally, he tried the knob and found it unlocked.
    He threw the door open, stepping inside. The boy stood there in the center of the room, his eyes wide—not quite with surprise, though. He appeared downright elated.
    “Listen, you!” Jason said, “I don’t know what—”
    And suddenly, Jason realized what he was seeing—the boy. And the room. Specifically, the boy and the part of the room directly behind him, both at the same time, in a way that was utterly impossible.
    “Holy shit!” Jason backed up quickly, ramming into the doorframe, practically falling onto the landing. He took another step back, discovered too late there was nothing beneath his foot, and fell down the first few stairs, twisting his ankle and banging his knee before managing to catch himself on the banister. Still he stared, horrified and unbelieving at the boy, who now stood in the doorway of the guest room. He looked much as he had in the window—young and thin and pale, his skin almost translucent.
    No. Not almost translucent. Literally translucent. Everything from his baggy, high-waisted trousers and worn boots to his rough-woven white shirt and old-fashioned waistcoat, was not quite solid. Jason could see right through him to the cheap watercolor hanging over the bed. He wasn’t sure how he’d missed it before—whether due to the reflection of the sun on the window, or whether his mind had simply refused to see it—but staring at the boy now, it was quite clear he wasn’t real.
    “You really are a ghost,” Jason gasped out, still clutching the banister with both hands.
    The boy shook his head, pointing behind him into the room, his lips moving as if he were talking, but no sound came out.
    “Is this a prank?”
    The boy frowned, shaking his head. He started speaking again, as mutely as before.
    Jason’s mind reeled, grasping at possibilities. “Are you a