Did you dream about me?
I know who it is.
By the time I’m home, the house smells faintly of dust and pine from the old boxes Dad hauled up. Decorations spill across the living room — fake cobwebs, strings of orange lights, plastic skeletons. I kneel to sort through them, my hands moving on autopilot as my mind drifts.
Every Halloween memory is Andrew. The way he carved pumpkins too big for his hands. The way he told ghost stories that left me sleepless for nights. The way he stuck by me at parties, keeping the older boys at bay.
My throat tightens. He’s not here to do that anymore.
And someone else is watching instead.
I glance at the window. For a second, I swear I see a shadow move across the lawn, tall and broad. My chest seizes — but when I blink, it’s gone.
Still, I can’t shake the feeling. The sense of being followed. Haunted.
The boxes creak when I pull the lids open, a puff of dust clouding the air. Inside, the fake cobwebs cling to themselves like old secrets, and the orange lights are tangled so badly I know I’ll never get them straight. I sit cross-legged on the living room floor, sorting through Andrew’s favorite decorations.
Every piece is him.
The skeleton hand candy bowl he used to leave by the door. The rubber bats he’d tape to the ceiling fan so they’d whirl around in dizzy circles. The cheap mask with broken straps that he wore year after year because he thought it was funny.
I trace the edge of the mask with my finger, and for a moment I swear I can still hear his laugh. That high-pitched wheeze he got when he was laughing too hard. My chest aches. Tears sting.
“Need help?”
Dad’s voice makes me jump. He stands in the doorway, arms crossed, brow furrowed. His Storm Cats jacket is unzipped now, his tie loosened from an afternoon of practice.
“I’m fine.” I say quickly, shoving the mask back in the box like it burned me.
He doesn’t move. His eyes study me too closely, the way they always do now, like he’s searching for something broken he can fix.
“You’re jumpy.” he says.
“I’m not.”
“You are.” His mouth presses into a thin line. “You’re distracted.”
I force a laugh, shaking my head. “I’m just… tired. Long day.”
He doesn’t buy it. He never does. “You’ve been like this for weeks, Sammie. Don’t think I don’t notice.”
My throat tightens. I look back down at the lights in my lap, fingers twisting them until they dig into my skin. “It’s just Halloween, Dad. It’s hard without Andrew.”
That softens him, just a little. His shoulders sink, and he rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah.” He murmurs. “It is.”
The silence stretches. I almost let it end there. Almost.
But then I feel it again.
That prickle at the back of my neck. The weight of eyes, heavy and burning.
I glance at the window. The curtains stir even though the air is still, and for a split second I see movement — a shape too big to be a trick of the light. My pulse spikes, heat rushing to my face.
Dad follows my gaze. “What is it?”
“Nothing.” I say it too fast. “Just… thought I saw something.”
His eyes are narrow, sharp. “Something or someone?”
