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‘Why weren’t you haunting me tonight? I could’ve really used your help back there and you just – wait where the hell are we?’

I do a full turn, hands on hips, but I can’t see anything beyond the bars that confine us. Wait, bars? And is that straw on the ground? I toe the floor.

‘Walker, what—’ He cuts me off with a low groan.

When I look at him closer, I recoil. His hair is in complete disarray and he’s got a stain on his shirt – which is crumpled! Something here is seriously wrong. ‘You look terrible.’

‘You’re not meant to be here.’

‘No shit.’ I wonder if there’s an easy exit.

‘Seriously, Miller, what are you doing here?’

‘I—well, actually, to be completely honest, I don’t know… I was in the middle of another nightmare and you seem to have called me into yours?’

‘It’s—’ Walker doubles over. His form stutters in and out of existence. It takes a great deal of effort for him to straighten again. ‘Not a nightmare,’ he huffs, and tries to pat down his hair. Vain, even in pain.

‘So, this is real? You’re really in pain right now?’ I frown.

Walker groans and catches himself before falling forwards, holding onto his forearm that pulses and glows a neon green that looks almost like electrical vaults twisting up and down his arm.

‘I just… if you could just⁠—’

‘Just what?’ I come closer, my hands hovering over his prone form, uncertain to touch or to withhold the urge.

‘Go away,’ he groans.

‘How can I help?’ I try to reach for him, but he’s glitching too much for my hand to find purchase. Trying to hold him is like trying to hold water, the more I try to grip at him, the less likely I am to succeed.

He laughs self-deprecatingly. ‘Would you? Would you really help me if you could? After everything I’ve done?’

‘Yes.’ I nod, like it’s the most logical response in the world. ‘Because I’m nice.’

Walker scoffs, unconvinced.

‘Just because you’re an asshole, doesn’t mean I have to be one too.’

‘I appreciate your incredibly flattering observations, but I think I’ll manage this one alone.’

He says that, but his body keeps flickering in and out of focus, and the vein in his forehead is at a dangerous level of protrusion.

I think back to what I read in the Ghost Hauntings for Dummies guide, and my mind snags on a piece of information I thought I’d never need use of.

How to replenish a ghost’s reserves:

Ghosts traverse and dwell in frequency. Most use these frequencies to attune themselves to a certain plain of dwelling. Sometimes, between travels, poltergeists can become stuck between plains. Thus, it is theorised a ghost can replenish its reserves and attune itself to its surroundings through sound. This would certainly account for such common and recurring activity through technological devices capable of permitting sound.

I can’t be sure, but it does look like Walker is having some sort of ghosty epileptic fit. Maybe sound would work? It would make a lot of sense as to why he’s so picky about what music I play in the house. And of course it would explain his own connection to music. I clear my throat. Walker is too consumed by this strange state he’s caught in, he pays me little to no mind.

Stars, I hope I don’t regret this. I cough once more, more nerves now than anything else.

‘And though it hurts.’ My voice croaks a little.

Walker’s head drops to the side, and he’s looking at me like I’ve gone full mad.

Maybe if I’d had singing lessons at some point I’d have been able to hold a note for longer than half a second. As it stands, I am no great talent in song. But perhaps, this will be enough to help.

He peers at me between pinched brows. ‘What are you do⁠—?’