…she got her towel out of the linen closet and turned back to the mirror.
It was fogged over now, the damp, moist air from the shower collecting on the glass. She could still see herself standing there but now it was as if she had become a ghost, all hazy and indistinct. Darcy the ghost. She waved to herself and grinned at how silly she looked.
In the misty image, words began to appear.
The skin at the back of her neck prickled. Anyone else might have jumped and ran. This was her life, though, and she was used to this sort of thing. It took a lot to scare her these days. Ghosts communicated in a lot of different ways and she’d seen this one before.
Still, it wasn’t part of her normal morning routine to have some ghost text messaging her. In her mirror. There was a reason she didn’t own a cell phone. This was the reason, right here. With ghosts, there really wasn’t any such thing as personal space.
Darcy waited for the message to finish. When it did, the cold prickles at the back of her neck spread all over. Her insides knotted in tight bunches. It had to be a mistake.
“Miss you like peanut butter,” the note read.
Darcy put a shaky hand up over her mouth. It couldn’t be. Oh, please God, it couldn’t be…
