At this moment in the town of Jericho, Kansas, Johnston Green was finishing a cup of coffee and, for the first time in the weeks since the tragic death of his daughter-in-law and unborn grandchild and the hasty departure of his son, he was laughing.

For the first time since her lover's hasty departure and the tragic death of his ex-wife and unborn child, Mary Bailey was letting herself enjoy a moment of light heartedness as she sipped coffee and laughed over the former mayor's stories.

 The atmosphere in town that day was tense, as if trouble was in the air, and the former mayor and current bar owner had both begun the morning turning over dread-filled worries in their minds, but, united over a for once easy to solve problem, a fondness for storytelling, and a different but equally strong love for a certain absent deputy mayor, they had managed to pass the afternoon in a surprisingly pleasant ease, fixing a troublesome length of copper tubing on a still, reminiscing over coffee, and avoiding the fears of their present for a little while.

 Their conversation took a more serious turn, however, as Johnston's thoughts and words drifted to his wife, once so jovial, and the absence of laughter in their house these days as they dealt with the bereavement that had befallen them. Mary gave a quiet nod of understanding, and they passed a moment in silence as they contemplated the recent tragedies that had affected them all. Johnston paused, feeling at once both free, having spoken something of the pains he usually kept hidden, and feeling an urge to hide them again. He broke the silence, saying, "Here I am, rambling on. We probably oughta go take a look at that still."

 "Good idea," nodded Mary, smiling and taking his cue as they shifted back to a less painful topic. She followed him into the back, where he'd recently passed on his father's trick for fixing copper tubing with sand, and though she smiled appreciatively as he set to work checking to see how the experimental first batch was doing, she couldn't help but continue to feel some of the melancholy that had hovered in the air a few moments earlier. She had been thinking on the subject often, in the past few weeks, and hadn't known how to broach it, but now, she took a breath and opened her mouth.

 "You know, if Mrs. Green - the both of you - if there's anything I can do, to help..." she trailed off, struggling for words that would explain what she was trying to express. "I know she probably doesn't want my help, it's just, if there's anything -"

"It's okay," said Johnston, finding it easier to answer her than to struggle through his own muddled thoughts. "Thank you, Mary, really. I appreciate it, and Gail...well, I think it just takes time."

Mary nodded solemnly. "I know what you mean." She gave a smile that didn't meet her eyes.

"Thing is, we're all just muddling through this thing in our own way. Losing someone...it's never quite the same. Each time, no matter how much you think you're used to dealing with things, it's always a shock just how hard it is."

"Yeah," agreed Mary, nodding again. Her eyes had taken on a gleam and though Johnston didn't want to brush aside the real sadness they were both nearly acknowledging, he wished they could get back that feeling of lightheartedness, so rare these days, that they'd had a few minutes earlier.

"You know, my great aunt Milly," he began, switching to his storytelling voice, though not with quite the enthusiasm it had had before. "After my great uncle Cornelius died, she insisted on wearing his hat. It was a musty, flea-bitten old thing, and she insisted on wearing it to nearly every special occasion she'd go to. She must'a worn that thing for twenty years. Then, when she was on her death bed, my mother was asking her about what arrangements she wanted made, since she was really particular about things, and she asked her about the hat. No one wanted to have to bury her in it, of course, but my mother thought she owed her to at least ask. Well, Aunt Milly just shook her head and made a face and said 'You'd better not think of laying me out with that thing on my head.' Everyone was shocked, but she was just as insistent as she had been all those years when people tried to get her to throw it out. Totally changed her mind. You just never know I guess, the strange things people get in their heads." He let out a chuckle at the memory, and Mary chuckled too. Their conversation falling into safer territory again, Mary added a story of her own.

"My dad's grandma was dead before I was born, but every year on her birthday, he'd get out this old record and play her favourite song. Only time of year we played it, and we'd dance around to it, me stepping on his feet, you know. He got upset once when I tried to play it another time, a non birthday, when I was ten. And when I was fifteen, I said I didn't know why we had to do it every year, it seemed stupid." Mary rolled her eyes at the memory her own teenage angst and Johnston smirked, remembering the times his own teenagers called into question the things they deemed stupid. Mary continued, "But you know, after he died, I'd take the record out and play it sometimes. Not on his grandma's birthday, or his own, but I'd think of both, every time."

Johnston smiled, remembering to himself now Mary's father, a man with whom he'd traded many stories and with whom he'd watched the town change over the years. Clearing his throat gruffly, he launched into another story. "And then of course there was my mother's cousin, Bertha. After her mother died, she swore to everyone, she'd see her sometimes. She said she'd wake up early in the morning, look outside, and see her mom out there, hanging up clothes on the line. People laughed at her, said 'Your mom was always working herself to the bone when she was alive, you really think she'd wanna spend the afterlife doing your laundry?' But she always insisted, any time anyone ever brought it up. I don't know what she saw, but she was sure it was her mom's ghost." Johnston smiled wryly.

He glanced over at Mary. She was smiling too, but again, it didn't reach her eyes, and he could tell she was thinking about something as she looked down at the still. "Yeah, weird when that happens, isn't it?" she said finally, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

"Sure is," he nodded. "I heard my share of ghost stories over the years, but no storyteller ever as insistent as Bertha."

"My dad liked telling ghost stories too," Mary said. "When I was a kid, he'd tell them to me every time the power went out, and we'd sit around with a flashlight and he'd try to scare me, with stories about fugitive slave ghosts, and rum runner ghosts, and sea captains, and brides..." She had been smiling through this explanation, but she grew more serious for a moment. She smiled again a moment later, as if trying to dismiss something from her mind. "So I got over being scared of 'em pretty early."

Johnston chuckled. "You were lucky you didn't have a brother. The way Jake and Eric used to try to egg each other on, every time one of them got a notion about scary stories in their head. I can't tell you the number of times Eric came into our room to announce he'd had a bad dream, all because of something Jake told him before he went to bed." Mary shook her head slowly with a knowing smirk. He chuckled again. "Same number of times I'd go by Jake's room and see light under his door, I'm sure. I'd find him sitting up with a flashlight, just telling me calmly he couldn't sleep and thought he'd get in some reading time. Said he didn't believe in ghosts, never wanted me to know he was scared of something, but he wasn't that good a liar." They both chuckled at this.

"So, do you believe in ghosts then?" asked Mary, in a slightly teasing tone.

Johnston smiled, and this time it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Not the kind that walk through walls and appear on stormy nights."

Mary wrinkled her forehead in thought and nodded her understanding. "I think sometimes...maybe our minds do a better job of haunting us," she said.

He said nothing, sensing there was something more underneath her words. He raised his eyebrows, silently encouraging her to continue.

She stared at the counter for a moment before glancing up to meet his eyes. "It's really dumb," she said with a half hearted laugh and shrug of her shoulders. "Last night, I thought I saw something."

Johnston nodded, watching her with a serious expression.

"I guess a trick my mind was playing on me," she said dismissively. "I couldn't sleep, I was thinking about Eric...and other things. So I was lying there, awake, and I thought I heard something down here. Maybe a loose shutter on one of the back windows, I thought. You know how windy it was last night. So I came downstairs. And, for a second, I thought I saw someone, standing here." She paused, rolling her eyes, though her expression remained serious. "Guess that's what happens when you don't sleep for a few weeks, huh?"

Johnston gave her a smile. It was an understatement, and really, faced with the lack of food and stress brought on by the constant barrage of disastrous events that seemed to hit the town, it was probably likely that lots of people were having strange visions and experiencing tricks of the mind most nights. Still, he couldn't help but feel there was more to the story. "So, was it a loose shutter?" he asked casually.

Mary nodded. "Actually, loose window. It was banging open and closed in the wind. I couldn't believe it. I noticed it a few seconds after the figure...I mean, after whatever I thought I saw was gone."

Johnston looked thoughtful. "And the figure - or whatever you thought you saw?"

Mary's expression grew pained. "She had red hair. And a white dress," she said in a quiet voice.

"And she was standing right in here? This room?" he asked, standing himself now.

"Yeah," she answered, looking somewhat puzzled at the new tone in his voice. "Right near the still." She let out a world weary sigh, and looked down at the counter, taking a moment to think on that person whom she must have imagined the figure to be, he thought to himself. His mind was on something else, though, as he glanced around the area in which he stood, bending down to examine the counter beside the still, and then crouching to the ground. Feeling around on the floor for a moment, his hands closed around a small, round piece of metal. Trying to scoop it up inconspicuously, he stepped over to the small window, looking out at the darkening sky. "And this is the window that was open?" 

"Yeah," she answered. "Wind was so strong, must've torn off one of the hinges. I fixed it today though. I think it'll hold up for a while. I hope so, anyway. Looks like it could be another storm coming in, doesn't it?"

Johnston nodded, briefly glancing out at the clouds, before glancing down at the object in his hand. Holding it in the grey light, he could see that it was a half of a locket. A locket he thought he would never see again. "Oh, hell no!" he muttered under his breath.

"Sorry?" she asked from behind him. He turned. She was looking at him, her eyebrows raised.

 He quickly pocketed his find, and stepped towards her, trying to make his expression firm without scaring her. "Mary, I want you to make sure you lock all your doors. All your doors, all your windows. Make sure they're all secure. Soon as the last person leaves the bar. And make sure you're not alone here. Make sure someone's with you, when the bar's open. And when it isn't, when you're alone, don't let anyone in."

 She gave a small laugh, but sensing the urgency in his tone, it died on her lips. She tried instead to give a reassuring smile. "It's okay. I'm used to taking care of the place by myself. And taking care of myself. I'm fine, really." She smiled again. She was touched that he cared but she knew he didn't need to be worrying about her. Not now. 

He chose his words carefully. He didn't want her to know how worried he was, didn't want her to be needlessly worrying too, but he needed her to understand his warning. "I know you are, Mary. But I just...wanna make sure you're careful. These days, even people who don't seem dangerous can be a threat. And with you here, alone..." He knew her thoughts would stray to why she was alone, but that was better than telling her the truth. Better she think of Eric, better she think it was April's ghost or a trick of her troubled mind, than what he knew was really out there. He would just have to impress upon her to be careful.

"Just promise me," he said, briefly gripping her arm. "Promise you'll be careful." He thought of Eric, of Mary's father, that this was the woman Eric loved, the reason he might come home, and this was Patrick Bailey's little girl, as he implored her to understand without any more explanation.

She stared back at him, sensing that there was something that he wasn't saying, but thinking that this was Eric's father, one of the only people who loved Eric as fiercely as she did, and this was the man she'd always known as Mayor, whom her father had spoken of with respect and introduced her to when she was a little girl, she nodded her head. "Okay," she whispered. 

"Okay," he nodded, brusquely taking on a businesslike expression. "Let's go outside and check on that shutter."

She started to protest, that she'd fixed it herself and he'd helped enough already, but he was already on his way out, calling over his shoulder, "I know, but I wanna make sure it holds up in the next storm."

He really wanted to make sure he was seen around Bailey's tavern, and seen near Mary Bailey. But there was no point explaining, telling the sordid tale that would be required in the explanation.

A half an hour later, he was pulling on his gloves, watching the few regulars shuffling in for the evening, and putting his hat on his head. Mary thanked him again, hugging her arms across her chest as she stood in the doorway. With one last "Take care of yourself," he began the cold march home.

As he walked, he slipped his gloved hand into his pocket, turning over the locket half again, considering what he would tell Gail when he got home. He was torn, as he had been with Mary, wanting to be able to tell her the truth and not wanting to add to her worries. But Gail knew what they were up against, he thought, and she needed to know why it was more important than ever, now, that they work together to take care of each other and the only people they had left, despite their differences. He'd lost his grip on the town but he wouldn't lose his grip on his family, held together as loosely but definitely as they were now. And he knew Gail would feel the same. He would tell her what he had found in the back room at Bailey's, he decided.

When he found her in the living room, he was determined to tell her, but he couldn't quite find the words as he saw the look on her face. She had plenty of words, first making distinctions between keeping Mary alive and doing heavy lifting, but then, it seemed, worrying if she was the reason Eric had left. Johnston sighed, knowing how heavily her youngest son's absence weighed on her, knowing how it compounded the grief she already held for the only daughter she'd ever known, and the grandchild that had kept her hoping for the future. He wanted to tell her, as he'd told Mary, that it wasn't her fault. In this moment, he was too weary to find the right words. He resolved he would tell her his news later, when she wasn't sitting up worrying over Eric. No need to add another worry to her growing list, especially considering her growing conflict over why Eric had left and why he might come back.

He went upstairs and stood over the dresser, pulling out the locket and turning it over in his hands. He traced one finger along the cross shaped in the metal, and for a moment, smiled as he thought back to the day he'd first seen this locket. It was unfair, really, that something with such bittersweet memories could harbour such a sinister omen now. But it was how it was, and it would be no use worrying about what he couldn't change. He would just have to look out for them all himself. Gail, Mary, Eric, when he came back, and of course, Jake, who would never admit that he kept his flashlight on in bed because he was scared. He would protect them all, the best he could, and do what he could to hold them together in the storm that he sensed coming. And tomorrow he would tell Gail. And perhaps, when Eric was back, he'd tell him and Mary both. They would face it together. But for now, he would face it. He slipped the locket into an old sock, and slid it to the bottom of the smallest dresser drawer. Feeling somewhat at ease, he went downstairs to rummage for a snack.

Johnston Green would never get to tell his wife of the locket in his drawer, and the sense of warning that it carried. The next day he left for New Bern to rescue his sons, and in the days that followed, saw his town attacked, led an army of farmers and shopkeepers, and met his death.

His family was drawn together in his death, putting aside their differences as they clung to all that they had left. Eric came home and stayed, finding healing as he was surrounded by those he loved and doing his best to protect them all as his father once had. Gail, overjoyed to have her son back and mindful of the tragedies looming out there every day, began to accept his choices, and over time, to accept Mary. For her part, Mary offered the grieving Greens all that she could, and even Gail began to accept what she gave. Jake left home again, not for the reasons that had once sent him running away, but in order to face enemies that could crush them all. When he came back, he resolved to make the most of the time he had left with the family he had, knowing how quickly it could all be gone.

Johnston Green's family banded together to survive, just as he'd hoped they would, and they bravely faced life without him, and the crises that followed his death: occupation by a corrupt government, a showdown with representatives of said government, complete anarchy in the town they tried to lead, and then, survival on their own again. They faced all these things alongside their friends and fellow townspeople, all the while leaning on each other. But there was one danger none of them saw coming. Something they couldn't have predicted. No one ever found the locket, and so, none of them had warning of the danger it foretold.

On the evening of April Twenty Second, Nineteen Seventy Two, in a city in Colorado, the staff of a renowned but under renovations medical centre would have a shock as they took their evening break. As the two nurses stood under the overhang outside, trying to smoke their soggy cigarettes before going back inside to deal with the coughs and fevers and bandages that made up the night shift, a figure came towards them in the rain.

The water was coming down in sheets that night, and the girl, for she couldn't have been more than eighteen or nineteen, stumbled up the front steps, her clothes and hair plastered to her. She stood on the steps for a moment, catching her breath and holding her hands over her swollen belly.

Seeing that she was obviously in need of their help, the nurses quickly disposed of their cigarettes and went over to offer supporting arms and take the ratty old bag she clutched in one of her hands. They brought her into the warmth and light of the emergency room, and wrapped blankets around her as she sat in a small exam room.

Annie, who had two kids of her own at home, couldn't help but feel for the poor thing as she sat there, dazedly taking in her surroundings. She was beautiful, in a wistful sort of way, and her long dark hair fell down her back as it began to dry. In this light, Annie was sure she was couldn't be more than nineteen, but her eyes gave her an older, wearier look about her. She sipped the water brought to her gratefully, but she was slow to answer questions, reluctant to give her name, even. She did manage to get out that she was about seven months along, and hadn't seen a doctor for a long time. Annie resolved that she would, soon, but since it was so late and the girl was so exhausted, it might be best for her to get some rest first, and see the doctor on duty in the morning. The girl nodded listlessly at that suggestion, and heaved herself to her feet to follow Annie down the hall.

There was a rooming house next door to the medical centre, run by Seventh Day Adventists, and Annie knew they had beds available that night. This girl wouldn't be the first in her type of situation to be put up there, and it would be a good place for her to rest since it was much quieter than the hospital. The girl stayed silent on the quick walk over to the rooming house, and as Annie explained briefly the situation to the desk clerk. She followed Annie and the clerk down the hall to the room, which the clerk unlocked. Annie nodded approvingly as she led the girl inside. It was small but comfortable, with warm blankets folded on the bed. She arranged the girl's bag on the small bedside table, and the girl sank somewhat reluctantly to the bed, her hands on her belly.

"Well, this should do you for the night," said Annie brightly. "And however long you need it, I'm sure. At least until the little one comes." The girl nodded slightly, but seemed too overwhelmed to respond. "But you can think about all that in the morning," Annie added, arranging an extra blanket on the bed. "I'll send someone to fetch you, bring you over to see Dr. Vincent, and he'll be able to check you out and answer any questions you have, okay?"

The girl nodded, wearily, and reached one hand to clasp at something that was hanging around her neck on a chain. Annie peered at it, trying not to seem like she was staring. It seemed to be a small locket, possibly silver once but faded and tarnished. Still, it had tiny flowers on it and Annie imagined it was once beautiful.

"That's pretty," she said, motioning and the girl looked down at it.

"My mother," the girl said in a shallow voice.

Annie was going to ask if her mother had given it to her or if it contained a picture of her mother, but she stopped as she observed the girl's expression. Her jaw was set, as though she were determined to hold still with her teeth gritted, and her breathing seemed strained. She still held the locket clasped in one hand, and her other she held stiffly against her belly. She squeezed her eyes shut briefly, and opened them. Annie could tell she was trying to hide something, but the look in her eyes was pained. She put a hand to her patient's arm, carefully.

"When did they start, honey?" she asked.

The girl looked at her sharply, and shook her head quickly. "I'm only seven months," she whispered.

Annie nodded, trying to speak in a tone that was both kind and firm. "I know, sweetie. When did they start?"

The girl let out a breath and shrugged. "They're getting worse," she said in a strained voice.

Annie nodded brusquely, and in one motion, reached for the bag from the side table and the girl's arm.

By the time Dr. Vincent had been paged, had driven through the rain, and had scrubbed in and arrived in the delivery room, the patient was labouring away, her face as white as a sheet, her breath coming in ragged gasps, punctuated by moans she couldn't restrain. Annie had tied back her long dark hair, and was wiping at her glistening forehead as the doctor introduced himself. One of the other nurses stood by the patient's side, offering her a hand to grip, but the girl seemed to prefer holding her locket tightly in her fist. The doctor performed a quick exam and then went over to the corner of the room to speak in hushed tones with the nurse who'd taken the patient's vitals. He stepped back over to his patient, and looked at her carefully.

"Did you know you were having more than one baby?" he asked.

Struggling to breathe, the girl shook her head. Annie felt a lump in her throat at the panicked look in the girl's eyes.

"It's alright," the doctor said in a gentle voice. "This'll just be a little more...complicated. But we'll take care of you."

"Are you sure there isn't anyone we can call for you?" asked Annie softly, wiping her brow again.

Letting out a shuddering breath, the girl shook her head. Annie took her hand and this time she didn't pull it away.

The night wore on, and the early morning light began to seep in through the windows. The labouring mother and her attendants fought on, trying to bring new life into the world. After much agonizing waiting and pushing, the first baby was born. Annie held her and marveled at her perfectly formed fingers, toes, nose and ears. The girl sobbed, but continued to work at delivering the second. The second was identical to her sister, and just as beautiful.

Annie let out a small chuckle in wonder at the baby, and turned to bend over the young mother. "You're done, honey. And you've done just fine -"

"Uh, Nurse Smith," came Dr. Vincent's voice, steady but with a hint of something Annie recognized. She swallowed and looked over at him. "I believe we've got another on the way," he said.

The girl did not look as surprised as the other occupants of the room this time, just continued to breathe
painfully. She looked up at Annie, and her eyes, though desperate and scared, now held a look of determination.

Annie tried to keep encouraging, telling this girl whose name she didn't even know that she was proud of her, that she would make it, that there was just one more and she could rest. It was becoming apparent, to everyone in the room, that the girl was struggling. The doctor worked frantically, doing what he could to help move the last child along. The mother fought, but everyone could see she was fading. Annie squeezed her hand and prayed.

At long last, the third child, a healthy baby boy, was hoisted up into the air, to the collective sighs and relieved laughs of the entire team. The three babies were quickly spirited away to the neonatal care unit and the team continued to fight for their patient. As Dr. Vincent tried frantically to quell bleeding that wouldn't stop, Annie smoothed back the new mother's hair and whispered to her that she had two beautiful little girls and a beautiful boy. The mother's face was chalk white and a single tear had run sideways across her cheek but she smiled faintly. She reached again for the locket around her neck, her fingers brushing against it, and to Annie's surprise, she pulled the nurse's hand towards the locket, guiding her fingers to the metal. Annie felt the shape of a cross under her finger tips, not flowers as she had thought adorned the locket before.

"Name them...after...today," the girl whispered.

"Sorry, honey? Name them after what?" asked Annie, aware that sometimes people said strange things when they were as far away as her patient was drifting.

"Their day," she insisted, squeezing Annie's hand and the locket in her own. She said something else, but it was so muffled Annie couldn't make sense of it. Whatever she was asking seemed to be connected to the locket, but Annie didn't know the connection. She decided that it didn't really matter, she would figure that out later, and now she would do what she could to comfort the girl who had come in from the rain.

As Dr. Vincent bowed his head and whispered that there was nothing else he could do, as Margie and Linda sighed sadly and looked over at their nameless patient, and Annie felt the strength giving out in the pale hand she held in her own, the girl breathed out and let go.

As Annie stood over the three babies an hour later, holding the locket in her own hands, she puzzled over the girl's wishes. Fingering the small cross on the front of the locket, she flipped it open. There was only a small, grainy black and white picture inside, of a woman with dark hair and bright eyes. The girl's mother, she decided. The nurses from the neonatal unit were filling out some paperwork.

"How are they?" asked Annie.

"Very healthy," said one of the nurses, a veteran in the unit named Joanne. "Especially for such early babies. We'll keep them a while, 'til they're a bit bigger. Then they can be adopted by someone." She smiled down at one of the babies, one of the girls, Annie realized. Both girls had bright red hair and absolutely identical faces. Annie glanced from one, to the other, and then to the boy. He had hair as dark as his mother's had been, and sharp eyes.

"What are we calling them?" asked Annie casually.

"Nothing, yet," replied Joanne. "In case we hear anything from the mother's family in the next few hours."

Annie shook her head. She knew that wouldn't happen, and the mother herself had given some instructions. Puzzled as she was, she felt suddenly a strong need to honour that lost young woman's final wish. "What's the date today?" she asked. She was always thrown off when she started work in the evening.

Marlo, the other nurse, glanced down at her clipboard. "April Twenty Third."

"April Twenty Third," Annie mused to herself. "And a Sunday, isn't it?" As she held the locket adorned with the cross it seemed oddly appropriate. She stepped up so that she stood right between the three baby beds. "I guess we know what your names are then," she said. "Sunday," she looked at the baby girl to her left, "April," she smiled down at the little girl in the centre, "And Twenty Third." The little boy seemed to be looking up at her with solemn eyes, and she had a feeling that was that.

The foundling triplets, or so they were affectionately called by the medical centre staff, grew and developed over the next few weeks. They remained healthy as they progressed, and they were so beautiful and good that everyone working in the centre, from their doctors and nurses to the night custodians, was in love with them. It was a bittersweet mood that hung over the nursery the day they were ready to leave for the good homes that had been arranged for them.

Annie came in the day the social workers arrived with the car seats and addresses, to say her final goodbyes. She'd heard that kindhearted adoptive parents had been found for each of them, and she was glad to see that they were getting the happy ending their mother hadn't lived to see, but she was just a little sad to see them go.

"Take care, you guys," she whispered, reaching to brush a finger along little Sunday's hand. Sunday gripped it in her baby fist.

"Live good lives, have fun if you can," she added, bending over to smile at April, who seemed to be watching her every move.

"And make your mother proud," she finished quietly, looking into Twenty Third's solemn eyes.

When the three social workers came to gather the three infants, Annie had one last parting gift for them. In the weeks since the death of the young mother, she'd taken the locket to a jewelry store and now, she held out two halves, each on their own chain. "One for each of the girls," she said. "So they have something from her." She glanced at Twenty Third, and pressed a baseball cap she'd found at the bottom of the girl's bag into the third social worker's hands. The social worker held it out questioningly. It was worn and had obviously seen its fair share of sweaty summer days, but Annie figured it must have meant something to the girl, if she'd been carrying it around in her only bag. She watched as the three children were carried out of the room and on to new lives, and as she'd done many times over the past few weeks, she said a silent prayer for them.

Each of the children went to a new home, and each received a new last name, though, by the request of the officials at the hospital where they were born, their original first names were kept. Sunday was adopted by a farming couple from South Dakota. They'd already opened their home to seven other adopted children, some of whom had names like Monty and Galadriel, so though they thought her name was a little strange, they promised she would fit right in. The social worker nodded approvingly at the big yard, noting in her file that it would do a child good to have the fresh air and structure of life on a family farm.

April went to a pair of missionaries who had never been able to have children of their own. They'd traveled the world, tending to the sick - for they were doctors - and spreading the good news, and now they were ready to settle down and raise a family. They took care of the people in their own community, a small town in Oklahoma, practicing medicine Monday through Saturday and shepherding souls on Sunday and most Wednesday nights. Though they'd been sad when attempts to conceive their own child had failed, the moment they laid eyes on little April they knew their prayers had been answered.

Twenty Third was also adopted by a pair of a believers, a small town preacher and his wife, who'd also never been able to have children. They'd prayed for a miracle, but had reluctantly begun considering that perhaps adoption was part of the good Lord's plan for their family. Doubtfully, they had gone to a meeting with a social worker, supposedly to talk about a little boy named Matthew, but they'd seen a different picture on the desk: a beautiful baby with dark hair, soulful eyes, and a strange name. Strange, but miraculous. The Twenty Third Psalm was their favourite, and they had known then that it was a sign. The adoption was arranged in twenty minutes.

So it was that the foundling triplets, christened Sunday, April, and Twenty Third, grew up in different families, in different states, unaware that they were not one or two but three of a kind, unaware of each other's existence. Until the day one of them made use of her parents' connections in the missionary world and her newly acquired library card and research skills to see if she had any other family members in the world.

April Hendricks was eleven years, ten months, seven days, sixteen hours and twenty two minutes old when she first discovered she had a sister, a twin, living only a few states, fifteen hours and a thousand miles away. Overjoyed to discover a piece of herself that had seemed to be missing all these years, despite her great love for her adoptive parents and the belonging she felt in their small town, she contacted her sister, Sunday, by telephone and arranged a visit. Her parents proudly waved goodbye as she rode away on her first solo bus trip, headed for a farm in South Dakota.

Sunday stood at the small bus stop with her adoptive father, and watched the girl with a smile, face, and shimmering head of hair identical to her own step off the bus, lugging her duffel bag and a plastic case Sunday would later learn contained her mandolin. April's clothes were neater and in better condition than Sunday's, her hair cut stylishly with her bangs trimmed, and the way she walked towards the only two people waiting at the bus stop, she seemed to have a different way of carrying herself than her sister. But as Sunday stared at her, it was still like looking in a mirror, and she knew in that moment that she was not a single nobody alone in the world but part of a matching set.

April threw her arms around her sister and sighed happily as tears formed in her eyes. Ever since she had found out she had a sister, she'd imagined what it would be like to meet her. She'd hoped it would feel like finding a missing puzzle piece, and to something much more complicated than the thousand piece Last Supper she'd recently assembled with her parents. She'd imagined that they would spend the visit learning everything about each other's lives and catching up on every little detail they'd missed since their separation so many years before. She hummed to herself as she packed her suitcase, thinking about the late night talks they would have, sitting up in their pyjamas. April would tell her sister about the joys and pressures of being the only child of a pair of such well respected community members as her doctor-missionary parents. They would giggle over the things they would find they had in common, and share their fears too. Her sister would understand, better than anyone else in the world, the strange sadness she sometimes felt on her birthday, or the puzzling question marks that seemed to hover over her imaginings of the future as she thought about growing up and possibly having a family of her own one day. The entire bus ride there, she'd stared out her window, trying to keep thinking hopefully about the possibilities, and trying not to let herself give in to any nervous worries floating through her mind. Sure, her sister would probably seem like a total stranger at first, but they'd shared a womb once. That had to count for something.

As April followed her sister's father to the truck, she breathed a sigh of relief, and tried not to step along too giddily. She could already feel the connection between herself and this long lost sibling. This would surely be a defining few days of her life.

Sunday followed April to the truck, struggling under the weight of her sister's duffel bag. She wondered what she'd possibly packed in there to make it so heavy. As she hopped into the back of the truck beside April, who was beaming as though riding in the back of an old pickup truck was an experience one should be excited about, she gave her new sister her biggest smile she could muster. The truth was, she was quite apprehensive about inviting this stranger with the same face as her to come into her life.

Sunday hadn't longed for brothers and sisters as she sat up by the window late at night, staring out at the stars. The presence of brothers and sisters was a gift she'd gotten in spades. Her parents had adopted their thirteenth child last year, a runny nosed little boy who pulled Sunday's hair when it was her turn to watch him. Sunday shared a bedroom with three sisters, and even had to share a bed with Scrawny, whose real name was Belle-Marie, but whose short stature and low position in the chronological order of the household had gotten her a less 'uppity' name that stuck. In fact, most of Sunday's life on the farm was characterized by sharing. Sharing and fighting over what should be shared. Sharing the chores demanded of them every morning, afternoon, and evening. Milking the cows, feeding the chickens, patching the roof, picking the fruit, pushing wheelbarrows and working in the fields in the hot sun. Fighting over the porridge in the morning, chicken bones at night in the middle of the too small table they'd all squish around. Sharing the same patched dresses and faded t-shirts, from one owner to the next, year to year, and pairs of shoes taped together when the bottoms started to fall off. Sharing the mocking stares they got on the bus and in the halls at school, and fighting over the scraps of their parents' affection that they had to go around.

No, another sibling wasn't what Sunday dreamed about as she sat up on the dresser in the window, wishing on stars and ignoring Betty Ann's snores, Galadriel's mumbled words, and hoping Scrawny didn't wake up and want a lullaby or a story. She imagined a world where she was special. One of a kind, unique, beloved, not for how quickly she could hoe a field, for how fast she could gather eggs, or fix a fence, but for being herself. She imagined that once she had come from somewhere, someone who had thought to give her a unique name, who had expected her to be someone very special indeed. She held onto that hope, from when she was a little girl, that perhaps someone, even that someone, would return to get her one day and rescue her from the chicken bones, duct taped shoes, and loneliness that pervaded her life.

Sunday had made the mistake once of writing a composition about her feelings and wishes as a part of a school assignment. She wrote a piece that described a longing for a home, something she'd never really felt in her own house, her own family. Her teacher, finding Sunday's words surprisingly moving, had her read it aloud, and as a result, the other children caught onto her belief that she was meant for something better, and begun teasing her mercilessly. Before, the only thing that had gotten her noticed was her red hair, which had made her the receiver of many carrot related jokes. Now, she was singled out as the orphan, the nomad who belonged nowhere. Sunday found herself missing the 'carrot-head' days.

Even her siblings caught on, and though they were all adopted themselves, they seemed to find her sense of entitlement insulting. Betty Ann, who was always writing nasty lyrics making fun of their principal at school, was the first to compare Sunday to another famous redheaded orphan with aspirations to greatness. "Will Sunday go home tomorrow?" she would sing as she skipped up the lane from the bus stop to the farmhouse. "Bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow, she'll be gone."

"I wouldn't bet on that!" someone else would always snicker, and everyone else would take up the chant.

By the time she was eleven years, ten months, seven days, sixteen hours and twenty two minutes old, she had given up hope of finding a new home. That was something that only happened in family movies and inoffensive stage plays. She held onto the hope that she would be special, unique, and appreciated somewhere else, someday. This is why, when she looked over at her sister on the ride home, she felt conflicted. Though she tried to be thrilled to find this actual blood relative who was so enthusiastic to catch up with her, she had a sinking feeling as she looked at April. A feeling that she was looking at a better dressed, better mannered, more accomplished, and possibly, happier version of herself. She felt a surge of envy. And a sinking feeling, again. Though they were twins, they would never be on even footing. April would want to get to know Sunday, and Sunday would want to know how it was to be April. As they neared the farm and April grabbed her hand in excitement, Sunday tried again to smile at her.

Sunday sat in near silence at the dinner table during April's first meal with the family. She felt an awkwardness, a nervousness, a near embarrassment though she wasn't sure for whom. Was she embarrassed for this sister to see the way these people she'd been raised by lived, fifteen baboons fighting over the same bunch of bananas? Or embarrassed for her family to see this prim, proper, overly enthusiastic version of herself sitting there, chattering on about prayer meetings and fracture clinics, politely pretending that chicken livers and watery mashed potatoes were the best food she'd ever tasted? She could already hear the snickering words her siblings would have to say to this girl, and she wasn't sure for whom the pit in her stomach had formed.

That evening the girls lay quietly in the bed, not whispering as April had imagined. Sunday closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep, but she was sure April would know she hadn't drifted off yet. She could hear her sister's breathing beside her, and it even sounded like it matched her own. Sunday sighed and rolled over on her side, away from the invading twin. Scrawny lay on her cot on the floor, her thumb in her mouth. She always tried not to do it during her waking hours, for fear the others would tease her, but her thumb always seemed to find its way into her mouth as she fell asleep. She'd be really embarrassed if April saw her, Sunday thought with satisfaction. Scrawny had been upset to be kicked out of the bed, had pouted and whined pathetically, but she had cheered up when April had made up a bed time story for her. It had been a tale of fairies and dragons and good men and women doing kind and noble things. Much more cheerful than the stories of ghosts and stormy nights and little girls getting locked in closets that Sunday usually told her. Scrawny had climbed into April's lap to give her a hug goodnight. Sunday had rolled her eyes.

April felt strange as she pretended to be asleep in the dark. Her sister hadn't been interested in talking at all once they'd changed into pyjamas. She had been quiet, and now was pretending to sleep peacefully. Maybe she was a little overwhelmed, or liked to get an early start on her sleep, considering she lived on a farm and probably got up early. April hoped that that was it. There was something about this sister she hadn't quite expected as she made eager plans over the phone. Sunday seemed a little...sad. April puzzled over this, unable to fall asleep. She wasn't sure yet why Sunday was sad in this place. Her parents seemed friendly enough, letting this identical stranger visit their home and telling her not to help clear the table, since she was a guest. Sunday had many brothers and sisters, all the company anyone could ever wish for. And it was obvious the little one, who was now sucking her thumb on the floor, adored Sunday. She had a ready made group of friends to go to school with, and to run around outside with. Still, there was something wistful about Sunday, and April resolved she would get to the bottom of it and help her sister before the week was up.

Sunday fully expected her sister to meet the full wrath of her siblings over the next few days. To observe her parents' strange behaviour. To run away screaming. But April's week with the Hendrickson household did not go as Sunday expected. Her mother didn't let April help with any of the chores, saying she was the guest and chuckling bemusedly when April insisted on helping with the dishes, learning to milk a cow and making lunch for the whole gang. April was enthusiastic about joining in life on the farm, getting Sunday to explain how she did each task in the barn or in the yard. All of the brothers and sisters left her alone and none of them tried to lock her in the chicken coop, as they'd done to Sunday so many times. In fact, they didn't just tolerate her, they seemed to like her. Galadriel even lent her her bicycle, Bobby, the baby, would curl up beside her on the couch, leaning his head on her shoulder, and all of them listened politely, as though they were really interested, to April's stories of life in Oklahoma, her school friends, the baton twirling troupe she belonged to, her pet bunny, her parents' missionary positions. Sunday listened quietly to these things, trying not to let on the inner turmoil she felt at hearing about all the wonders that made up her sister's life, knowing it was something she would never see herself.

April tried her hardest, all week, to reach a better understanding of her new sister. In the hopes of encouraging Sunday to share her own thoughts and feelings, April told her everything about herself. She tried to turn the conversations to their shared secrets and past as well, pulling out the locket half she always wore around her neck, asking Sunday if she wore hers too. Sunday snorted that such a piece of jewelry would get ruined if it fell into the pig's trough or caught on someone else's shovel handle. Not to mention, if the others saw her bandying such an object about, it was likely to be snatched away. She kept it hidden. She didn't tell April where. April frowned, and wondered what topic would inspire Sunday to be more forthcoming. She was used to trying, and trying, until she succeeded - her mother said it was one of her most endearing qualities - but she was also used to succeeding, soon enough. Most people usually responded to her sunny disposition and charming pluck. Sunday seemed to grow more distant.

The night before April was set to go home, Sunday sat quietly on the bed as April brushed Scrawny's hair. Sunday listened half heartedly to April's prattling as she worked patiently on the tangles and knots that made up the rat's nest on Scrawny's head. April talked about how her mother would comb, brush, and braid her hair at home, how they enjoyed the quiet time together, how it made April feel special and loved. Scrawny sighed that she'd never experienced that - her mother had abandoned her, and no one would touch her set of tangles. Sunday snorted, wondering who could blame them. April chuckled and told Scrawny that she'd never known her real mother either, but that didn't mean she wasn't loved, and that she enjoyed brushing Scrawny's hair. The little girl beamed. Sunday leaned back and tried to ignore them as they continued talking. She noticed, though, after a few minutes, that they were talking about her.

"Why don't you brush Sunday's hair?" Scrawny was asking. Sunday began to object. She'd always taken care of her own hair, pulling apart the tangles with her fingers and forcing a brush through when needed. It wasn't as gleaming as April's was but it certainly didn't need serious attention like Scrawny's. April, however, was quickly insisting she would like to brush her sister's hair, and before Sunday knew it, she was seated in the middle of the bed, April running the brush through her hair and Scrawny watching eagerly.

Her hair soon shone, and Scrawny admired it, as did Galadriel and Betty Ann, who had come into the room as Sunday pretended she wasn't there. "Doesn't she look exactly like April now?" asked Scrawny.

"Well, not exactly. April has bangs," pointed out Galadriel.

Sunday felt all their eyes on her suddenly, and could feel herself beginning to protest before Scrawny even said "April could cut you some, couldn't you?"

April nodded slowly, trying to gauge Sunday's reaction. "I trim my dad's hair. Done it since I was nine. Gives us a chance to bond and talk about what we think of life." She looked pensive for a moment, and gave Sunday a tentative smile. "Can't I do this for you? Please?"

Sunday hid her irritation as the others all chimed in, saying she should do it, she would look just like April, how wonderful that would be.

Ten minutes later, Sunday sat, closing her eyes as her sister snipped away at her hair, wondering to herself how she'd ended up in this position.

When April was done, the others oohed and aahed. She stood side by side with her sister, looking in the bathroom mirror, and thought to herself that they looked so much alike, yet seemed so different. Much as she'd expected to find another half of herself, she'd found something else entirely in Sunday, and though she'd gotten to know about so much of Sunday's life, she didn't feel yet that she had really gotten to know Sunday at all. She felt slightly sad, as she caught her sister's eye in the mirror and smiled, but she resigned herself to make the most of the time she had left.

She tried once more that night to talk to Sunday as they fell asleep. She asked her one question. "Are you happy?" Sunday pretended to be asleep. April thought, slightly guiltily, that she was just a little glad to be going home tomorrow, if only for the chance to lay awake in her own room, free from Betty Ann's snoring and Galadriel's mumbling, and free from this puzzling sister.

The next morning, both sisters sat cheerily at the breakfast table. Everyone exclaimed that they couldn't tell the difference between the twins, though Sunday knew this was ridiculous. April's neatly coordinated top and shorts set her apart from Sunday, in her faded t-shirt and cutoff shorts, before anyone could examine them any closer and see the real difference between them. She resolved to be nice to her sister for the rest of the time she was there, finding it easier now that there was an end to their visit so clearly in sight.

April had also resolved to continue trying with her sister in the time she had left. It didn't seem very difficult, considering she knew she could get on the bus in a few hours and go home to a place where, though none of her family shared her blood, she knew exactly where she fit in and didn't feel confused over things like love and understanding. She offered to help Sunday with her morning task of gathering eggs.

The twins gathered eggs mostly in silence. April stole glimpses at her identical sister, wondering how her face could seem so familiar, yet be so difficult to read. Sunday glanced around at the walls, the manure stained floors, the feathers floating through the hazy squalor, and thought of how many times her siblings had locked the doors, barricading them from the outside, ignoring her pleas from the inside. April would get to leave the chicken coop in a few minutes, and the farm, in a few short hours. She would get to escape. Sunday pulled back her hand as Bessie, her least favourite chicken, pecked at her. It wasn't fair, she thought. She would never escape the chicken coop. Why was it that April would? What did she have that Sunday didn't? They'd shared the same womb after all. They had the same face. Suddenly, an idea sprung into Sunday's mind. An awful idea. An awful, yet irresistible idea.

April finished scooping up the last egg, giving the hen sitting over the nest an affectionate pat. She handed it to Sunday, who deposited it in her basket with a quick 'thank you', and then began following her twin out of the darkness of the chicken coop and towards the light.

As they neared the door, Sunday dropped the basket of eggs. A crunching noise was heard. At her horrified look, April couldn't help but try to console her. "It's alright, Sunday," she said, bending over quickly to assess the damage. "Only a few are broken." She began scooping up the unbroken eggs that had slid sideways from the basket. "No use crying over broken eggs, my mom would say," she continued with a chuckle. She glanced up. Sunday had vanished.

"Sunday?" asked April hesitantly.

The door swung shut, plunging the small room into near darkness. April could hear someone shuffling something around on the other side of the door, even as she tried the handle, tried to put her weight against the door. It wouldn't budge.

On the other side of the door, Sunday finished laying the board into place across the door frame, and walked away, brushing her hands off.

Elmer Hendrickson drove a quiet April Hendricks to the bus stop around midday. His adoptive daughter had not come when he'd called her, shouting it was time to drive her sister home. He knew she'd probably be upset later, but he didn't have all day to go scouring the barn yard for her. April told him she'd already said her goodbyes, and sedately hopped into the back of the truck.

When Walter and Rose Hendricks met their daughter at the bus stop in Oklahoma, she seemed different. Quieter, more worn out than they'd expected her to be. When she'd gotten home from baton twirling camp, she'd talked excitedly the whole car ride home, but this time, she was tight lipped about her experiences. Her parents assumed, and agreed when they discussed it later, that she was busy thinking about whatever profound, life changing things she'd figured out about herself and her past, and was happy just to get home.

They were further surprised when she left her mandolin case in the car. Her father brought it in, and instead of being overjoyed to see it and relieved she hadn't left it somewhere, or somewhat troubled at her own unusual carelessness, she just nodded dully, not even thanking her father for rescuing it. Instead of asking for a late night cup of hot chocolate and some cookies, as they had expected April to do, she agreed compliantly to go upstairs and get ready for bed. Her parents were a little disappointed - their late night hot chocolate and cookie talks were something they'd missed while she was gone. They were further puzzled when she went upstairs and turned in the wrong direction, left to the linen closet, instead of far right to her bedroom. Her mother chalked it up to exhaustion from travel and whirlwind bonding. Walter and Rose both came in to kiss April good night, and she didn't call out an extra good night as they stood in the doorway, as per their tradition. Her father chuckled at how glad she must be to sleep in a quiet house again, after all those nights in the crowded farmhouse.

Over the course of the next day, Walter and Rose became concerned that something more than exhaustion was affecting their daughter. Rose noted how quickly and quietly she scarfed down her breakfast, including a banana she grabbed from the centre of the table. She hadn't known April to eat a banana since the unfortunate time she'd left one in her schoolbag for too long and it had smushed onto all her notebooks and gym clothes, leaving a bad association and smell in its wake. Walter noticed April standing awkwardly at the edge of the third graders' field in the playground after he dropped her off before school. He couldn't remember the last time he'd dropped her off and not seen her surrounded by her gaggle of friends before she could cross the playground, but now she wasn't even standing in the right spot. Next, April didn't show up for the lunch time program at the community centre across from her school. She almost always came on Mondays to help her parents run the free lunch program, handing out pieces of bread or helping someone choose which soup to try. Her mother called the school, and learned April was just fine, but claimed not to have remembered her volunteering commitment. Privately, Rose thought to herself that her daughter was not fine. Was not herself.

The end of the following evening, after April had gone to bed, Rose and Walter had a frantic discussion. They had become certain, over the course of the day, that their beloved April had not returned at the end of her week away. The girl sleeping in April's bed at the moment was an imposter. She hadn't remembered how to say grace at the table, she hadn't offered to clear the table before dessert, and, her mother had noticed when she sat down at the table that her fingers and palms were grubby. April had been careful, vigilant even, about washing her hands since she was three years old and her parents had explained, using their best simple yet medically accurate descriptions, why one should avoid contamination. Faced with overwhelming evidence, they concluded that their daughter was out there in the real world, and they had been softly encouraging a look-alike to talk about her week away from home. It was troubling, and unexpected.

"She must have had her reasons, though," said Walter thoughtfully. "For switching places with her sister."

"Something she wouldn't talk to us about?" asked Rose. "But she always comes to us with everything. It's not like her to pull something that would make us worry."

They decided to go straight to the imposter to find out more. Knocking on April's bedroom door, they entered when the redheaded girl, so like their daughter, called that they could come in. The fake April sat cross legged on the bed. Walter stood over her, folding his arms and clearing his throat gruffly. Rose sat gingerly on the bed beside her, worried for her own child but thinking, in the midst of all of this, how much the girl seated beside her could be her child. She was wearing April's plaid skirt and knit sweater, her hair brushed back neatly, and those eyes were so familiar. And the locket dangling from her neck was just like April's. Rose reached for it, grasping it between her fingers, looking down at the black and white photograph inside it. Her own daughter's locket had no picture, just the shape of a cross covering the front of it. The girl who was not April looked up at her, questioningly.

"Where's April?" asked Rose quietly.

Surprise momentarily flashed through the girl's eyes, but then something else took its place, something determined and almost smug. Not like April, the few times she ever tried to hide something. It made Rose shiver.

"She's fine," said non-April.

"Why didn't she come home?" asked Walter.

"She decided to stay a little longer," shrugged non-April.

"Without talking to her parents?" asked Rose, unable to keep the note of emotion from rising in her voice. "Well, we're going to be talking to her about it. Walter, let's go get the Hendricksons' number."

"No! You don't have to call her," non-April said quickly, arranging her face to appear nonchalant too slowly for April's parents not to catch the panic in her voice. Without another word, Rose and Walter left the room and headed downstairs to their rotary phone.

The next morning, the Hendricksons' yard was filled with people: police officers from Oklahoma and South Dakota, a few local reporters, all the Hendricksons and Rose and Walter Hendricks, who stood with their arms wrapped around their daughter, the real April Hendricks. The facts, as they learned over the next hour, were these:

Trapped in the chicken coop by her own sister, April had at first panicked and then, after counting to five, she spent some time sitting on a scrap of wood, wondering to herself what had gone so horribly wrong in her relationship with her long lost twin. Waiting to see if Sunday was simply playing a horrible trick on her and would come back soon, April passed a few hours patiently. When it became apparent rescue was not on its way, April climbed to the beams near the ceiling, pried some loose roofing apart and escaped the chicken coop herself. She found Sunday's siblings nearby, but no Sunday herself. The others told her that April had gone home, intoning that they wished she could've stayed. April informed them that she herself was April, and was greeted with howls of laughter and teasing. They had all seen April riding in the back of the truck an hour ago, and how could she be April, the neat and tidy girl who cut hair, twirled a baton, and played the mandolin? Her hands were dirty and her arms bore scratches, and her hair was a mess. April explained that Sunday had locked her in the chicken coop, she'd gotten her battle wounds escaping, and she showed them her locket, with the cross on it, as proof of her identity. The siblings realized it was her, but realized almost as quickly that their wishes had come true. The real April was there with them, and Sunday had finally gone away. They expressed their joy at the switch. April was not as thrilled.

That night, as she had continued to insist to Elmer and Inez Hendrickson that a terrible mistake had been made, the brothers and sisters around the table had insisted the opposite. She was Sunday, up to her usual tricks because she wanted to go to Oklahoma, and shouldn't be paid any attention. Sunday had claimed often enough that she didn't belong in their house, and though she'd never invented such an elaborate story, it didn't seem out of character, so the parents shrugged it off and reminded her it was her turn to fold the laundry.

Throughout the next day, the siblings kept the secret so that they could keep their favourite twin, the parents kept ignoring April's pleas to send her home to Oklahoma, and April learned, first hand, what a day at Sunday's school was like. Wiping the fruit punch off her shirt in the bathroom after someone had knocked it over on her lap as they walked by, she thought bitterly that she would almost feel sorry for Sunday if she hadn't pulled such a scheme of betrayal on her. She resolved that if she couldn't convince the Hendricksons of her identity that night, she would telephone home herself, while they were out doing evening farm chores. Her own parents would surely know her the moment she spoke with them.

An hour before she was set to put her plan into action, her parents telephoned looking for her. The next day, Elmer and Inez Hendrickson fell over themselves in guilt and embarrassment, apologizing to April's parents, the police, the reporters, saying that they had no idea Sunday was capable of such a stunt. Overjoyed to be reunited with their child, Rose and Walter ignored the cameras and got her home as quickly as they could. Sunday was also sent into the house with an ominous "You'll be dealt with later," by her parents, who were soon handed a summons for her court appearance.

After a good night's sleep and a talk with her parents, April decided not to press charges against her sister turned identity thief. She was hurt by Sunday's actions, but still felt for her. Her memories of her time in South Dakota left her with conflicted thoughts and feelings. She felt a deep sorrow for her sister - the life she was living and the way she had treated her - but she didn't have any desire to fall victim to her again. In the end, the Hendrickses got a restraining order against Sunday, and the judge let her off with a warning, saying she was to listen to her parents and she was never to contact her sister again.

Sunday abided by the rules that had been imposed on her, and April didn't hear from her sister again, though she thought of her often as she grew up. Going through middle school and adolescence, she wondered sometimes if her own sister was experiencing the same things she was. Her first date, first time voting, and the day she got into medical school, she imagined what it would have been like to tell her sister about these things. Her first big breakup, the first time she saw someone die in the emergency room where she interned, and the night her parents were both killed in a hit and run, she sat alone sobbing, and wished briefly that her long ago dreams of having a sister to lean on, understand her, had come true instead of being dashed.

April made do without a sister, even after her parents died. She had been taught so many things, they'd given her so much, she felt strong and able to cope with life herself. But she sometimes felt so strongly that something was missing, she would clutch her locket in her fingers and try not to think of that long lost sister. Even when she felt she'd found a new family to belong to, the Greens of Jericho, as she fell in love with their son Eric and became engaged to be married, she wished she had family of her own to invite to the wedding. That was why, in a fit of nostalgia and deep longing one night, when she couldn't sleep, she sipped a glass of chardonnay and addressed a wedding invitation to Sunday Hendrickson.

She didn't hear from Sunday as the other RSVP's started to come in, and she hadn't really expected to. She didn't even tell Eric she had invited Sunday. He didn't need to hear the whole sordid tale of their strange shared past and one time meeting, especially since it was unlikely they would ever cross paths with her again. Better to let the sleeping dog lie. April put aside thoughts of her estranged twin as the wedding drew nearer and she became consumed with the more pleasant thoughts of all the last minute preparations, like where to get her hair done and what they'd do for a backup if the photographer really had mono.

The wedding took place on a beautiful day, and the photographer had recovered from his flu in time to photograph the bridal party before the ceremony. April smiled as she held her bouquet, thought happily of the vows she'd practiced, waved at her mother's cousins who had made it in from Colorado, and didn't find herself worrying about anything else.

In the corridor of the church, a woman with beautiful red hair stood awkwardly clutching the locket around her neck. "April, aren't you supposed to be getting your picture taken?" asked Shep Cale as he struggled by with a part of an archway he'd been cajoled into setting up.

"Oh, yeah, will do," she said distractedly. A second later, she turned to him, smiling and fluttering her eyelashes. "And where am I supposed to be doing that?"

He paused, flustered, and merely pointed to a doorway. As he left and she found herself alone in the hallway, Sunday Hendrickson let out a careful breath. Glancing at the door a few feet away with the piece of paper, marked 'Bride's party' taped to the door, she stepped over. Taking one more breath, she knocked hesitantly, and hearing a "Come in! If you're not the groom, that is," followed by laughter, she opened the door slowly.

April stood in the centre of the room, decked out in a satin, flowing wedding dress. When she saw who stood in the doorway, she sloshed the glass of champagne she was drinking right down the front of her. "Sunday?!" she sputtered.

The woman with short red hair, who had been standing beside her, fitting the veil on her head with an almost motherly affection, quickly moved to wipe the front of the bride's dress with a napkin, muttering words of comfort. The other two women in the room, bridesmaids by the look of them, were also distracted by the dress mishap, but April's eyes were still locked with her sister's. "Why don't you get out of the dress, honey, and I'll see what I can do?" the motherly woman was saying. April nodded, still solemnly, and then the other three turned to look at the identical stranger in the doorway. "You do that, and we'll...leave you to catch up," the woman added.

A few moments later, April was standing there in yoga pants and a t-shirt, her dress draped over a chair as the woman she'd introduced as her mother-in-law to be sponged at the champagne, and she was grabbing Sunday by the arm and leading her into the hallway. "So," she said when they were finally alone. "You're here."

"Well, you invited me, didn't you?" smirked Sunday.

April gave an odd shrug. "Didn't know if I should."

"Didn't know if I should come," returned Sunday. "So why'd you invite me then?"

"You're my family," said April. "And it's my wedding."

"Happily ever after, right?" asked Sunday with a wry chuckle.

"I hope so," said April.

"Who's the lucky guy?" asked Sunday.

"Eric Green."

"Doctor?"

"Lawyer. Someday."

"And his parents? That was his mom, right?"

"Yeah. His dad's around somewhere too. He's the mayor. They're great." April gave a small smile, and couldn't quite hide her own anticipation to be a wife and daughter-in-law. Sunday caught it quite clearly.

"Well, I'm happy for you," lied Sunday.

"Thanks," whispered April. After a second's hesitation, she asked "Are you happy?"

"Sure," lied Sunday.

"Good," said April. For a strange moment, the sisters stood, face to face, in an awkward silence.

"I guess I should get back in there," began April, motioning to the room, and adding "And you can go in and have a seat, the ushers will -"

She didn't get to finish her sentence. As Sunday glanced furtively around, noticing no one else was in the hallway, she made a sudden move. She grabbed April by the arm, yanked her towards an open supply closet, and before April knew what was happening, wrestled her inside and shut the door, pushing a heavy table covered in biblical brochures in front of it. It was a heavy door and April's cries and poundings from inside the closet were muffled. Sunday stood still for a moment, and turned, going back to the bridal party preparation room.

"Dress is ready," Gail Green said, looking up, just a little surprised to see the April look-alike there, without April.

"She asked me to get it for her," supplied Sunday. "She's in the bathroom, washing her face. Pre-wedding emotional stuff. Happens, especially to people like us, with sad family backgrounds."

Gail gave a slightly surprised but understanding nod. "Does she want me to come help her?"

Sunday shook her head, already gathering the dress in her arms. "Nah, I'll take care of her. She's my sister. You just make sure everyone else is ready for when she comes back, okay?"

Gail nodded, worried for her beloved daughter-to-be, wondering why she'd never spoken of her sister in the long talks they would have over tea, and trying to clear her mind of such troubling thoughts given the joyous occasion which was about to unfold.

A few minutes later, the bride returned to the room, wearing the barely stained dress and veil. She assured Gail that she was alright, in fact never better, and explained that her sister had gone to take her seat already, since the ceremony was about to begin. Gail nodded, and since it was that time, handed her her bouquet and shepherded everyone out into the hallway, which was crowded now with last minute stragglers headed towards the main room.

As the music began to play, Gail squeezed the bride's hand and went in to take her place. The first bridesmaid began her march down the aisle. The second followed soon after. The bride stood hesitantly in the doorway for a moment, looking into the sanctuary and down the aisle for the first time.

She hadn't been certain that this was what she wanted, until moments earlier, standing opposite her sister. Seeing the woman her sister had become, and imagining her future falling into place after the festivities were over. She had never considered marriage seriously before, never known if she believed in it or if she should dare to hope for it. But she had wanted it so much, in the moment, and knowing she could have it, so easily, was enough to push her right into her snap decision.

She paused now, as she saw the roomful of people stand, the heads swivel back to look at her. Their smiling faces were all pointed in her direction, a whole room of people giving her undivided attention. It was suddenly overwhelming. Her eyes flitted across the groomsman standing in the front, the groom's parents, smiling broadly, the bridesmaids already nearing the end of their walk. And then the groom. Eric Green. Looking at her with a big grin on his face.

A few things happened in quick succession. The bride stood still for a tense moment, turned, and gathering up her skirt, ran down the hall, away from the smiling faces. At the other end of the hall, Phil Constantino, the sheriff of the neighbouring town of New Bern, heard a strange commotion coming from a closet as he was attempting to sneak in late. He pushed aside the table barring the door, and registered an expression of shock as the woman he knew as Dr. April Hendricks, soon to be Green, tumbled out of the closet. Equally shocking was the moment a second later when a woman in full bride regalia, who also seemed to be Dr. April Hendricks, soon to be Green, rushed down the hall and stopped, standing a foot from the first April, her expression one of shock. Meanwhile, the mother of the groom, seeing the bride's sudden disappearance, had dashed down the aisle, shouting over her shoulder at no one in particular to wait. The father of the groom had dashed after her. They arrived, breathlessly, a few moments after the second April, and Constantino took this as his cue to nod hello to Johnston Green and then slip past the entire scene and take his seat in the sanctuary.

By the time Gail and Johnston had arrived on the scene, April, who had emerged from the closet, was staring at her sister and two time identity thief with a look of rage, her hands balled into fists by her side.

"Go take that off," she said in a low, dangerous voice, nodding at the wedding dress she had lovingly picked out months earlier. "Before I rip it off you."

The first time Sunday had attempted to steal April's place in her own life, April had been devastated. She had spent many nights crying over the bizarre, traitorous behaviour of her only known blood relative. After years of trying to understand what had gone on that strange week, adult April was merely furious. Her sister, finally showing a sign of being interested in having a relationship again, only to attempt to steal the most important day of her life from her, was simply too much to bear.

Johnston, not having a clue what was happening but sensing an altercation of catastrophic proportions, tried to step in. "Now, ladies, how about we just take a second to catch our breath, and April, why don't you..." He trailed off, looking from one woman to the other. "Which one is April?" he whispered to his wife.

Before either could respond, Gail motioned to the redhead in the yoga pants. "That's April, of course."

Johnston looked back and forth between them, uneasily, and without him saying anything, Gail rolled her eyes. "I think I'd know which one was my daughter-in-law. And I was with her at the salon this morning." They all glanced at April's shining curls, and then at Sunday's hair, straight as a pin underneath the veil. Gail wordlessly took the veil from atop her head. "Why don't you go get out of that dress," she suggested, in a tone recognized by all who knew her as a dangerous warning. "I'll be right out here," she said, motioning to the single bathroom reserved for parishioners with disabilities. Without a word, Sunday went into the bathroom. A few moments later, Gail had retrieved the dress, Sunday had changed into the clothes April flung into the bathroom, and the sisters stood in a tense standoff again. Before anyone could say anything, a bridesmaid had appeared behind the small group. "Reverend Young wants to know what the hold up is," she said.

Gail gave an impatient sigh. "It's going to be fine, just give us a moment." She sent April a bracing smile. The bridesmaid continued to stand there awkwardly. "Oh, for Heaven's sake!" exclaimed Gail, ushering the bridesmaid back towards the sanctuary and following closely behind.

Johnston watched her go, and then turned back to the sisters, unsure which one looked more likely to erupt with whatever emotions he could see brewing in them. He folded his arms uncomfortably. Neither woman seemed to notice him, however.

"How dare you!" April spat out. "The one day that's supposed to be about me. The one day I get to be special!"

Sunday finally seemed to gain her composure, enough to scoff. "Every day is about you. You're always special!"

April seethed, but narrowed her eyes. "Excuse me?"

Sunday folded her arms. "Don't think I've kept track of you all these years? I've seen the pictures of you, the articles. In the college newspaper, the hospital newsletter, The Jericho Record. Always doing something special, aren't you? Making the Dean's list, saving the world, living happily ever after!"

"You don't know me," said April.

"Yeah, I do," said Sunday. "You're me, but better. Everything you do is better, everything around you is better. Everyone loves you better."

"I'm not you," April said in a shaking voice.

"You could have been," said Sunday. "I've asked myself a million times. Why you, and not me? Why me, and not you? We're the same, except for where we ended up. How's that fair? You're me, but lucky. That's all."

"Don't put your life onto me. I am who I am because of the choices I make. And your choices are your fault!" April exclaimed. She really couldn't believe she was having this conversation with the estranged sister she'd escaped from years ago, on her wedding day, but she was so furious now she couldn't keep her voice from rising. Luckily, as per a request from Gail, the organist was now playing a rousing rendition of When The Saints Come Marching In.

"Don't act like you're so high and mighty, Saint April," scowled Sunday. "Am I supposed to be impressed with you, inviting me to your wedding after banning me from your life?"

"So what, you try to take over my wedding instead, make that all about you?" asked April, her eyes flashing.

"I was going to. 'Til I saw your groom and realized what a bore that would be. Your life's boring, for everything you have, isn't it?" asked Sunday. "What's the use of having everything if you can't even have a little fun?"

"I don't have everything. You don't know what you're talking about," said April, stepping closer to her sister, staring her down.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Your life must have been so difficult. Must've been so hard, having a nice house and nice things and nice parents -"

April lunged at her sister then, and for the first time in her life, April Hendricks unleashed her wrath upon another human being. "Don't you talk about my parents!" she shouted as she tackled Sunday to the ground. The sisters struggled, Sunday caught off guard by the force of April's rage, April giving in to the fury she felt but not knowing how to hurt someone in a fight, swinging at Sunday any way she could. "Don't talk like you know me! You are not me!"

Johnston took this moment to intervene. "Take it easy there, girls," he said gruffly, gently grabbing April's arm, pulling her off of Sunday, pulling them both to their feet. April continued to swing at her sister, Sunday continued to struggle back, and Johnston said firmly "That's enough."

Furious still at everything Sunday had said and done, and more furious at having to be reprimanded by her father figure, April spat out "We are nothing alike."

Sunday took a step backwards, and for the first time ever, April saw tears forming in her eyes. Her hand had gone to the locket half, the one with the black and white photograph, around her neck. "We're two halves," she said quietly, holding it up.

April glared at her for a moment, reaching for the locket around her own neck. Hesitating for a moment, her hand closed around it, and in one movement, she tore it from around her neck and flung it to the ground. "We're not!" she said. "Ever again." She turned her back, and started to walk away.

Sunday looked down at the locket on the ground. "I hate you," she whispered.

April turned. "Get out," she whispered back. She turned to look at Gail, who had reappeared just as Johnston had pulled the sisters apart and was now looking at the true bride with concern. "I need a new 'something old'."

"Okay, honey, let's get you into your dress," said Gail, taking charge of the situation and leading April away from the scene, turning back to exchange a glance with Johnston.

Johnston turned back to the imposter who had almost married his son. He intended to give her a good talking to, with a warning, when he escorted her outside, but he was distracted by a voice.

"Mayor, everyone wants to know what's happening," said Shep Cale, panting as he jogged up to them.

Johnston gave a quick nod. "I'll go tell them to hold their horses. Will you escort this young lady off the premises please?"

Looking rather perplexed, Shep agreed.

The rest of the wedding was mostly free from crises, with the exception of a disappearing act from the best man and his friends, some confusion over the speeches, and an incident where the groom's brother swore he'd seen the bride kissing Shep Cale. April forced herself to put aside her anger and sadness at the loss of her sister and the last of her childhood illusions about where she'd come from, choosing to focus on her future and the happiness she felt as she spent that day with her new family and her old friends.

April still thought of her sister from time to time over the years that followed, but began to let go of the hurt and anger, resigning that the relationship was dead. She sometimes wondered, none the less, if she would ever catch a glimpse of Sunday again. Whether she should be nervous, angered, or intrigued should it ever happen. She needn't have worried, it turns out. April Green would never again lay eyes on Sunday Hendrickson, for the rest of her life.

The haunting of Eric Green began slowly.

It was like a faint whisper at first. A flicker on a shadowed wall. A few phantom notes of song on a breeze.

It is hard to say when it began, because it is unlikely he noticed at first. His life had been in a turmoil for so long, seeming to be a series of hazy battle scenes, heart pounding escapes, terrible news and difficult decisions flashing by. When he tried later to place its origin, he couldn't recall ever being aware of a presence, even in flickers and flashes, during the days of the ASA occupation. During his nights of planning to kill Phil Constantino, his mornings of arranging secret meetings and his afternoons in hiding as the town was pummeled by the army from the West, he had many things on his mind. His family, his friends, his neighbours, and all the people he wanted to protect haunted his waking thoughts and his dreams. There was little room for anything else.

It was when things began to quiet down a little bit - that summer after the ASA left town, the people took back their streets and their homes, and the business of survival in a new world began again - that he began to notice. He couldn't even pinpoint a moment when it had started; it was more like he developed a gradual awareness of something, or someone, flitting around on the edge of things. It was subtle, so much so that he was able to excuse it most of the time as fatigue, imagination, or the results of his volunteering as a taste tester the times Mary experimented with the still and Kenchy was unavailable, working a shift at the med centre. Still, he began to feel uneasy as he started catching glimpses and impressions of something, or someone. A flash of white just disappearing around a corner. An echo of a laugh through a wall. An eerie feeling that someone was watching him.

He told no one of his growing unease. Disturbing though it was, it was really nothing compared to the other problems facing himself and all of his friends and family members. They were all wrestling with bigger ghosts than whatever weird tricks his mind was playing on him, and it would be ridiculous to bring something like this up in conversation. Besides, he'd learned getting by in this world meant dealing with ghosts and moving on, embracing all the good that came up, and not worrying over strange feelings and tired dreaming mixed with homemade booze.

All other thoughts flew out of his head the first time he saw her. He'd been coming home from a shift with the border patrol. Since the ASA had left them on their own, the patrol had begun their vigilant watch over the town again, and Eric had been showing a new recruit the ropes that evening. During the shift, he'd been worried as ever about his town's safety in the coming war, but as he walked home, he let his mind wander as he enjoyed the feel of the summer air on his face. He had smiled as he crossed Main Street, heading towards Bailey's tavern, but as he came closer to the building, he had a shock. Standing around the corner, glancing in the window, was a figure in white. She was gone in a moment, before he'd gotten a good glimpse of her face, but he'd know her shade of red hair anywhere. He froze for a moment, but when she disappeared around the side of the building, he ran after her. He turned the corner, but didn't see her in the narrow space between the buildings. He inched along the alley way, trying to keep his footsteps quiet as he sped up. Rounding the corner and picking up into a run, he slammed into a solid form who let out a shout and pushed him backwards. He shouted in surprise himself.

"Eric!" exclaimed Mary when she realized it was him and not a stranger toppling into her in the dark. She reached for the empty bucket she'd dropped. "What are you doing?"

"Did - did you see her?" he stammered.

"See who?" she asked, opening the back door and stepping into the light. "Let's go inside, okay?" He stood for a moment, barely breathing before following her inside, through the back hallway and into the main bar room, still reeling as he thought of the flash of red hair.

"You okay?" she asked, depositing the bucket under the counter and looking up at him. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

At her words, his eyes widened. She had been smiling, nearly joking, but at his expression, she raised her eyebrows.

He let out a breathless laugh but his eyes were far from amused. "I came home, and I saw, just outside...I thought it was her." She looked at him questioningly. He nodded.

She grimaced sympathetically, rubbing his arm. "You want a drink?" she asked.

"Yeah," he smirked. "Probably should."

Giving his arm a squeeze, she reached for a glass. He sighed, holding his hand steady against the smooth surface of the bar. As he sipped his drink, she talked about her day, and in the glow of the lights and the cheerful hum of conversation throughout the room, he tried to forget what he'd seen.

Forgetting was easy at first. There were so many things to distract him, during the day and at night, that it was easy to put the ghostly figure out of his mind. Because he wasn't often thinking about it, the next two times he saw the figure were just as shocking. Even more shocking was the fact that no one else seemed to ever witness her but him.

The first time, he was leaving work at dusk, walking down the front steps of town hall. Jimmy was walking along behind him, going on about the Fourth of July picnic that had been postponed due to rain the week before. Eric had been anticipating going to the picnic and enjoying a day off himself but as he looked up and saw the figure outside of Bailey's, he forgot everything else. He grabbed Jimmy's arm. "Look!" he shouted.

Jimmy had been chuckling as he described how Sally and Woody had been practicing the wheelbarrow race in the backyard, and he glanced up slowly. He turned to look at Eric, confusion on his features. "What am I supposed to be looking at?"

Eric glanced back at the walkway in front of the bar, where she'd been seconds earlier. He shook his head.

The next time, it was very early in the morning, before the sun had risen. He sat outside Bailey's, on a folding chair, having volunteered to meet Dale's truck when he got back from one of his supply runs. He'd dragged himself out of bed an hour earlier, and the entire time he sat, listening to the chorus of early morning bird songs, he wished he could be back upstairs, sleeping, instead of blearily watching the empty street. He held his head in his hands, propping his elbows on his knees, and not thinking of much of anything, except that if they still had phones, Dale could call with a more accurate arrival time and no one would have to get up needlessly early. This train of thought was broken when he heard a strange tapping noise. He glanced up, to see her standing by the window again, her fist against the glass. He sat in his chair, staring back at her, and she stood still this time, instead of darting away. He blinked. She was far enough away and it was early enough that he couldn't see sharply the lines of her nose, eyes, and mouth, but it was her face. Her dress was white, and he had a feeling it was the one she'd worn six years ago, on the day of their wedding...

The sound of wheels crunching along the loose gravel interrupted this train of thought, and he turned his head slowly, still lost in the dreamlike quality of this morning encounter. Dale was climbing out of the truck on one side, Skylar getting out behind him. Both looked rather worn out, but Dale nodded his head in greeting and Skylar gave him a tired smile.

"Stuff's here. Wanna check it before we get Harvey to unload it?" asked Dale. "I think Mary'll like the -"

Dale trailed off as Eric turned dazedly back to the window, showing no signs of getting out of his chair.

"Is she coming down to check out the stuff herself?" asked Skylar. Eric looked back at them.

"You didn't...you didn't see?" he asked.

The teenage smugglers turned suppliers surveyed the perplexed man in front of them.

"See what?" asked Dale.

"You okay, Eric?" asked Skylar.

"I'm...never mind," he sighed, stretching as he got out of the chair, embarrassed enough already to ask his teenage resistance colleagues if they'd seen a ghostly bride from his past. "Let's see what you got."

These sightings were easy enough to shrug off. Occurring at these strange hours of sleeping and waking, they were much like the remnants of dreams that we throw off as we yawn and stretch, and like dreams, once their spell had worn off, they were easy enough to forget.

When he did find himself thinking about these strange occurrences, he resolved to tell no one, for fear of the obvious usual consequences of disclosing that one is seeing people who are not there. Unnerving as these flashes were, they weren't a reason to burden his loved ones, already struggling to cope with survival and the various pains that accompanied it as they were. The first time he told, it was because someone asked.

It was also the most disquieting disturbance yet. And the most dreamlike, and yet, the most seemingly real of all. He awoke in the middle of the night to a strange scratching noise. For a moment, he sat up in bed, wondering if it had been part of the tail end of a dream. He glanced at Mary's sleeping form. The only sound he could hear in the dark room was her steady breathing and his own heart pounding in his head, as if to warn him of something. He nearly laid his head on the pillow again, but then he heard it - a slow, sickly scratching, like brittle fingernails on glass. His breath caught in his throat, even as he reasoned that it was nothing. A tree branch. Glancing at Mary once more, confirming she was still peacefully slumbering, he slid out from under the sheets and stepped onto the floor.

He chuckled to himself as he walked down the hallway, thinking of all the times he and Jake had tried to scare each other when they were kids with stories about tapping sounds on windows. How much they'd always make fun of the poor foolish main character who didn't realize that the tree branch sound was really a twisted claw, or that the sound that had seemed like a twisted claw was just a tree branch. Those protagonists always seemed to assume the exact opposite cause of the sound. He wondered if he should be hoping for the twisted claw.

He reached the living room, following the direction of the sound. Stepping around the coffee table and the couch, he looked over at the windows. Thinking again about the twisted claw, he walked right up to the glass and peered out.

He couldn't see much in the dark, and these windows faced out the back way too, so even in the days when they'd had streetlights, it would've been a lost cause. However, one of the windows was open, and as he listened, he could hear the winds. It was another blustery night, the kind they seemed to be having a lot of that summer, and he could hear branches rustling outside. There were a few trees nearby, he knew, and it was possible a branch had been pulled right off one of them, scratching the window on its way down, on a night like this. That was it, he decided, with a nod. Tomorrow he would go downstairs and out the back door and find a tree branch on the ground, the same one that had awoken him. And he would laugh about it.

Stepping back down the hall, thinking about how glad he would be to get back to the dream he'd been having, he was almost through the bedroom door when he heard another sound. This one was unmistakable, coming through the window at the end of the hall, and it sent a shiver up his spine.

Through the winds racing outside the open window, he could hear an eerie, quiet but clear voice. It seemed to be singing a song, but one without words. It was a sad song, like a lament, and it made him feel a strange cold feeling, but he was drawn to the window, as though his feet were operating independently of his mind, which was of course screaming at him to retreat. He pressed his hands up against the glass and looked down onto Spruce Lane.

Though there were no street lights, her flowing white dress and luminous skin were glowing in the moonlight. Her red hair whipped in the wind as she spun around, humming her wordless song. It was entrancing even as it was terrifying, and he stared, wanting to run and not wanting to look away at the same time.

She held her arms out as she spun around again, a white V shape against the black night, her skirt billowing around as she came to a stop. She looked up then, looked up at him. At first, she just stared, like she had before, her eyes locking with his. Then she smiled. A grin he didn't remember ever seeing on her face when he'd known her. He wouldn't know how to explain it later, but he could just feel the malice in that grin. He shuddered, and her smile seemed to grow wider.

"Eric?"

He jumped at the sound of his name, spinning around to see Mary standing in the bedroom doorway. He spun quickly around again, and looking down, saw the figure in white, still smiling that horrible smile, give him a nod. He turned back to Mary, sputtering but unable to get any words out.

"What is it?" she asked. "I woke up and you were gone, so I came to see if -"

"Come - come here!" he choked out, gesturing wildly at her, and then at the window.

With a look of concern, she crossed the rest of the hallway. As soon as she was in reach, he grabbed her arm, pulling her towards him and nodding down at the street. "Look!"

Glancing at him first, she looked out the window. "What am I looking at?"

Groaning, he wrapped an arm across her shoulders, whether to guide her closer to the window or steady himself, he didn't know. "Just look down there."

"Okay," she said, confusion evident in her voice. "I can't see anything in the dark."

"But..." He leaned around her, staring dumbfounded at the empty, dark street below. "I saw her."

"Who'd you see?" she asked gently.

He was suddenly quiet. She hadn't seen her. It was another dream again. Or was it? He'd never dreamt something like this before, not even during his stay on the floor of the cell in New Bern. But Mary hadn't seen. He was babbling about something that wasn't there again. But she had just been there.

"Eric?" she asked. He continued to stand there in silence.

"Come on," she whispered, reaching for his hand and leading him back into the bedroom. He sank quickly onto the edge of the bed, but she walked by him and switched on the bedside lamp. In the soft light now flooding the room, he could see concern in her eyes as she sat down beside him, her freckled arm leaning against his, the strap of her tank top absently dangling off her shoulder, all of her solid and real and not glowing like that figure. And yet that figure had seemed so real too. "Who did you see?" she asked.

He cleared his throat. It was impossible, yet it was happening to him, over and over. He felt another shiver go up his spine and he could still almost hear that song in his head. He wanted to break her spell suddenly. He cleared his throat again. "I saw April."

He glanced sideways. Mary raised her eyebrows, but gave a nod of understanding.

He smirked, suddenly feeling ridiculous. "You believe me?"

She remained serious, raising her eyebrows at him once more. "Yeah."

He chuckled, unsure exactly what was funny. Mary didn't laugh. "I believe you saw her." He swiveled sideways on the bed, pulling his legs up to sit crosslegged, and looked at her. "I saw her too, once," she said.

He was unsure how to take this at first. She turned now to sit facing him too, pulling her legs up under her. "Yeah?" he asked.

"Yeah," she nodded.

"Did you tell anyone?" he asked.

"Yeah." She nodded again.

"And?" he asked.

"Well, it was weird, but I was okay with it," she said.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

She glanced at him for a moment. "Well, I mean, you know that isn't her, right?"

"Not her?" he asked. "I thought you said you believed me, that I saw her."

She reached for his hands, and her voice was soothing. "I did, and I do. You did see her. But it wasn't her. Wasn't actually April. Just like it wasn't her when I saw her."

"Then who was it then?" he asked.

"Me," she said simply. "Trying to deal with things."

"Deal with things?" he asked, his tone becoming wary.

"Sure. And I'm sure that's probably what you're doing now, Eric."

"I'm not sure that's quite what it was..." he began.

"I know it's hard," she said. "But it might help to talk about it. About her. And maybe I'm not the right person for you to be talking about this with, maybe it'd be better to talk to someone else, but if you need me, I'm here, okay?"

"But..." he trailed off, hearing the dismay in his own voice. "I know it sounds crazy. But it was really her. You didn't see."

"It's okay, hon. You saw," she said, brushing a hand to the side of his cheek. "You wanna talk about it more in the morning? We've got that town hall meeting tomorrow."

She didn't understand. He could still hear the ghostly song, even though it was being overpowered now by her voice. But he could see he wouldn't convince her otherwise tonight, and maybe it was just as well, because it meant one of them would have peaceful dreams tonight. He still felt shivery, and a small part of him wished he could ask her to leave the light on, but as he crawled across to his side of the bed, pulled back the sheets, and wrapped his arms around her, he was glad at least to have her to hold onto, proof that there was something else in the world beyond that mournful wordless song running through his mind. He leaned his head against the pillow, listening to her breathing, and staring up at the dark window.

In the morning he still wasn't able to convince her otherwise. In fact, his argument that a ghost of his dead ex-wife had danced and sang in the moonlight outside their apartment sounded much sillier in the daytime, even when he heard himself repeating it. Her argument was much more reasonable, that what happened to April, without being their fault, was something they would both carry and something difficult to fathom, and that it would take their minds some work to sort it out. Now that they had more freedom from the chaos that had seemed to pervade their lives for the past two months, they had time to start processing everything that happened, and humans do that in strange ways sometimes.

Eric nodded along and agreed half heartedly, because it all made so much sense, but he was certain, this morning, that it hadn't been a dream. He didn't blame Mary for not being able to see that. She hadn't, after all, seen the way the moonlight reflected off those pale features. She hadn't heard that piercing song. She hadn't seen that horrible grin. He hoped she never would.

Mary wouldn't see that grin, or the face upon which it was wont to appear, in the next few weeks, and neither would anyone else. Except Eric of course. After her moonlit serenade, she seemed to retreat more into the shadows again, flashing by now and then but still leaving him with the feeling of someone watching him. Then, her appearances began to increase again. He'd catch her figure outside on his way home at night, glimpse a face through a window while sitting with his friends in a booth. Of course, none of them would report having seen a ghostly pale face outside, and Mimi or Jake or Emily would cast a strange glance in his direction. Some nights, if he woke and had to go to the bathroom, or just couldn't sleep, he'd see her outside, crossing the street. He began avoiding the windows entirely on these nightly sojourns, keeping his eyes on the floor until he was safely back in bed.

He managed to distract himself well enough when he wasn't alone, and there was plenty to do with others as the days of summer stretched on. Still, in the quiet moments he had to himself, the strange things he'd seen that no one else seemed to witness would pop into his mind, and he would contemplate them with a vague, icy shiver running through his body. Why was this happening? Was Mary right, was this just some strange, psychological manifestation? Or was it something else? He didn't want to bother her with it again. He could already see the looks of worry she would cast in his direction, whenever he came into a room with shock on his face. She would try to talk about it, she'd be so understanding, and he had no idea how to impress upon her what these ghostly sighting really felt like. They didn't feel like a representation of his own inner feelings. They felt like something else, something outside of him. He wasn't sure if they were real, but he didn't feel he had any control over them. They were, however, fast becoming one of the most troubling parts of his day to day life.

One carefree summer's day, after an afternoon at Bass Lake with his family and friends, Eric found himself pondering his problem. As they'd jumped off the dock and swam in the lake earlier, as he'd tried to keep up with Mary, swinging on the rope and falling into the water, as they'd laughed over Mimi's repeated instructions for Stanley not to splash her, and as they helped to unpack all the summer delicacies everyone had brought, including the pie his mother had made, he had been caught up in each passing moment. As the sun got lower in the sky, however, and everyone dispersed to tidy up the picnic, lay out wet towels on the dock, and gather firewood, he found himself sitting alone by the fire pit, thinking about the woman from his past who seemed to be prowling around his present. His head snapped to attention at the sound of a branch snapping near him, but it was just Stanley approaching with an armful of kindling. Eric thanked him, reaching for some of the branches to add to the structure he was building in the fire pit. Stanley knelt on the other side, adding some branches himself.

"Nice to see them like this, huh?" asked Stanley, glancing over at the picnic table, where Gail was telling some sort of story, Mimi, Mary, and Emily were laughing, and Jake was sitting with a smirk on his face. Eric nodded, understanding what Stanley meant. Heather strode into the scene, holding a wriggling something out with an affectionate smile. Eric couldn't see what it was from his vantage point, but Mimi stepped back and protested dramatically, to laughs and snickers that were hidden with a variety of levels of skill by the rest of the group.

"Or at least freaking out over normal stuff like snakes," snorted Stanley, giving Mimi a wave when she looked over at him. Eric chuckled himself, as Heather seemed to be giving some sort of impassioned speech about the wild creature she'd found, holding it up to demonstrate, much to Mimi's apparent dismay. He turned back to his work, building the beginnings of the fire, before glancing over at his friend. "Do you believe in ghosts, Stanley?"

"Ghosts?" asked Stanley. "The kind that slime people and leave a trail of ectoplasm?"

Eric shrugged. "The kind that...keep showing up. Reminding you of things you want to forget."

The smile died on Stanley's face. He looked down, snapping another stick across his knee. "Those."

Eric glanced over at the others again. They'd dispersed, and Mimi and Mary were both occupied in searching through the bags on the table, looking for something. "I just...I wondered, if you ever have a hard time, with that kind of thing. If you ever see..."

"Yeah," said Stanley. "I see her. I see them both, actually."

Eric folded his hands. That terrible night Bonnie had been murdered, he'd had a horrible, stilting conversation with Stanley as they'd both stumbled over the unthinkable events taking place around them. Since then, they'd had several more conversations, Eric trying his best to help his friend cope with something he himself could barely understand. Now, he felt bad bringing it up, but also felt a strange sort of comfort to talk about it with someone who might understand.

"So, how do you feel, when you...see them?" he asked hesitantly.

Stanley's face had gotten that hardened, determined look it usually got when he was broaching the subjects that caused him the most pain. "When I see her...bad, but better too. I see her in my dreams, I see her in beautiful mornings, in old Christmas presents I find, in..." he glanced in the direction of the women, "in moments I know she'd be laughing and making jokes at our expense."

Eric smiled. Stanley gave a small smile too. "I feel like she's there, then, in a small way. And not there. Know what I mean?"

Eric nodded. Stanley gruffly cleared his throat, and continued arranging branches, looking down at the fire pit. "And when I see him, in my dreams usually, it's bad. But I know it's always going to be there, in my life. So I try to keep going, keep holding onto the stuff that matters to me. Why I did what I did, and the things I have no regrets about."

Eric nodded again, letting out a sigh. He was glad his friend was able to say these things out loud, and come to these conclusions in his mind. But he somehow felt more alone now then when the conversation started.

"So, you believe in ghosts?" asked Stanley.

Eric considered his answer for a moment. He shrugged.

"You know who you should talk to," said Stanley, getting up and brushing the dirt from his knees. "Jake was always saying we'd find ourselves a ghost, when we were kids. One summer, we spent half our nights trying to sneak out and sneak into the old Gillen house. The one time we got in there, and up the top of the stairs, this crazy stray cat came jumping out at us. I swear Jake nearly peed his pants, though if you ask him, he fought it off bravely."

"Now that's a story that could really ruin his rugged hero rep, huh?" asked Mimi, appearing suddenly at Stanley's side, pulling up one of the log seats and spreading a sweater across it before daintily sitting down.

"I don't know, the scout camp story might've already taken care of that," suggested Mary, holding out the lighter finally located at the bottom of one of the bags.

"Hey, Eric was the one who flipped out that time. I was cool," protested Jake, sending his brother a grin as he took a seat himself.

Mary gave him a teasing smile, bumping her shoulder against his as she sat down beside him, and Stanley added something about asking their mother to tell the one about the Founder's day play instead. Soon, everyone was taking seats around the fire, bringing up events long past and sending playful accusations at each other across the smoke. Eric stared into the flames, not really hearing the stories he knew by heart now.

He unexpectedly found himself asking Heather the same question a week later. "Do you believe in ghosts?"

They were walking towards the library, where she was leading a newly developed summer camp program in the afternoon and he was supposed to be searching for a resource book on small machine repair.

Heather frowned and bit her lip thoughtfully. "I believe my parents are watching over me, every day."

Eric nodded. During their short but intense bonding in captivity, he'd gotten to know a lot about Heather and her strong, optimistic beliefs in the goodness of the world, despite the times in which they found themselves living. He didn't, however, want a wholesome affirmation right now. "But what about ghosts?" he asked, trying to be more direct.

"Well...I believe there are more things in this universe than you or I will ever know about or understand," she said, looking at the road ahead of her.

He groaned inwardly. Why was it so hard to get anyone to take a position on the existence of otherworldly beings, when they'd all be so passionate about things like jukeboxes, snakes, and corn? He said nothing for a moment, walking along, not minding the silence that came up between them. He was surprised when Heather spoke again.

"There was this one time, when I was a kid, visiting my uncle's house," she began, in a voice that reminded him of someone telling a somewhat embarrassing humorous anecdote. "We were riding our bikes along this dirt path in the back, behind the houses, and I thought I saw an old man standing in the grass. But I blinked and he was gone."

Eric was silent for a few moments. "Old man?" he asked. "Did you know him?"

"Nope," Heather answered, shaking her head. "Didn't know who he was, or what I saw. Didn't want to tell my cousins and their friends. But I remembered it, couldn't get it out of my mind."

"So did you tell anyone?" he asked.

"I told my brother," she said, a soft smile forming on her face. "I knew he had to believe me, because he was my big brother."

Eric smiled himself, thinking of his own big brother. He had certainly never held such a trust in the prospect of telling Jake anything of a sensitive matter. Then again, their relationship now, he had to admit to himself, was quite the opposite. Jake had seen him at his worst, and he'd trust Jake with almost anything. "So did he believe you?" Eric asked.

Heather chuckled. "Well, he said he did. Just like I knew he would. Always gave me the benefit of the doubt, that guy, even when I sounded like a crazy kid."

Eric chuckled softly, thinking to himself as they walked.

"So why'd you ask?" she countered. "You believe in ghosts?"

"I'm not sure," he shrugged, resolving not to sound like a crazy kid in front of one of the most well respected and highly esteemed grade school teachers in town. He decided, not long after that, to have a direct discussion with someone who'd already seen him at his craziest.

He waited for the right moment to bring up his problem with Jake, finding excuses, telling himself he'd forgotten about the ghost again during the day, during his waking hours, during times he wasn't alone with her. Sometimes, he'd tell himself that tonight was the night, and step into the sheriff's office to see Jake pouring over a map, growling about some new security problem that just sprung up. Some days, he'd think of catching his brother over a morning coffee break, but he'd see the new picture Jimmy's daughter had drawn hanging on the bulletin board, or linger over a goodbye kiss with Mary, or stop and chat with his mother planting flowers in front of town hall, and think to himself that his problems weren't really so bad in the grand scheme of things. Then, he would have another experience, another encounter with the ghost who so looked like April, and she would be tingling through his thoughts again. She was getting bolder too, it seemed, as the days began to grow shorter. One evening, as he finished looking over some old records in his office in town hall, he felt her watching before he looked up to see her face outside his window. One morning she pressed her hand against the window as he came down the stairs and out the side entrance of the bar. She vanished but the hand print remained.

He was also convinced she was doing some things out of his sight. He came home one day to find various clothing items scattered around the back lot: one of his shirts dangling from the roof, one of Mary's tops twisted in the tree branches, towels and pillowcases unceremoniously dumped in a mud puddle. Mary sighed and concluded that the strong winds were responsible, and their tiny makeshift clothesline might have to be moved back into the stairwell. Eric grumbled that the winds had to be pretty strong to have gotten the items in the trees so muddy before sending them up there. Mary rolled her eyes and they dropped the subject.

He finally brought the subject up to Jake on the evening of his own birthday. His mother had thrown a birthday dinner for him, setting out the fancy silver for five places in her dining room. After a pleasant meal, including another one of Gail Green's famous pies, and a modest but meaningful exchange of gifts, he'd gone out on the back porch with Jake, sitting in silence for a few minutes as they sipped at glasses of their father's whiskey, now brought out on special occasions only. With his mother, Mary, and Emily safely out of earshot, laughing over an old family photo album inside, Eric poured out his entire troubling tale, watching Jake carefully for signs of amusement. Jake surprised him just a little by listening quietly, a serious look on his face.

"So?" asked Eric finally. "Let's hear it."

"What?" asked Jake, giving a hint of a smile for the first time, though it didn't seem to be the teasing smile Eric had known since they were kids.

"Hit me with whatever witty jibes you've come up with in the last few minutes. You've probably got some saved up." He was gently teasing Jake now, the opposite of how he'd imagined such a scene would go. Jake was smiling in realization, but wasn't taking the bait.

"I know how it is, Eric," he said, still with a sardonic smile. "Seeing things that aren't there."

"So you believe me?" asked Eric, a slight smirk on his face because this was even less credible than his story.

"I believe you're seeing April, yeah," said Jake.

Eric let out a sigh. He wasn't sure where this conversation would go from there but it felt like a load off his shoulders just to have said everything he needed to say to begin with.

"Question you have to ask yourself is, why are you seeing her?" Jake continued.

"What?" asked Eric, all traces of a smile gone from his lips.

"Well, there's probably some reason you're seeing her when you do. Just think about what she represents, how you feel when you see her."

"You mean like freaked out? Because my ex-wife's ghost is staring through windows at me and throwing my underwear up on the fire escape?" asked Eric.

Jake chuckled. "I don't wanna know about the underwear, but think about what it means to you, April looking at you. When you figure that out, you'll start sorting it all out."

"So you think I'm seeing her because I'm trying to deal with things?" asked Eric in a dull voice.

Jake nodded. "Eric, you don't really think April would want to spend her time spying on you, would she?"

He shook his head doubtfully. "I don't know what she wants. But -"

"Come on, you knew April," said Jake. "No matter what you did, do you really think she'd want to spend her afterlife stalking you?"

Eric thought to himself. That was one of the most puzzling parts of all of this. How different this April's energy seemed to be, compared to the April he'd known when she was alive, the April whose hand he'd held in that hospital room, who had whispered those final requests. "No," he answered slowly. "It's not like her. But there were parts of me she never knew. What if there was a side to her I never knew?"

"And it's coming out now, making your life miserable? Instead of coming out back when you made her life miserable? Eric, do you really think she wouldn't move on, and let you move on?"

"Maybe she has unfinished...business with me," Eric shrugged.

Jake gave him a knowing look, one that was rather annoying. "I think you have unfinished business with her," he said.

Eric shook his head, smiling at the irony that his brother was giving the sensible answer, and he was the one sounding crazy, after so many years he'd had the opposite impression. "So what am I supposed to do then?" he asked.

Jake shrugged, taking a sip of whiskey. "Sounds like something more Mom's department." After a second's pause, he clapped a hand to Eric's back. "But if you want to talk about it, I'm here for you."

Eric nodded at the second well meaning offer from one of his loved ones. He didn't say anything else, but he knew that he wouldn't be bringing it up with his mother any time soon. She'd had such a hard time coping with April's death, and they'd had such a hard time coming to terms with each other, he wouldn't want to rock all of that by bringing up the apparently unfinished business between himself and the ghost no one else could seem to believe was real.

After his birthday, it seemed the incidents only got more frequent, the proof she was real even more apparent. One day, he came home to find Mary sweeping a pile of broken glass from the ground near the side doorway. She explained that she'd left a box of empty bottles out for Dale, who was supposed to be picking them up in an hour, only to hear them smashing fifteen minutes later. Mary shrugged it off as an animal rooting for garbage or a teenage prankster, despite Eric's casual insistence it was something else.

One day, before the bar was even open, he was walking by at lunch time and he saw a handful of roses, strewn across the ground right in front of the main entrance of the bar. The roses, red ones he recognized from the town hall garden, were arranged to make an 'X' shape where a welcome mat might have been. There was an uproar within a few minutes that someone had destroyed one of the town hall rose bushes, Mrs. Dawson having arrived for her volunteer hour tending to the plants, and the crowd that gathered was quickly calling for a meeting on town management of juvenile delinquents. One little girl, Eric recognized as Shep Cale's daughter, said she'd seen a woman outside the bar just before the discovery of the roses. "It was Dr. Green!" she insisted. Her mother had been apologetic, saying little Bethany was still having trouble distinguishing reality and fantasy since her own father had died. Eric had tried to question her. "Dr. Green? You're sure? What did she look like?" The other adults gave him dirty looks, mumbled about being a bad influence, encouraging her, and her mother led her away. Eric helped Mrs. Dawson gather the roses and dispose of them in the town hall compost bin, all the while feeling that someone was watching him. He pricked his thumb with one of the thorns, and glared around at the empty street as he sucked at the blood.

He saw her more and more frequently, and it seemed as though she was teasing him, taking longer pauses before making her exit, grinning that terrifying grin, that knowing smile. He was certain she wasn't a projection of his mind because he'd never, in a million years, have imagined that smile on April's face when she was alive. This otherworldly version of her was not something he would have dreamt up. She was something else altogether.

Eric found it harder to hide his reactions, even as he could see the looks he was getting from Mary, Jake, and an increasing number of their friends, who were offering a variety of unhelpful comments and ideas. Mimi cornered him once at the bar, giving him a philosophy not dissimilar from the ones already expressed to him by Mary, Jake and Stanley. Bill wanted, he found out one slow day at the office, to set up a supernatural stakeout and try to catch the ghost on film. Eric had a feeling this ghost was crafty enough to avoid such obvious ploys. April certainly would have been. And he didn't like the gleam in Bill's eyes as he'd described his plan. Even Gray offered clumsy words of support one day, suggesting his father would be proud of how far he'd come, that he was sure everyone who had gone before would be glad to see Eric happy now, and wishing him all the best for his upcoming wedding. Eric smiled and gave his boss a nod of thanks for the obviously veiled words of confidence, and let his thoughts drift away from his haunting problem and towards the much more pleasant prospect of his wedding.

They had decided to get married, weeks earlier, on one of the warm summer evenings they sat out on the fire escape, looking up at the stars. The time had seemed right, to make a commitment for the years ahead and celebrate their love with their family and friends, and as they both knew, such things were best not left for the future when they could be embraced in the present. They were planning to keep it simple, a quick ceremony outside if weather permitted and a party at Bailey's afterwards. It was nice, really, not to have to go through the fuss of a pre-apocalyptic wedding, and it was one of the things Eric looked forward to those first few weeks of fall. Asking their friends to stand up with them, finding out if Dale could get anything special for the guests, laughing with Mary over the various decisions she'd made that had her big city maid of honour trying to hide her dismay, he was able to forget about his other problems for the time.

As the date drew closer, however, and the ghostly sightings became more frequent, he found himself worrying about how one might affect the other. True, Mary didn't seem bothered by the strange occurrences, and neither did anyone else, but he worried for all of them, hoping his ghostly stalker wouldn't strike at an opportune moment and ruin things. This wedding of course made him think more of her than usual too, even as he tried not to compare it to that first wedding he'd helped plan, all those years ago. How had things turned out this way? He'd thought that they would heal, eventually, move on, find happiness of their own, but somehow, as he was trying to heal and find happiness, a ghost with a side he'd never seen in life didn't seem interested in moving on at all.

He continued to look forward to the day, trying not to let on to his family and friends the fears plaguing him, especially Mary, and especially his mother. He was surprised when one night, a few nights before the wedding, his mother cornered him in the kitchen. They'd had a quick rehearsal earlier, and a dinner with their closest friends, and he had elected to help clear the plates as everyone else moved out to sit on the back porch. He nearly dropped the stack of plates he was hoisting as his mother said, "So, I hear you've been spending time avoiding a ghost lately."

"Which one of them told you?" he asked, his teeth gritted in annoyance.

She chuckled. "Well, I knew before I dragged it out of either of them. You know how it is in this town, honey."

He sighed, lifting a plate out of the sink and watching the water drip off of it.

"Sweetheart, I just want you to know it's okay," she said, leaning against the counter, looking at him.

"What is?" he asked.

She motioned around. "All of this. You know how glad I am that you're happy, right?"

He nodded, not exactly sure where this was going but having a vague sense.

"I love you, and I've always wanted that for you," she continued. "And I can see you two are happy."

Eric nodded again. He would have appreciated this life affirming moment if he weren't distracted by the thought of the ghost everyone seemed to know about and no one seemed to understand was not a part of his subconscious.

"You know how much I loved April," his mother continued with a sigh. He nodded. "Much as I hated to let her go, I had to eventually. Just like we all have to do, in our lives. And you know, April had learned that, in her own life."

Eric wasn't sure about this, but he nodded again.

"I loved her, and she's still in my heart, but she's gone. She's in a better place now. She's beyond all of this, sweetie. She isn't hurt by it anymore." She laid a comforting hand against his arm, just above his elbow. "You can let go, and move on, because it's not hurting her now. You can let go and be happy. I think she'd want that. I know she would - that's the kind of person she was, wasn't she?"

Eric wanted to nod, but he was confused. His mother was right in her assessment of the living April, he thought. She was someone with integrity, a real lady if there ever was one, and strong. He had hoped, when she was alive, that she would be able to move on and that they would one day reach some sort of reconciliation, for the sake of their child as well as themselves. Much as he'd felt bad, he'd told himself that she was strong. But this April...he wondered if death had brought out another side in her, or it had been waiting in there all along. It was so hard to imagine, remembering that kind woman he'd once known. Even when they'd been at their worst, she'd been able to rise above it, take care of those in need and do what needed to be done. Maybe this other side was all the negativity she'd buried, manifesting itself. He shuddered. His mother was saying something, he realized suddenly.

"...know it hasn't been easy but I'm glad to see the two of you happy, and I think she's good for you. So just know, I'm here for you. Both." She smiled. She pulled him into a hug. He leaned his head against his mother's, glad for her support, but still uneasy as he pondered the personality change that seemed to have affected his ghostly ex.

The wedding itself passed in a cheerful blur, and Eric did manage to forget his other worries, giving in to the present moment for the day. He remembered more the seemingly unimportant little details: teasing jokes from Jake and Stanley as he checked his collar in the mirror once more; laughing softly with Mary as they stood outside, moments before entering the room where everyone else was ready to celebrate, pausing for just a moment alone before the toasting and banging on glasses began; a speech Jake seemed to have written himself and some strange comments from Mimi about 'girls like us' and 'Dudley Do Right', that only she and the bride seemed to get as they snickered embarrassedly. As he exchanged one last hug with his mom and escaped from Stanley, Bill, and Jake, who were taking turns clapping him on the back and making more jokes, he was grinning, his mind only on his bride, quickly making her own getaway from Mimi and Heather in the hallway and grinning back at him as they made their way over to the car. Eric took a startled step back when he saw the letters scrawled across the rear window of the car. He sighed. It was the usual 'Just married' that someone had thoughtfully inked out in chalk. These days it seemed, any sign of vandalism made him jump. Mary had already gotten into the car, and he tried to shake it off as he climbed in beside her.

They were headed to the Green family hunting cabin for a quick two-day honeymoon before coming back to help with the harvest that was about to begin. It was nothing like the luxury cruises and month-long sojourns in the Galapagos that Eric used to imagine going on, but the prospect of getting away from everything and everyone for some time alone was more than enough. As they drove through the dark, through the woods Eric had known like the back of his hand since he was a child, he found himself hoping they would really be getting away from everyone. Surely, out here in the middle of nowhere, they would be free from her.

He tried to ignore the way the shadowy trees seemed gloomier, more foreboding tonight than they ever had before. He was alone, with Mary, and no responsibilities or worries, for a glorious two days of freedom, and he should be making the most of it.

When he parked outside the familiar cabin, he sat still for a moment. He wanted to switch modes, get all thoughts of the outside world out of his mind. He felt her hand on his. "We're here," she whispered, a grin on her face. She turned and climbed out of the car on her side, and smiling, he opened his door. He stepped around the car, pulled her into a kiss, and tried to literally sweep her off her feet. She laughed and protested that he didn't need to do the 'dorky carry the bride over the threshold thing', seeing as it was not their first time at the Green cabin and she had changed into jeans before they left the reception. She laughed as he insisted however, and she wrapped her arms around his neck as he lifted her again. They made it up the two steps, her still giggling and him doing his best impression of a romantic hero in a film from the thirties, when he heard a loud cracking sound echoing. He spun quickly, shifting and adjusting his hold on Mary's legs. "What was that?" he breathed.

Mary sighed, tightening her grip on his shoulders. "Probably an animal in the woods." She raised her eyebrows flirtatiously. "Only a few more steps there, big guy."

His face was serious though as he spun again, scanning the woods around them. He could only see trees. He felt her slipping out of his grasp. As she stood, her feet firmly planted, he took a step forward, turning his head quickly as if he would catch something darting away.

"Eric, there's nothing out here," she said. "It's just us."

He stood a moment longer, his whole body tensed, before turning back to her. "Yeah, you're right," he said, softening his tone as he breathed "Now where were we?"

He had almost gotten them both to the door this time when she exclaimed "Oh, the champagne!"

He groaned quietly. She smiled apologetically. "It's in the car."

"We didn't bring any of the bags in. I'll get them in a minute," he said.

"I don't think we'll really need much of the other stuff, but the champagne would be nice," she smiled.

"Okay, I'll get it, after I've made the first trip in," he said with a swagger. She rolled her eyes, but pulled herself slightly higher in his arms. They made it across the threshold, after some awkward attempts to open the door, and after depositing her safely on the ground and exchanging another kiss, he turned and stepped out on the porch. The door swung shut behind him and suddenly he was in the dark of the night, alone. He made his way quickly back to the car, grabbing the bag she'd packed, the back pack he'd hastily thrown things into, and the champagne bottle. As he closed the door, he heard another loud crack. His head whipped around, but all he could see was black, and blacker shadows. He considered whispering a cautious "Who's there?" but he knew better than that by now. He felt a familiar shudder run through him.

He began walking resolutely back towards the cabin. It was so dark he could barely see but he knew it was only a few steps to the door. He could almost hear footsteps behind him and he sped up.

His foot caught and he tumbled to the ground, the bags thudding beside him and the champagne rolling, though surviving intact. He pulled the bags toward his chest, thankful at least that he hadn't had the same mishap while carrying Mary, and as he prepared to stand, he heard a sound that chilled him. It was a loud sigh. It had come from the darkness ahead of him, in the direction of the woods, and it seemed only a few feet away. He sat completely still, frozen in horror.

Suddenly a hazy light flooded the dirt driveway. Eric heard Mary's voice behind him, saying she'd found the lantern in the closet and thought he probably needed it. His answer came out in a squeak. For as she'd opened the door and shone the lantern out towards him, he'd seen a figure in white darting behind the car.

Mary, who had only seen her new husband sprawled on the ground, called to him again, and, shaking his head with a violent shudder, he grabbed his armful of their belongings and scrambled off the ground and up the steps. He shut the door quickly behind them, dropping their bags on the floor.

"Sorry, champagne bottle rolled away and I couldn't find it," he fibbed, thinking he would get it for her tomorrow. If he could fathom going outside by then.

"That's okay," she was saying. "We don't need it." She was fixing him with a look that normally made him go weak at the knees but he was glancing around the room, a wild look in his eyes.

"We need to make sure all the windows are locked. And all the curtains are shut," he said, reaching out to lock the door distractedly.

Rolling her eyes, she stood still as he dashed towards the tiny kitchen corner of the room, drawing aside a curtain to assess the security of the window. She put a hand casually to one hip. "Is this going to be like that other time we were here and you thought there were deer looking in the window?"

He didn't answer, as he was dashing around the room, checking all the windows. "It's just you and me, Eric," she called in a bored tone, watching him cross the room to check the door once more.

"I know. I love you," he said breathlessly, leaning down to catch her in a deep kiss. She leaned into him, pressing her hands against his chest and whispering "Should we move somewhere more comfortable then?"

He smiled, twirling a lock of her hair in his fingers, but then looked up. "The bedroom! Yeah, I'll just go...check on it, and I'll come out and get you when I know it's...ready, okay?"

She raised her eyebrows as he reached for the fireplace poker and stepped slowly towards the bedroom. "Okay, I'll just slip into something a little more...yeah," she said as he shut the door.

Mary would remember her honeymoon fondly enough in the years to come, and at Mimi's questioning, she claimed she'd had a good time, which was true enough. For the most part. She would try to forget a few moments, such as the long time she'd leaned sprawled on the bed, propping her chin up in her arms, as Eric checked repeatedly out the window, claiming alternatively that he'd heard branches scratching, twigs snapping, and a strange animal yelping; the small disagreement they'd had over breakfast when he'd suggested they should 'keep it down' and she'd insisted she could be 'as loud as the hell' she wanted on her honeymoon in the middle of nowhere; and the fact that she found the champagne herself, in the car, the morning they went home, after Eric had claimed he had lost it on the way in to the cabin.

Eric came home from his honeymoon happy but exhausted. It had been a roller coaster of two days, a constant back and forth exchange of excitement at being alone with Mary and terror every time he realized they weren't alone. He barely spent time thinking the entire two days. It seemed as though he was reacting most of the time, to Mary's voice one moment, howling winds the next, Mary's eyes, her skin, her scent, and then a shadow flickering across the curtained window. A constant game of hot and cold that he was sure would kill him if he played it long enough. He refused to go outside and accompany on her a walk along the trails, which she claimed was fine with her, but he could see her getting slightly annoyed by his third check of the windows and doors their second night there. Though he was disappointed to go back home to reality and the work that was next door and downstairs for each of them, he was relieved to get back to a place where he could at least go upstairs and shut the door and sleep without the 'deer' waking him up. Mary seemed content enough to get back behind the counter at the bar, putting her energy into pushing around boxes and loudly chopping vegetables over the sounds of the jukebox.

Eric's relief didn't last long. He found he couldn't sleep off the memories of the chilling feeling of having the ghost follow him out into the woods. And it was soon evident she had followed them back quickly. She looked as smugly satisfied as ever now whenever he caught a glimpse of her, smiling that grin of hers and turning to saunter off to wherever she always went. Eric found himself increasingly on edge and irritated. Irritated with April, in a way he had never felt towards her in life. He'd felt the guilt of what he had done to her, for a long time before she died, and though he'd felt he'd deserved it, he hadn't expected a life sentence of it. He had experienced deep sorrow at her death, not to mention the loss of Tracy, and since then, he'd been through the wringer several other times. When would it be enough? His irritation began to spill over onto other people around him. Especially as it became more apparent they all knew what he was worrying about, and as they had all along, they didn't believe him.

He glowered at Mimi's "Shouldn't we call those guys from SNL to come down and set a trap for you?" and snorted derisively at Bill's "We could try and find out if that paranormal research show is still kicking around. You know, if the crew and equipment survived the EMP. You could put Jericho on the map!"

One night he sank into a bar stool beside Kenchy and asked Mary for whatever the doctor was having. She wordlessly slid a glass towards him and turned to talk to another customer. He leaned his head in his hands with a world weary sigh, before glancing up at Kenchy, who was pondering his fifth glass of the evening, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Why can't any of them see her?" asked Eric mournfully. "I'm not crazy. Well, she's making me crazy. But I'm not. Wasn't, before she started popping up everywhere." He let out a desperate chuckle. "I'm spending my days trying to be alone with Mary and trying to hide from April. It's like I went back in time, a year. Only things are even crappier. Now we're at war and we haven't seen fabric softener in months."

Kenchy had been watching him with a strange expression, but now he shrugged, sipping from his glass.

"Do you know what it's like?" Eric continued, leaning his whole arm across the bar. "When you see stuff you know is there, and people just won't see it, but you know it's there?"

Kenchy exhaled loudly. "I can see where I'd be your best bet," he said. "But no, I don't know how it is, I'm afraid." He looked down at his drink again.

Though most of his friends and a good number of his fellow townspeople were aware that Eric Green saw dead people, or rather, one dead individual, most made a point of ignoring it during their daily life and interactions with him. After all, it wasn't that strange really, in this new world of theirs, to have a strange way of dealing with the numerous losses and traumas most of them had endured. Dale Turner threatened people with a hand gun, Mimi Clark had been known to plant herself on the sidewalk and protest the insanity of her world, and Kenchy Dhuwalia could be found slipping off his barstool every other night of the week. Even stalwart Gail Green was known to have been … erratic on occasion, so much so that Bill had told Jimmy one evening around the time that Jake had been held for questioning that if he didn't know better, he'd have said she'd gotten into the Elmer's. In this new world, these were quirks. Best to be taken into stride until they became a problem interfering with the day-to-day cooperative struggle of survival they'd all entered into. Even his own family members, though they worried about his obsession, as Gail called it when she sighed over a cup of tea with Mrs. McVeigh, paranoia, as Mary apprehensively whispered to Mimi, or post traumatic stress, as Jake suggested nervously to Kenchy, they seemed resolved to carry on supporting him the best they could, hoping to show him, by example, that he could let go and live free when he realized there was no one out to get him.

It was unfortunate that due to their understanding and patience for what they perceived as Eric's trauma, none of them recognized the dark force that was really at work in the shadows. Had they known, they might have had some kind of warning.

No one would believe in the ghost Eric knew was out there until it was too late.

On the gusty afternoon of April Twenty Third, the first year after the bombs, a soggy, raggedy clothed figure approached Jericho's med centre. She stood for a moment, staring up at the clinic's shape silhouetted against the unusually dark afternoon sky. She had traveled on foot for weeks, not certain exactly of her final destination but focusing on this building as the place she would figure out her next move.

She went inside, keeping her hood drawn close around her face, not noticed in particular by anyone as she stepped around burnt down votive candles, dodged a hunched figure coughing, and ignored a receptionist who barely looked up. The Jericho med centre had certainly seen better days.

She had seen many places looking in worse shape than this one, though, and she continued walking, searching for that one person she knew would be there, working tirelessly through any calamity that had befallen this place and the country around it. As she passed a row of windows along the side of an office, she glanced at her reflection in the mirror. Her journey had worn her out but she was still recognizable to herself. It was a good sign; a sign that her plan would work.

She found an office after searching a few hallways, and it had the correct name attached to the door, but it was locked. She frowned. She turned, glancing at the nearby bulletin board to search for clues as to the whereabouts of the one she'd come all this way to find.

Footsteps squeaking on the floor behind her alerted her to someone approaching. She turned quickly and the hood she was wearing slipped from her head. Her red hair fell to her shoulders.

Kenchy Dhuwalia jumped and gave a small shout, spilling the coffee he'd been holding carefully as he trudged down the hallway. "You!" he said in a tense, fearful voice. "You?" His hands were suddenly shaking, and so was the half emptied coffee cup.

The figure standing a few feet in front of him looked back calmly, appraisingly.

"What are you doing here?" he whispered when she didn't move. "Why are you haunting me? It's not my fault!"

She was curious about this fearful man. She took a small step closer to him, and he took a step back, holding up a hand in warning. "I did what I could to save you, you know I did! I did my bloody best! Don't come closer!"

She took another step. It was too easy.

"Why me? I'm not the guy who left you! Why are you taking this out on me?" He was almost up against the wall now. She made a move to take another step, and his eyes widened. He turned and quickly bolted sideways, down the hall.

Reaching, by habit, for the locket around her neck, Sunday Hendrickson stared after him in confusion. He had looked like he had seen a ghost. He had said she'd died. That meant...

With a sickly feeling of dread, she pulled her hood tight over her head, obscuring her face as much as possible. She continued down the hall, hastening her search, until she came to the second set of votive candles, this one arranged near a side entrance, with a framed photograph mounted on the wall. She took a breath and looked at the face in the photo. It was like looking in a mirror.

"Damnit!" she muttered. Spying a piece of paper tacked to the notice board nearby, she glanced furtively down the hall. It was clear. She grabbed the paper and stuffed it into her jacket before making a hasty getaway out the door. She walked for a few blocks before she found a safe place, a small park, to sit and read. Plunking herself down on one of the swings, Sunday Hendrickson smoothed out the piece of paper and began to read her sister's obituary.

The bare details were there. The community mourned the passing of Dr. April Green, born 1972 and died 2007, along with her unborn child. She was survived by her loving mother-in-law, father-in-law, and brother-in-law. She would be remembered for her dedication to helping those in need, her compassion, her sense of...this was where it slipped into the details the reader did not care to take note of. Crumpling the paper and sighing to herself, Sunday thought bitterly that the passing of her sister signaled the ruination of her entire plan. It was time for a plan B.

Pushing her feet against the damp gravel, pumping her legs until she was swinging, Sunday began to think. April being dead upon her arrival was something she hadn't anticipated and it put quite a wrench into things. The worst part was there was nothing on which to focus her wrath. Through the miles and miles she had covered, her one and only focus had been getting to April. It was entirely anti climactic to discover she'd somehow been done in. The doctor had said it hadn't been his fault, and it hadn't been the fault of the guy who'd left her. The paper had said it had been a pregnancy complication. So April had really been done in by that baby she'd always wanted. Sunday could still hear her sister's eleven-year-old voice whispering excitedly about running around after a gaggle of kids some day. She would smile smugly if there was any satisfaction in hearing April hadn't gotten what she wanted for once, but there was none. April was dead and gone, and that was worse than alive and anything else because she was not there to be hated. She was not anywhere. You couldn't direct wrath at something not there.

But the doctor had mentioned someone else, someone else who was hauntable, and so, presumably still there. The guy who left April. That had to be Eric Green, the man Sunday had avoided marrying in her last attempt to intrude upon her sister's life. As her thoughts strayed to him, she felt the beginnings of a smile twitching at the corners of her mouth.

The years had not been particularly kind to Sunday, especially the year after the bombs. It seemed as though the world around her had suddenly become the chaotic farmhouse in which she had been raised, with its hordes of people desperately clawing at scraps of food, fierce battles over pieces of personal property, fists and feet and homemade weapons appearing around corners in the dark of night, and horrible things happening to people who slept with both eyes shut. Because she had been raised in such an environment, she knew how to survive, and cling to survival she did, for the first few months. By the time winter hit South Dakota, she was feeling the effects of surviving on her own for so long.

She had been doing just that for as long as she could remember. She had tried to cut herself off her in adult life. She had left the farmhouse, shortly before Elmer and Inez Hendrickson died and their farm was bought and bulldozed to put in a strip mall. She'd used the tiny amount of money that had been divided up into seventeen, after the taxes owing had been taken care of, for a deposit on a room in a decrepit two story. She'd worked a string of jobs, from counter girl at the Candy Castle to customer service representative at a bus line. She'd even worked a few years at Denny's, until that fateful Christmas Eve she'd dumped a hot turkey dinner, gravy and all, into the lap of an old man who'd asked her why she looked so gloomy on such a magical night. She cut off her contact with the rest of the family the best she could, bouncing around through a series of bad relationships, and of course the disastrous attempt to reunite with her twin sister. She hadn't been certain she wanted to take April's place permanently, as was suggested by the bride's in-laws, but she had wanted to take something from her, the twin who had always received everything. She'd wanted to take something for herself. After being kicked out of the church that day, her anger and malice towards her sister had only grown.

By the time of the bombs, Sunday was completely without contact from anyone in her earlier life. Scrawn, (who had no longer been called Scrawny after she had hit fourteen and shot up in height, but whose limbs had stayed in accordance with her nickname enough for her to keep most of it) used to send her letters, keeping her up to date on the goings on of the family, telling her Monty had gotten paroled again, Galadriel had broken up with her second husband, but had moved onto a third man, another carnie to boot, and that Bobby was working a hot dog cart, apparently pleased the hot dogs were free now. The letters had stopped a few months before the bombs, however. On Sunday's last biannual visit, she'd let Scrawn's eldest drive when they'd gone for ice cream, and they'd hit a fire hydrant. Scrawn had shrieked about preteens being allowed behind the wheel and about Sunday wanting to kill her child, and that had been Sunday's last visit. The letters had kept up for a little while, but then they had stopped.

The world that she lived in after the bombs left Sunday in a permanent animal mode, fighting continually for her next meal, her next chance to sleep unencumbered by intruders. A human can't live like an animal for long without awakening some animal impulses, and Sunday's became a thirst to do harm. They were unconscious at first, but she began to notice them, with each moment hunger gnawed at her, each moment she ran or hid in a desperate quest for safety. As others around her descended into herd animals, pushing and shoving blindly as they gave in to their instincts, Sunday became like a predator, focusing and channeling her wrath to a specific purpose.

She wanted to go somewhere familiar. To someone familiar. She considered looking up one of her adoptive siblings, but she hadn't known many of their most recent locations. She wouldn't want to head up to federal prison she'd last heard Betty Ann was housed in, which would likely be worse than the city where she hid. She wouldn't be able to find Tobias' mobile home easily and she wasn't sure he could quite satisfy her wrath. Scrawn's last letter had come from Minneapolis, and she'd heard a rumour it was gone, so Scrawn and the kids were all likey just as gone. Going over a list of her adopted siblings was really only a formality, because there was one person on her mind once the world turned into a swarming pit of hell. Her mind seemed to gravitate towards that one person with whom she had always felt a torturous connection, and soon enough, her feet began to gravitate in the direction of her sister's last known whereabouts. In the dead of the worst winter South Dakota had seen in decades, Sunday set out on the migration trail, led by a sense of familiarity combined with the usual jealously and angst that she channeled all towards her more fortunate other half.

As she sat in the deserted playground, having finally reached her sister's hometown on what would have been their thirty-fifth birthday after a desperate, perilous journey, Sunday clenched the swing's chains in her fists and glowered. Somehow, her sister had managed to die before she got there, and now, there was no focus for all of her restless energy. Once again, things had tilted against Sunday's favour, and she was the sister sitting alone in a strange town with no one and nothing upon which to bestow all of her feelings, and April was the sister who had escaped into blissful nothingness. It wasn't fair.

As she thought again of the last time she had tried to steal her sister's spotlight, her mind settled again on Eric Green, the groom she hadn't been able to bring herself to marry. He was alive. He was hauntable. But where was he? The obituary hadn't mentioned him at all. What had gone wrong? Sunday felt an irrational irritation towards her sister again. If only April were there she could answer these questions herself. Now, instead of being able to usurp a living beloved daughter-in-law and country doctor, Sunday was taking over for a ghost, and finding out what she needed to know next would be more of a challenge. She stood, tucking her locket inside her jacket once again, and began the trip back to the med centre.

Kenchy Dhuwalia was standing outside the clinic's back exit, letting the light rain hit his face and hoping it would settle his nerves. He'd known doing this job was getting to him, pretty much since he had been dragged away from his bar stool to fill in as a doctor again, weeks earlier. He hadn't known just how addled his mind had become until he'd experienced that awful hallucination earlier. After seeing the surreal spectre, he'd retreated into the linen closet to sit in the dark and reel over things without the suspicious glances from Jessica and the other staff, who would certainly take it as a sign his dependency issues were interfering with the job. He wasn't altogether certain that wasn't the case, himself.

As he stood in the crisp air, taking deep breaths, he tried to put into practice the relaxation technique that helpful nurse's aide, Jenny, had suggested to him earlier in the week, focusing on a specific image in his mind. He chose a calm, sunny beach, and tried to make himself hear the waves crashing in his mind, feeling slightly ridiculous all the while. He was interrupted by a voice. "Where did he go?"

He turned, and nearly jumped out of his skin. The ghost was back, standing a few feet away, pulling back a black hood to reveal her pale features.

"Wh- where did who go?" he stammered.

"Eric. He left me. Where did he go?" she asked.

"After you - died - he went to New Bern. To think about things," he said quickly.

She shook her head in frustration, advancing towards him. "Where'd he go before I died? After he left me?"

Kenchy was so shocked at hearing her speak, in the same voice he remembered from their brief interactions in life, that it didn't occur to him to wonder why she didn't remember. Later, he would suppose that perhaps the trauma of death left her with some sort of psychological upheaval that made remembering these details challenging.

"He went to Bailey's," Kenchy choked out.

"Who's Bailey?" she asked.

He held his hands up for a moment, as if to fend her off, looking around wildly for an escape. The step he took backwards put him up against the wall. She stepped forward, reaching a hand towards his throat.

"Bailey's Tavern," he said weakly.

"What?" she asked, grabbing his shirt collar in her fist. He barely dared to breathe as he found himself staring into her startlingly blue eyes. He didn't want to send this terrifying vision in the direction of Mary Bailey, who had never turned him away when he'd gone looking for something to soothe his nerves or someone to listen to him. But none of this was his fault, and as she tightened her ghostly grip on him, he panicked.

"He moved into the bar!" he practically squeaked. "He moved in, okay?"

Glaring at him as though he had murdered her pet bunny, she said nothing, letting go of him roughly, turning and vanishing around the corner. He stared after her, gaping for a moment, and sank down to a crouch against the wall, rubbing his temples. He chuckled at the irony as he wished he could go immediately to the bar and realized that would be the worst place to escape to at the moment.

Sunday headed immediately to the bar, remembering vaguely from her last trip into town that there had been a bar near the centre of the downtown. Not certain what she would find there, she was beginning to piece together a hypothesis before she even glanced in the window. The bar was fairly quiet at this time of day, and the liveliest people in there seemed to be the two women clinking glasses on either side of the bar. One sat on a bar stool, sipping from a glass in between animated descriptions of something or other. The woman behind the bar was listening, interjecting occasionally while wiping glass jars with a cloth. Sunday squinted as she watched her work. She was certain her hypothesis was correct. Eric had left her sister to move into the bar, and in with the bartender.

Sunday watched the curly-haired, denim-sporting home wrecker checking on other patrons, retrieving more jars from the back, and returning to her conversation with her friend, feeling her loathing of the other woman rising. How dare she steal from April! How dare she take April's place! Sunday had tried to do it herself often enough, but that was understandable. No one else was supposed to treat her sister that way. And what did this whiskey peddler have that Sunday didn't? How had she succeeded where Sunday had failed? This woman was the exact opposite of April, in every way Sunday decided as she studied the barmaid through a foggy pane of glass. She determined she hated the marauding mistress even more than she had pledged to hate her sister, for she had won, somehow, and bested them both. That was not to be tolerated. April was hers to torment, and this other woman had stolen that too. Sunday continued to spy, hating her sister's husband's paramour, hating her hair and her walk and the way she balanced glasses on a tray. She watched, hating, until she could see her, and her friend from the bar, coming towards the door. She retreated around a corner, spying with the expertise she'd acquired over years in the Hendrickson household. It seemed the two were exchanging goodbyes.

"Well, good luck," the thieving mistress was saying.

"I'm going to need it," the other was saying with a nervous giggle. "But I'm going to do it for Stanley. 'Til he comes home, I'm going to handle things."

The parasitic paramour nodded. "You'll do fine. And he'll be home soon."

The non Eric stealer nodded herself. "So will Eric. They all will."

The stealer affected a brave smile. "Yeah. Have a good night."

"Thanks. You too, Mary." The non stealer gave a quick wave and walked away.

The stealer turned to go back inside. Sunday smiled in the shadows. She had a confirmation, a name for the homewrecking Mary Magdalene, and a new target.

Sunday considered her first attempt at haunting Mary Bailey a success. Sure, the pyjama clad, tousle haired bartender had only laid dazed eyes on Sunday for a few seconds, but Sunday had seen her eyes widen in surprise and heard her sharp intake of breath. It was a good start, she thought to herself, and it was best to take these things slowly. She'd hide in waiting, watch the bar for a while, until the other woman had convinced herself it was a dream, and then she'd make a second appearance.

The next day, just as Sunday had been congratulating herself on her clever idea to wear a white dress she'd found in one of the stores she'd broken into after dark, and as she sat watching the bar, planning her next ghostly appearance, she found it was her own turn to stare in wide eyed shock. The bartender was walking around the side of the bar, carrying a toolbox in her bandaged hand, and walking close behind her was none other than Johnston Green, former father-in-law of the dearly departed twin sister Sunday was avenging. This was a development Sunday hadn't foreseen, and she panicked as she watched Johnston Green helping Mary Bailey check the back windows. Johnston Green smiled at his son's other woman, and touched her arm briefly as he went by her in the alleyway, just as Sunday had seem him do with April before. As they were going back inside, Sunday had another shock when Johnston Green stopped in the doorway for a moment and looked out at the street. He couldn't have seen her from her hiding place across the road, but she had an unnerving feeling he was sending her a warning look. This building and this bartender were not to be messed with. It was just like the warning Johnston Green had given her once before, years ago, and though it had infuriated her then, she had backed off. She sighed and kicked at a stray can as she made her way back up Main Street, along the back way, behind the stores.

Sunday stayed away from the bartender, knowing she was under Johnston Green's watch, for the next two days, and then something happened in town that made her think it was best to lay low for a while anyway. As the town prepared to defend itself from an invading neighbour, and then as the friendly ASA troops moved in and started imposing order, Sunday retreated to an abandoned farm outside town. She'd seen how things progressed when the army got involved, during her travels, and so for a few months, she kept her distance, but kept an eye on things. This was how she came to decide two things. The first was that Mary Bailey made a difficult mark, as far as haunting went. She was not often alone, usually surrounded by friends and customers, and when she was, she often seemed lost in thought. More than that, it was like she was determined not to notice that someone was watching her. Sunday had first tried to begin a campaign of spooky but subtle haunting, watching but never getting close, when she found out that Johnston Green was dead and Bailey's tavern was unprotected. Mary Bailey didn't seem to pick up on Sunday's presence flitting around, or at least, didn't seem to connect it with the dead doctor she'd stolen from. She usually could be overheard blaming disgruntled bar patrons or New Bernians or animals or the weather. But it didn't matter. In the course of watching the bartender from a distance, Sunday made a second decision. She decided Eric Green, who had returned from New Bern to live cosily ever after with his bartender, was a better target.

Eric Green had seemed a less exciting target at first. Sunday had grown up watching Betty Ann and Galadriel steal hapless boys from each other every other week. She'd long believed girls were the catty backstabbing thieves, and the men they fought over were helpless dummies being yanked back and forth like a coil of rope in a tug of war. She expected Mary to be the one harbouring all consuming guilt that would be easy for a ghost to tap into, but soon enough, she noticed Eric was the one getting spooked. After a while, it was too easy and too satisfying not to target Eric each time she made a quick appearance or spent an evening spying. She switched her surveillance from the woman to the man, finding out his habits, his schedule, and what it took to scare him.

As the months went by, Sunday played with her target like a cat teasing a mouse.

She timed her appearances so that he would be the only witness, and so that she could slip away before he could catch her, darting expertly through the back alleys she'd gotten to know. After years of teasing Scrawny and Bobby and the other kids smaller than herself, she knew exactly how to pace it, building up the ghostly behaviour, dialing back, and building it up again. She could see Eric Green getting more spooked each day, and over time, she could see how his live-in lover, his brooding brother, his patient parent, and his friends and coworkers were beginning to regard him with concern.

Sunday was amused each time Eric goggled after her retreating form, peered nervously around corners, or jumped and tried not to shout out loud, but she got bored with the same old things over time, so she grew more creative. Every now and then she'd head over to the small bungalow where she knew the British doctor was staying, to try out a new ghostly behaviour on him. He was even better at hiding the fact he was having ghostly visions than Mary Bailey had been, and he began visiting the bar more and more frequently, peering fearfully over his shoulder as he went through the door.

Sunday saved her best stuff for Eric. The laundry had been too easy, though she couldn't help a few gleeful giggles from escaping her lips as she stomped on Eric Green's dress shirts. She hadn't been certain what she was going to do with the glass bottles the bartender had left outside so temptingly, but thinking of April banishing her from her fairy tale wedding and perfect life, Mary casually toasting jars of moonshine with her friend the day Sunday turned thirty-five alone, and Eric Green in every memory she had of him, she smashed the entire box. The glass made a satisfying sound as it hit the ground. Even Mary had seemed a little unnerved as she discovered the broken bottles outside her door, but she'd managed to shrug it off as a non supernatural event, as usual.

The roses had been fun, inspired by the late night horror films Sunday and the other kids had snuck downstairs to watch some nights when Elmer and Inez were sleeping off a few beers. Sunday had pricked her skin yanking the roses out of the town hall rosebush, but it had been oddly soothing to tear at the green stems. The little girl glimpsing her was unfortunate. The child had smiled up at her with a grin that reminded Sunday of Scrawny when April told her her hair was pretty. Realizing the child recognized someone she thought was April when she squeaked out "Dr. Green!" Sunday had scowled and hastily finished her task. Fortunately, from her vantage point behind the dumpster later, she saw that people believed the child even less than Eric's family believed him. And Eric's face was especially white as he stared down at the flowers.

By the time the bartender made an honest man out of Eric and married him, Sunday's job was getting easy. She only had to show up the first night of their quick getaway to have him sufficiently paranoid for the rest of the time there. She made her appearance as he struggled with the booze and the bags, and retreated into the woods, only venturing back towards the cabin a few times over the next two days, to break branches or hide the forgotten champagne in the car. She had no interest in what was going on inside that cabin, beyond the fact she was certain Eric would be worrying about ghostly interruptions. She spent the two days camping out in an abandoned hut a few hundred yards away, thinking to herself about how well she had done in stealing April's identity this time. Her sister, so beloved by all in life, was now, for all intents and purposes, a vengeful spirit ruining Eric Green's life. Really, she was taking out all three of her targets at once, with the ricochet effect it was having on the nearly exasperated new wife and the tarnishing her sister's radiant reputation was getting. But something about it wasn't entirely satisfying. Eric was growing more and more disturbed by her presence, and those around him more irritated, but they were supporting him still. That was the problem with this darn town, she thought to herself. After everything she'd seen them doing these past few months, she'd seen how annoyingly intertwined they all were. No matter how crazy Eric found himself becoming, he had these people to keep him grounded.

It was then that Sunday found herself formulating the next part of her plan. It didn't begin as a logical thought, but bloomed more so out of that same feeling she'd had after the bombs, the need to do harm. It was growing in her, expanding, and as she thought back over her grand scheme of haunting, she set her sights towards a grand finale that would be as big as her desires for vengeance.

In the weeks that followed the wedding, Sunday continued to torment Eric Green, but now she had a more specific plan to set into motion. She observed the newly weds, their family and friends, and drew inspiration as the town began to decorate for Halloween, their second since the bombs and a perfect day with which her grand finale could coincide.

The night before Halloween, she watched the couple on the stoop of the back door of the bar, carving a pumpkin in the waning light and laughing over their plans for the holiday. They had already been obliviously decorating the front of the bar earlier in the day, even Eric blissfully unaware for once that he was being watched. It would all be too easy. As they wiped their hands on their jeans and went inside, leaving the jack-o-lantern on an overturned box in a relatively sheltered corner of the building, Sunday rolled up her sleeves.

The morning of October thirty first, Mary Bailey awoke early, feeling a strange sense of fluttering anticipation in her stomach. Over the breakfast table, she and Eric discussed the evening's Halloween carnival on Main Street, the party they'd be attending afterwards, and their plans to retrieve the ancient decorations from the hall closet to add to their storefront's display. Deciding she needed some air, Mary said that she was going downstairs to check out the decorations already being hung on Main Street by the team of volunteers who were setting up for the festivities, and Eric said he'd be along shortly, clearing their breakfast dishes.

Mary was smiling as she made her way through the bar room and out the front door, but her smile quickly turned to an expression of shock. She was still standing there a few moments later as Eric came out the door, taking a moment to realize she wasn't smiling over at the bales of hay being arranged into a maze in front of town hall.

"What is it?" he asked, putting a hand to her shoulder and stepping close to her, feeling his foot slip a little on the sidewalk below. He glanced down to see that he was standing in a smear of orange goo, that the goo formed a trail to where their pumpkin lay, a few feet away, smashed into pieces. He groaned, shaking his head. "I'm sure Mom'll have another one we can carve tonight, if you want."

Catching his eye, Mary shook her head, nodding in the direction of the wall.

Their decorations were gone (the skeletons would be found later, dismembered, in the dumpster behind town hall, and the paper spider would never be seen again), but what stood out about the Bailey's storefront that morning was the message someone had written across it overnight. As Eric spotted the huge, menacing letters scrawled across the bricks in black charcoal, he gasped himself, and instinctively gripped her shoulder tighter.

The words on the wall that left them speechless read "Cheater, cheater, Pumpkin eater. Had a wife and couldn't keep her."

After the two had stood in shock, a still contrast to the bustling activity farther up the street where the maze was being constructed and the decorations hung, Eric broke the silence as he stepped back, gently pulling Mary with him.

"Why is she doing this?" he muttered, his eyes on the offending rhyme still, and Mary wasn't sure he was even asking her.

"What she?" she asked. "We don't even know who -"

"It's her again," he said, a bit of a quaver in his voice. "But she's never done something like this before."

"Her?" Mary squinted at the defaced wall again, as if trying to will herself to see something else there. "It was probably kids. You know, mischief night, night before Halloween. Someone's idea of a pretty lame prank." Her words were logical as usual but her tone of voice was less dismissive than it usually was when Eric tried not to bring up the ghost. She actually seemed uneasy herself, and Eric tried to wrap his arm around her, but she stepped forward, bending down to survey the destroyed pumpkin.

"I don't like it," he said, looking from the wall to the trail of pumpkin, to the crouching form of his wife. "I really don't like it. She's really starting to sound threatening."

"Whoever it is is trying to sound threatening," Mary countered, a growing irritation in her voice, but she continued to look down at her jack-o-lantern mournfully. "It's probably just...someone who's pissed off. Could be anyone. Those kids I wouldn't serve last week. Who knows."

Eric stood in contemplation for a few moments, before bending down to tap her shoulder. "I think we should go stay with Mom for a few days."

She looked over her shoulder at him. "Eric, I can't leave, just because someone -"

"It doesn't matter what's going on, the bottles, the roses, this...I think we need a few days away. See if...whoever it is will back off and leave us alone." He knelt one knee carefully against the sidewalk, wrapping his arm across her shoulders. "Please, Mary. Can we try? A few days at least? We're going there tonight anyway, it won't make a big difference will it?"

He could see her debating with herself. Could tell she was angry at the thought of being driven out of their home by something as ridiculous as a smashed pumpkin and a silly, albeit creepy, rhyme. But he knew she was getting weary of his own barely hidden anxiety lately, and he was worried about the toll it was taking both of them. "I'm telling you, it's probably just kids," she said.

"How about we file a report?" he asked. She raised her eyebrows doubtfully. After everything that had happened a few months ago, reports and other details of ordinary life in town seemed strange to most people, but they had being trying to get back to some semblance of order.

"No, I don't think we need to do that," she sighed.

"I just want to see what happens if we get out of here for a few days. Maybe whoever it is," he frowned, but continued, trying to sound convincing and comforting, "will get bored when we're not even there to torment."

She was silent. He rubbed his hand along her back. "We could have some peace and quiet for a few days. It could be nice."

He could see her weighing irritation and fatigue again. "Okay," she said finally, leaning her head against his shoulder. "A few days and we'll see."

"Okay," he agreed, kissing her temple. "How about I go in and pack the bags? You know, Mom'll probably be glad we'll be there to help her decorate."

Mary smiled. "I'm sure she's already got the place in full Halloween spirit. But I'll pack myself a bag. Last time you did it for both of us I ended up wearing your old shirt every night."

Eric shrugged. "I thought it looked good on you."

Mary rolled her eyes but smiled as they stood. She stopped, standing in silence again as she looked back up at the writing covering her establishment.

"I'll get the bucket," he suggested. She nodded, adding "I'll get the soap."

A few minutes later, they were back outside, managing to shake off their nervous tones as they scrubbed at the charcoal graffiti, talking and even smiling as they anticipated heading over to his mom's that night, for the party that would be happening as the 'whole gang' gathered for Halloween.

From her hiding place between a clump of bushes and Town Hall, Sunday smiled too. They would all be right where she wanted them, and it was shaping up to be a Halloween night to remember.

Leaves rustled in a restless wind and danced across the sidewalk as twilight began to descend on Chestnut Street.

The night was young, was really only getting started, but most of the houses were still, their windows darkened. The Greens' house was cheerfully decorated for Halloween, with corn stalks arranged on either side of the door, a black cat in the window, and three twinkling jack-o-lanterns arranged on the porch.

As Mary and Eric made their way up the walkway, a trio of trick-or-treaters was chirping a chorus of thanks on the porch. Gail was nodding and smiling at the children as they called out their goodbyes and turned towards the street.

Mary smiled at the trio as their paths crossed, and stopped to admire their costumes. "Hey, you guys look great!" she exclaimed, surveying each trick-or-treater. "Let's see, we've got a witch," she nodded at Sally Taylor.

"Do you think I'm a good witch or a bad witch?" cut in Sally before she could continue.

"You're an adorable witch," she said, laughing at the looks of revulsion on the faces of the devil and skeleton.

"We're not adorable," said Woody in a scandalized voice, shaking his head so that his red horned hat tilted to the side.

"No, you're really scary," nodded Mary, putting a hand to her heart in an expression of mock terror. "Seriously. And your skeleton friend is really freaking me out!"

Sam Hawkins laughed and grabbed Woody's plastic pitchfork, apparently in an attempt at a menacing gesture. Woody grabbed it back, playfully growling at his friend. Sally rolled her eyes and Mary laughed again, quickly asking them if they'd gotten a good haul.

As the children showed her the candy apples Gail had given them, Eric stepped up to the porch, shifting the duffel bag in his arms.

"Happy Halloween, honey!" Gail grinned, making a witchy gesture and tipping her pointy hat at him. Noticing Eric's weary sigh, she quickly turned a serious look on him. "Planning on staying over?" she asked, eyeing the duffel bag.

"We...needed to get away for a night or two," he said carefully. "That's okay, right?"

"You're always welcome," she said. "You know that." He nodded, looking down at the porch. "Eric, are you alright?" she asked.

He nodded, glancing back over at Mary. She was leaning down to look at something Sally was holding up. He looked back at his mother. "I told her we could get away, from everything that's...well, that we could have a break, so can we just...not talk about anything weird tonight?"

Gail nodded with a small smile this time. "I think that's a great plan. This is supposed to be a party after all!"

"I hope so," Eric said. "Mary's disappointed to miss the Main Street carnival. She wanted to decorate for it this year."

Gail glanced in the direction of her daughter-in-law, who was now exchanging goodbyes with the trick-or-treaters. "We'll make it a good night," she said, nodding to show Eric she meant business. He returned the nod as Mary came up on the porch. She was still smiling, watching the retreating trio of children, and Eric was surprised at the suspicious gleam that seemed to have come over her eyes. He squinted.

"Mary, are you - "

"They sure are cute, those kids," she said with a shaky chuckle. Eric continued to stare at her, and noticing the solicitous expression on his face, she blinked quickly and cleared her throat. "It's just nice, to see them out, having fun. Nice to see our kids can still have that. Like the good old days, you know?"

"I know what you mean, sweetheart," said Gail quickly. "It's not the same, but some traditions stick around. I told Margaret to send them over here on their way down to the carnival."

"They were betting they wouldn't get anything as good as those candy apples you gave them down at the carnival," Mary said with a quick smile, brushing a hand across her eyes as inconspicuously as she could.

Gail chuckled. "Well, I made a whole batch." At the significant look Eric was sending her way, she turned back to Mary. "Should we go inside and finish setting up? I've already got the boys on food and drinks."

Mary nodded, sending Eric a suspicious look before hoisting the duffel bag off of the porch and following her mother-in-law into the house.

Eric sighed, turning once to look out at the street before going inside himself. The light was waning and long shadows stretched across the pavement. He felt a small shiver run up his spine, but shook his head, chuckling. It was just the effect of the cool breeze gusting through the trees. The street wasn't lit with street lamps, as usual, power being conserved wherever possible, and the decorations up and down the street were modest, but the chill in the air and a feeling he couldn't quite describe reminded him of Halloween, a holiday he'd always enjoyed. He resolved once more that tonight would be just that, a holiday to be enjoyed with his loved ones. He wouldn't allow any other worries to interfere. A sudden scuttling sound startled him, but as he whipped his head in its direction, he saw that it was just an old, dented tin can, rolling along the pavement. Shaking his head, he quickly went inside.

The aforementioned boys turned out to be Jake and Kenchy, who were found in the living room, setting up glasses on the card table along the wall. At least, Jake was arranging the glasses over top the fake leaves and cobwebs his mother had already placed strategically on the table top. Kenchy had a glass in hand, and he was casually sipping something as he leaned an arm against the edge of the couch.

"Hey, happy Halloween you guys," said Jake, nodding a greeting to his brother and sister-in-law.

"Jake. Kenchy," Eric nodded. Kenchy nodded too, holding up his glass.

"To Halloween!" said the doctor. "A night of frights. Who knows what will happen when the lights go out?"

"Hopefully they won't," said Jake, without glancing over his shoulder. "Wind's been going strong all day."

"It's a night where anything can happen," continued Kenchy. "So look out, boys and ghouls." He seemed to be trying to put on a spooky voice. Jake rolled his eyes.

"You're here early, Kenchy," said Eric, attempting to be casual and lead the subject away from ghouls.

"Off work early," he shrugged. "And so are you," he said, smiling at Mary, who looked as though she were trying to keep from making a face as he leaned towards her. Quickly pasting on a smile, she said quietly, "Somehow it feels like I haven't left."

"Celebrating early!" said Kenchy, putting an arm around her shoulder. "We don't do that enough. Celebrate. It's always doom and gloom and invading town this and martial law that."

Jake smirked as he put down a plate of sandwiches Gail had made to look like ghosts. Kenchy put his other arm around Jake, letting go of Mary's shoulder to reach for a glass. "Here, Jake. A drink on me!"

Jake eyed the empty glass Kenchy had provided him. "Oh, there's nothing in it!" Kenchy exclaimed with a drawn out chuckle. "Someone get him a drink."

"How about some cider for everyone?" asked Gail as she swept into the room. "Eric, Mary? Cider?"

"Sounds good," said Eric with a quick glance back over at Kenchy, who gave a nod himself.

"Jake, do you mind, sweetheart?" asked Gail, sending her eldest son a smile.

Jake nodded with a grudging smile of his own, grabbing four of the glasses and going into the kitchen.

Surveying the room as if she had accomplished a successful operation, Gail turned to Mary. "I've got another box of decorations I dug up in the upstairs closet that I was meaning to use on the front door. Would you mind helping me with them?"

With one more slightly suspicious glance over her shoulder at Eric, who had sent his mother a grateful nod, Mary gave a nod herself. "Sure." She took a breath, smiled, and followed her mother-in-law into the hallway.

Kenchy took the opportunity to plunk himself down in one of the armchairs, cradling his glass in his hands. Eric rested the duffel bag on the floor and leaned an arm across the couch. "So, Kenchy...Halloween much different back home?" he asked, wanting to fill the silence that had occurred as he noticed the mournful way Kenchy was looking at him.

"Halloween," said Kenchy, glancing down at his glass with an expression of nostalgia. "In England...it's not flashy like it is here. Weird thing is, most of what you do you got from us. Damned souls forced to wander the earth with only a carved turnip lantern, terrifying creatures lurking in the shadows, spirits of dead acquaintances coming back from the beyond..." He shuddered, and as he looked up at Eric, he quickly tried to affect an expression of nonchalance. "It's all rubbish of course." He let out a loud chuckle.

"Yeah, rubbish," agreed Eric, with a weak chuckle of his own. He looked over at the window, attempting to be inconspicuous as he did so. He could see the shadows of the bushes right outside the house, already swaying in the winds. "I'm, uh...just going to put this bag upstairs, out of the way," he said quickly. Kenchy nodded, raising his empty glass in an apparent show of encouragement.

Eric hastily retreated upstairs, stopping only once he'd reached the safety of his former bedroom. He shut the door and sat down on the bed, letting out a deep sigh, and kicking the bag over with his foot. When they stayed at his mother's house, he and Mary usually slept downstairs on the pullout couch, but seeing as the living room was the site of the party, it would surely be best to stash their belongings somewhere out of the way. His room, where he had slept throughout his childhood, had seemed the logical choice on his way up the stairs, but as he sat on the edge of the bed and looked up at himself in the dresser mirror, a sudden feeling of dread came over him. This was the room where she had slept. After he had left. And before. This had been where she'd spent those last nights of her life before she'd died. Where she'd probably lain awake hating him. It had seemed like a peaceful room when he'd first rushed in moments earlier, but now it gave him a queasy feeling and he grabbed the bag once more and made a quick exit.

He dumped the bag in Jake's room instead, beside the dresser, and paused again to look in Jake's mirror. He could see the grimy outline of the Lone Ranger sticker he had once stuck to his older brother's mirror, in the right hand corner. Much as Jake had tried, he'd never been able to completely scrape it off. Eric couldn't remember now if he'd intended to annoy Jake or if the sticker had been meant as a peace offering. He chuckled to himself. There was certainly nothing to be worried about, in this house where he'd grown up, surrounded by all the people who cared about him. Touching his finger to the outline marking the vanished sticker, he slipped out of the room and back down the hall.

Even before he reached the stairs he could hear the newer voices traveling into the house. He smiled as he came down the stairs and saw Stanley and Mimi exchanging greetings with Mary and his mother. They were all laughing, and Eric smiled at Stanley and Mimi's breathless grins. He caught Mary's eye, and she returned his smile.

His mother was making a fuss over Stanley's cobwebbed jacket sleeve, seemingly a victim of a close brush with the front door. Mimi pulled a strand of wispy cotton from him, wrinkling her nose.

"Did you guys run of out space and decorate the guest?" asked Eric, stepping towards them with a chortle.

"Well, you know, Mimi kept telling me I couldn't dress up for the occasion," said Stanley with a swagger, pulling a piece of the web off himself and dangling it teasingly towards his wife.

"I told him it isn't a costume party," she said, playfully swatting away the offending cobwebs.

"Didn't want me to look like a fool, I guess," he shrugged.

"Not that it's ever stopped you before," Mimi smiled slyly.

Stanley made a face of mock dejectedness. Linking his arm through Mimi's, he stepped further into the foyer. "Well, I for one appreciate how you made it look like Halloween, Mrs. G. It could almost be Halloween like usual, couldn't it? Except we're missing The Monster Mash."

"You're missing the Mash?" asked Mimi, glancing back at the Greens as they followed their friends towards the living room.

"Who doesn't? It was a graveyard smash!" Stanley nodded, taking a seat on the couch. "Mrs. G used to play it every Halloween."

"On endless loop," smirked Jake, coming into the room, precariously clutching mugs of cider. Mary quickly relieved him of two of them, passing one to Eric, as Jake quickly plunked the other two onto the coffee table.

"The trick-or-treaters loved it," Gail smiled, reaching for one of the mugs. "Not sure about Jake and Eric. But it was tradition."

"It was tradition for us to leave for trick-or-treating when it started," grinned Jake. "Anyone else want cider?"

"Well, even without the Mash, I'm glad this place feels like Halloween," said Stanley, putting an arm across Mimi's shoulders as she took a seat beside him. "It even smells like it."

Mary inhaled from her mug of cider as she eased herself into the armchair. "Thanks to Gail," she said. "She made her famous candy apples."

Gail smiled appreciatively from her seat in the rocking chair as the occupants of the room proclaimed their appreciation of that Halloween delicacy. "Not sure I'd quite call them famous," she said, with dramatic modesty that several people in the room giggled at.

"This was the popular house on the block, wasn't it?" asked Mimi with amusement.

"You don't understand the beauty of these candy apples," said Stanley. "Chocolate sometimes, dipped in nuts, with a caramel swirl..."

"Oh, don't get me thinking about those things," groaned Mimi. "Chocolate...caramel..."

"I always liked Bubble Pops," said Stanley, grinning at her and sighing dreamily. "Bubble pops, and those Tootsie Pops, and Sugar Babies."

"Why am I not surprised?" asked Mimi. Stanley made a funny face, and continued, "And Three Musketeers bars."

"Aw, those were the best," added Mary with her own sigh.

"Mallowcups were the best," said Jake, struggling with more mugs of cider. "Right Eric?"

Eric nodded, helping his brother pass out the remaining cider.

"Those marshmallow things?" asked Stanley skeptically.

"Yeah," said Jake, just a hint of indignation in his voice.

Mimi made a face herself. "Too much marshmallow," she declared. "You know what I really miss? Reese's Pieces."

Mary and Jake nodded their agreement at the choice. Eric shook his head. "Too peanut buttery."

Jake and Mary turned scandalized looks on him. "I liked M&M's better," he said apologetically.

"Well, you don't have to worry about missing them," said Kenchy, suddenly sitting up in the recliner he'd previously been slumped over in. "They're right here."

Eric stared at him with a puzzled expression for a moment, as did the rest of the room. Kenchy gestured to the couch and then the opposite chair. "M...and M," he giggled. Mimi and Mary raised their eyebrows. Stanley looked slightly amused.

"And Emily's coming too, isn't she?" continued Kenchy, as though he were telling the most marvelous joke. "So you'll have M and M...and Em!" He chuckled again, and though some in the room snickered, Jake was looking at the opposite wall with a grimace on his face.

Gail quickly changed the subject. "I always liked candy corn."

"Me too!" Mary jumped in. "My dad used to put a jar of it out on the bar in October. Or caramels. Caramels." She closed her eyes briefly. "Nothing beats caramels except caramel and chocolate. Oh, or caramel corn."

"I submit Laffy Taffy," grinned Eric, pulling his chair closer to hers.

"Sour gummi worms. And gummi bears," added Stanley.

"Candy cigarettes," nodded Jake.

"Gobstoppers," said Gail.

"Milky Way Bars. And Twix Bars. And Rolos," came from Mimi.

"All of those things on top of a bowl of rocky road ice cream with hot fudge sauce and a cherry," said Mary. Everyone in the room glanced at her. Noticing their looks, she shrugged, leaning back in her chair with a longing sigh. "How did we get on this topic anyway? It's like torture."

"Torture," nodded Stanley knowingly. "But, I hope the Richmond contribution to this shindig'll help lift everyone's spirits. We brought popcorn. Not caramel, but it should be good. Radiation free."

"Nice," said Jake, sending a nod of appreciation in Stanley's direction.

"I can't remember the last time we had popcorn," agreed Eric.

"I could really go for some," added Mary.

"Well, Stanley has to pop it still," said Mimi.

"You're not going to help?" he asked in dismay.

"I am going to help. Eat it," she shrugged. "And pretend it's a Milky Way Bar."

"You get good at that after a while, don't you?" mused Jake. "Pretending you can taste something else you used to love?"

There was a slightly awkward silence. Mary broke it. "I don't know, but I'm going to be optimistic and hope that popcorn'll make me forget about caramels. And peanut butter cups. And Sweet Tarts."

"Sweet tarts," chuckled Kenchy. "I've known a few of those. I think you know what I mean."

It was evident everyone knew what he meant, as Mimi snickered and looked down at her mug, Jake smirked, and Gail affected a scandalized expression. Preparing himself to change the subject, Eric was surprised when Mary stood suddenly. "I'm going to go...make some coffee. Or something," she said quickly. "Sound good, Kenchy? Coffee?"

Kenchy barely had a chance to nod, hiccuping quietly, before she'd swept out of the room.

"Coffee...you know what that makes me think of. Coffee Crisp!" enthused Stanley. "Those were the best. Coffee and a chocolate bar all in one. It's like a two for one deal."

"No, it doesn't beat real coffee," came Jake's answer. "Or Kit Kats."

As the conversation began to pick up again around her, Mimi tried to banish further thoughts of chocolate from her mind. Leaning back on the couch, her shoulder pressed against Stanley's, a warm mug of cider in her hands, Mimi let the feeling of the room wash over her, content to be watching her friends interact without actually really hearing what they were saying. After a few minutes, however, she began to be distracted by Eric's frequent glances towards the kitchen, out the window into the dark evening, and back towards the kitchen. She knew he'd been on edge the past little while, but this seemed a whole new level, she thought to herself, as she took in the circles under his eyes and the nervous way he clutched his mug. She stared at him herself until she caught his eye. He looked as though he were going to say something to her, across the conversation Jake and Stanley were now having about potato chips versus cheese puffs. Wanting, suddenly, to show him as much as tell him his worry was for nothing, she pulled herself to her feet.

"I'm just going to see if Mary needs any help with the coffee," she said to the questioning looks Stanley and Gail gave her. Eric glanced away.

Mimi was glad, when she arrived in the kitchen, that she hadn't let Eric go himself. The kitchen was empty.

"Mary?" she called with a bit of a laugh. The room seemed silent and empty especially in contrast to the one she'd just vacated. "Mary?" she whispered again, feeling suddenly silly. Why was she calling for someone who obviously wasn't in the room? Her eye caught a flash of something at the window. For a moment, she felt a bit of a jolt, but she took a breath and walked right up to the window. Peering out, she saw that there was nothing outside, besides the usual things one could expect to find in the Greens' backyard. All the furniture from the back porch had been put away after summer, aside from the sturdy wooden bench and one of the chairs. She could see the outline of each piece, and of the trees, in the moonlight. She glanced upwards, trying to see the moon itself, but she couldn't catch it from that angle. She wasn't sure if it was the fact she could see the ghostly light cast everywhere and couldn't see its source, but something was making her feel, she realized, just slightly nervous. She grimaced. All this talk of ghosts. She jumped as she heard the floorboards creaking behind her.

She spun around to stare wide eyed at Mary, who was looking at her quizzically. "There you are!" said Mimi, trying quickly to appear unphased. "Where were you?"

Mary warily exhaled. "I went to the bathroom. Didn't realize it was a crime now."

Mimi raised her eyebrows, and Mary's features shifted to an apologetic grimace. "Sorry," she said, shaking her head. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I guess things are maybe...starting to get to me." She leaned against the kitchen counter behind her, gripping the edge in her hands.

"Things? You mean...?" Mimi came to stand beside her.

"Yeah," Mary nodded. "All this weird ghost stuff I keep hearing about." She rubbed one of her temples as she closed her eyes.

"So your decision to just ignore it and live with it..."

"Well, it was going okay. But it's like, now it's getting worse. He worries about going outside in the dark, worries about me getting up to go to the bathroom, worries about leaving anything around the house. Now it's like he sleeps with one eye open. And I feel bad I can't help him, and I don't get any sleep, and..." she trailed off, and glanced at Mimi. "Do you ever get this totally irrational mood where you just can't seem to keep yourself from getting really irritated?"

"Uh, yeah," said Mimi. "That's why Stanley knows to steer clear of me on Monday mornings. Or, you know, mornings. Even when you love someone, it happens. I think sometimes especially when you love someone."

"You're probably right," nodded Mary. "But it's just, well...I know why he's going through a tough time. I thought I could just be patient, be there for him. But it's like I've suddenly got the patience of a little kid. Maybe a teenager's patience. Not my usual patience anyway. I get annoyed way easier than I ever did before."

"That happens too," said Mimi. "Lots of things to make it hard to be our usual patient selves."

"Husbands who see ghosts?" asked Mary with a small smile.

"That," agreed Mimi. "Or, you know, that time of the month." She paused as Mary widened her eyes, rolling her eyes herself. "I hate it when people blame that too. I meant, full moon," she amended, nodding towards the window. "Makes us all a little crazy, right?"

"Full moon, huh?" asked Mary. For a moment she looked as though she was pondering something seriously, but she finally broke out into a reluctant smile. "Yeah, I guess we all go a little crazy sometimes."

Mimi nodded, smiling herself now and putting an arm around her friend. "Hey, if we're not burning down fields, we're talking to chickens."

"If we're not seeing ghosts, we're playing drunken darts," Mary chuckled. "After what we've all seen and done, I guess it's probably normal."

"You know, normal is relative," continued Mimi. "How many times have we had that talk?"

Mary chuckled again. "The normal-in-our-world talk? I'm thinking we could write a book about it now."

Mimi laughed herself. "And how many times have you told me what I'm feeling is normal?"

"It's what we do, for each other, isn't it?" asked Mary.

Mimi nodded. "So this is normal. I'm sure. For him, for you. For all of us." She gave Mary's shoulder an affectionate squeeze.

"Normal as we're going to get. For that full moon time of the month, huh?" asked Mary, nudging Mimi.

"Yeah," Mimi laughed. "So where's this coffee we supposedly came in here to get?"

"All gone," Mary motioned to a tin on the counter that Mimi went over to inspect. "I made a pot of tea instead." She pointed to a pot sitting on the counter. "Figured it would work for our guest." She picked up the empty coffee tin when Mimi put it back on the counter, and held it up, inhaling its contents.

"Oh no, trust me, that never helps," said Mimi, reaching for the tea pot. "We've got to get Stanley to get on that pop corn. What do you say we bring this in and rejoin the party?"

"Sounds like a plan," said Mary with a smile, gathering extra mugs and a sugar bowl quickly.

Their shadows followed them out of the room and neither looked back to see the other shadow sweep across the window pane.

Back in the living room, Mimi and Mary found themselves in the midst of a lively description.

"And the gargoyles flew in and started to battle, and the army tried to use their subatomic gun, but the gargoyles roared and the force of the sound totally pushed their helicopter off course!" Stanley enthused.

"Do I want to know what you're talking about?" asked Mimi as she took a seat on the couch beside him.

"Stanley's favourite movie from childhood," smirked Jake, poking at the log in the fireplace.

"I thought it was Star Wars," said Mimi.

"Favourite scary movie," clarified Stanley. "And now that I've given an excellent recap for those who cared to hear it, Jake?"

"I liked slasher movies," said Jake. "Any, really."

"I dated a guy once who loved slasher movies," sniffed Mimi. "He always wanted me to watch them with him. I suspected so that I'd hide my head on his shoulder during the scary parts."

"I got the guys I dated in high school to watch scary movies with me. See if they could outlast me," said Mary with a laugh. Eric, who had taken her armchair while she was gone, raised his eyebrows. She laughed again as she sat down on his lap, holding onto his shoulder for balance. "Not slasher flicks though. Those always had really stupid girls trying to run in high heels. No wonder they always got killed."

"So what did you watch then?" asked Jake, a slightly amused look on his face. "What scared you?"

"My favourite was The Birds," Mary answered. "It terrified me. When I was a kid I'd watch it when I was supposed to be in bed. Dad would come up and find me sitting totally still on the couch. I couldn't move 'til it was over."

"Like Jake and Eric the time they watched The Shining with that babysitter," said Gail, stirring a spoon in her tea. Jake and Eric flashed plaintive looks at her as everyone else chuckled.

"We weren't that scared," said Jake. "I wasn't."

Eric felt all eyes on him suddenly, and shrugged, putting an arm around Mary's shoulder. "I just remember you being mad, Mom."

"Well, we go out for a nice dinner and come home and find our sons afraid to go to sleep," she said. "Didn't think I should encourage it."

"Part of the fun is staying up late, watching it when you know you're not supposed to!" protested Stanley.

Mary nodded. "Knowing it's your own fault you'll have nightmares."

"I used to wait til my parents were asleep and sneak down to watch those sci fi movie marathons they had on Friday night tv, all night long," said Stanley.

"Those were the best!" said Mary.

Mimi wrinkled her nose. "You know, I never saw the appeal," she said, giggling at Stanley's aghast expression. "Soap operas were my guilty pleasure. Not...mutant animals and zombies and weird aliens and stuff."

"You were missing out," said Stanley teasingly. "Jake, remember that robot movie you used to love?"

"Emily loved the robot movie," said Jake.

"I think it was you," said Stanley.

"No, Emily made us watch it three times," said Jake.

"It was Emily. She even made me watch it," shrugged Eric. "Jake really liked the...the one about the zombies that played baseball."

"You liked the one about zombies playing hockey," Jake countered.

"I remember one both the boys liked," Gail began, a fond smile on her face. "There was one about this Grandfather's ghost who watched over his grandchildren. It was a really sweet family film, and Jake and Eric both wanted to get it out of the library again and again."

"That is so cute!" gushed Mimi, and Stanley and Mary wore equally teasing smiles. Eric rolled his eyes and Jake leaned forward from his seat on the carpet to punch Stanley's knee.

"You know, I always enjoyed a psychological drama that really got into the ghost's mind. Really delved into the conflicts inherent with being trapped between worlds," said Kenchy, thoughtfully sipping his tea.

Everyone was silent for a moment, but Mimi gave a nod finally. "The sympathetic ghost story, huh?"

Eric sensed suddenly that most people in the room were avoiding his gaze. Mimi was the only one to meet his eye, and she smiled casually. "I'd still take a soap opera any day."

The room was silent again for a moment, interrupted suddenly by a loud knocking. Eric jumped slightly, in spite of himself, and Mary shifted, putting her hand on his. No one else seemed to have noticed because in the same moment, Kenchy sloshed tea down his shirt.

"Somebody's here," he said loudly. "Fancy that!" Glancing around at everyone, he moved to stand up, only stopping for a second as Gail offered him a cloth napkin to wipe up his shirt. "I'll answer the door. Least I can do," he was saying.

Gail followed, and Eric could soon hear his mother's voice loudly welcoming Emily and Heather amidst Kenchy's joking that it was nice of them to drop by. Eric glanced over at his brother. Jake was looking determinedly into the fire as the new guests came into the room.

"Happy Halloween!" they shouted as the others returned the greeting.

"Big turn out at Main Street?" asked Stanley.

"Even bigger than last year," said Heather, who was sporting a pair of what appeared to be mouse ears.

"People aren't as scared of Mitch Cafferty showing up this year," said Emily, who was dressed in a cheerleader costume.

"Or just determined to live their lives anyway," said Heather.

"Were the kids having fun?" asked Mary quietly.

Heather nodded. "Yeah," she answered softly. "They were."

Eric was glad Mary smiled and nodded at this, and found his gaze wandering from her to Jake again, who was crouching by the fire as everyone else talked. Kenchy was offering to take the new arrivals' coats and complimenting Emily on her costume. Emily giggled self consciously.

"Class of '92," she said.

"Still seems to fit you perfectly," said Kenchy.

"Yeah well," said Emily, looking around. "No one else wore a costume?"

"Fashion police wouldn't let me," Stanley said, nodding his head against Mimi's.

"I'm still wearing one," said Heather, pointing to her ears.

"I'm glad. We can stand out together," said Emily.

Eric noticed Jake snort, but as he was still practically leaning into the fireplace, no one else did. "Hey, Jake," he said quietly, through the noise of the guests now trying to squish onto the couch.

"Yeah?" asked Jake, glancing up at his brother.

"We running low on firewood?" asked Eric.

Sensing his tone, Jake nodded and stood. Eric kissed the side of Mary's forehead. "I'm going to help him," he whispered to her. She nodded, swinging her legs to the ground and standing so that he could get up.

Eric followed his brother out onto the back porch. They stood silently by the woodpile for a few moments, just listening to the howling fall winds. Eric shivered, but his brother was standing completely still.

"Mom sure invited a crowd, huh?" asked Eric, reaching for a piece of wood.

"She the one who invited them?" Jake asked.

Eric shrugged. "Mary and I invited Heather, and I think Kenchy invited Emily, and then Mom invited them both." He hadn't been exactly sure if Jake was referring to that particular them, but his brother smirked and nodded.

"A bit weird, huh?" asked Eric.

Jake shrugged. "If she's happy, it's fine I guess."

Eric had heard, from several sources including Jake himself, about the breakup that had occurred at his and Mary's wedding weeks earlier, but he still wasn't clear on all the details himself. Jake hadn't seemed clear on them when he'd explained dazedly to Eric, after he'd come back from the honeymoon at the cabin, that it had started with Emily missing the bouquet toss while trying to tell him she'd seen something weird in the window, and ended with them realizing they didn't have a wedding of their own in the future. Jake hadn't talked about it much more, other than to say that he was feeling both sad and free, and Eric had resolved to be there for his brother when he did want to talk. Jake seemed to be thinking though, tonight, and Eric wasn't sure he was ready to spill what was on his mind.

"Well, I just hope you'll do what makes you happy too, Jake," said Eric cautiously. "We all want that, you know."

"Yeah," nodded Jake. After a moment, he added "Weird how hard it is to figure out sometimes huh?"

"Yeah?" asked Eric.

"Knowing what you want," said Jake. "You might think you do, and then suddenly you don't know anymore and everything's a mess...and then sometimes it's simple again. In a complicated way."

"Yeah, know what you mean," said Eric, who had followed as quickly as he could, filling the blanks in his mind as best he could, a skill he'd gotten used to after months of brotherly talks.

The brothers each gathered an armful of wood in silence. As they were about to turn to go inside, Eric smiled to himself. "You know, Jake, it doesn't have to be complicated."

Jake turned, his eyebrows raised.

"It might just work out. If you take a chance."

Jake looked doubtful, but gave his brother a nod.

Eric hid a smile as they went back inside and Jake went over to greet the newcomers after depositing his firewood. Kenchy had already provided them with drinks, it seemed. Emily was sipping hers determinedly, sitting on the couch beside Stanley and Mimi. Heather had taken a seat in the folding chair Eric had once occupied, and was breathing in the hot cider from her mug.

"Having a good Halloween, Heather?" asked Eric, sitting down in the arm chair beside her as Mary once again stood up to give him room.

She nodded, sipping her cider. "I was just thanking your mom for letting me invite T. He's excited."

"Well, as I said, the more the merrier!" said Gail. "And you're always welcome, sweetheart. Anyone you invite is welcome too."

Jake did not look so thrilled. Eric determinedly avoided his brother's gaze and once again hid a smile. "So he's coming in from New Bern?"

Heather nodded. "It means a lot to me. We have so many memories of Halloween, growing up. We went trick-or-treating together, when my parents couldn't take me anymore. One year, he helped me with my Eowyn costume."

"What's Eowyn?" asked Mimi from the couch, where she had been distracted a few moments earlier, bantering with Stanley about chocolate versus sour candy.

Heather laughed. "I got that reaction a lot that year. But it was one of my favourite costumes ever."

"Mine was zombie football player," said Stanley. "I was that two years in a row."

"I thought your favourite was your Fred Flintstone costume," smirked Jake.

"I liked him as Charlie Brown," supplied Mary to a giggle from Mimi.

"Frankenstein," added Emily.

"Stanley liked to do the scary costume thing," Eric said, nodding to Mimi, who had been surveying her husband with a half amused, half wary look. "I'm not surprised, again," she said.

"He wasn't always scary," said Gail. "There was one year he went as Popeye, and Bonnie was just a baby, and she was dressed up as Sweet Pea."

"She was pretty cute," nodded Stanley, and after seeing his soft smile, Mimi chuckled quietly. The rest of the room was silent for a moment, thinking about their recent loss.

Mimi reached for Stanley's hand and looked around at the others. "Okay, so you all seem to have the dirt on each other's sordid costumes of Halloween past. Who has an embarrassing getup they're not going to reveal on their own?"

"Oh, yes," said Kenchy with a snicker, and Heather looked around too.

The longer term residents of Jericho all glanced quickly at each other. Stanley, Eric, Jake and Emily especially seemed engaged in a quick, silent exchange of warning looks. Gail and Mary seemed as amused as everyone else.

"Eric was Abraham Lincoln!" said Jake quickly. Eric grinned sheepishly at his brother.

Heather smiled. "I like a good historical costume. I went as Amelia Earhart one time." Jake had been snickering, but he grew silent for a moment.

"And Jake went as Al Capone once," said Emily, adding "Moustache and all!"

Jake groaned as everyone chuckled. He looked over at Stanley. "Well, Stanley went as the headless horseman once and kept bumping into things. He nearly knocked over the jack-o-lantern at the Halloween party we went to."

"I was afraid he was going to set the bar on fire," said Mary, flashing Stanley a smile which he returned.

"I still remember your Mary Ann costume," he countered.

"Mary Ann?" asked Kenchy.

"From Gilligan's Island," acknowledged Mary.

"I bet that was memorable," said Kenchy. Eric and Mary flashed him funny looks. "Well, I seem to remember Jake going as a wolf man," said Mary, clearing her throat.

Jake smirked. "Yeah, did that one a few times. A classic."

Gail smiled now. "You know, some tried and true costumes never go out of style. I remember how many years you wanted to be a cowboy."

"Not that many," Jake said dully.

"At least two or three in a row, around the time you were four or five," she said.

"Hey, I loved being a cowgirl," supplied Heather. "When I was eight."

Mary nodded. "Me too! Six...and nineteen," she finished with a chuckle.

"Me too! Cowboy, I mean," added Stanley quickly. "Three and seven."

"Five," supplied Eric.

"Four," said Emily.

"Twenty-four," said Gail.

Mimi, who had been looking back and forth from person to person, her eyes widened, let her eyes rest on Kenchy, who smiled. "Seven," he said.

Eric raised his eyebrows. "I thought you didn't do Halloween as much as here."

"But I dressed up as a cowboy for a play once," said Kenchy, smiling dreamily. "Who doesn't want the chance to be a cowboy once in a lifetime? I was an Indian every other day. Besides, you all seem to know what I'm talking about."

The other occupants of the room nodded with their own fond smiles, and Mimi made a small sound of dismay. "Weren't any of you ever a...a...princess or something? Or a fairy?"

Stanley shook his head. "Sorry, can't say I was."

Mimi rolled her eyes, looking over at the women.

"I was a ballerina when I was five," supplied Emily.

Gail smiled softly. "I was an Indian Princess once. At a party."

Heather shrugged. "I was a light bulb once." There was a collective raising of eyebrows. "My brother helped me put it together and it was so cool! I explained how the filament worked, to anyone who asked."

Eric couldn't help but notice the small smile on Jake's face. Mary seemed to be noticing Mimi giving her a suspicious look. "What? I did the scary costume thing a lot. Especially when I took over the bar and instituted Halloween night. Enchantress. Vampire. That stuff."

"Come on, you probably have something like a fairy princess skeleton in your closet of Halloweens past," said Mimi with narrowed eyes.

Mary feigned ignorance, but Eric suddenly chuckled, and hid his face against her hair. She turned to send him a warning look, as Mimi caught their silent exchange. "Hey, you do!" she finally said. "You actually were a fairy princess! In that picture you have in your apartment! The one you said your mom took!"

Mary looked like she was trying to give her friend a dirty look but she was also trying to keep from laughing. "Yeah, well, I was five, okay?"

"Hey, you were adorable," said Eric, kissing her ear. She rolled her eyes but leaned back against him.

"So what was your girliest costume then, Mimi?" asked Mary. Stanley turned to look expectantly at her too. Mimi squirmed in her seat.

"I was actually a fairy princess once too," she admitted. Everyone chuckled, and Kenchy positively howled.

"Not my best," shrugged Mimi, rolling her eyes as Stanley fluttered his eyelashes at her. She raised her eyebrows at him. "I liked my Judy Jetson costume better. And once I was Minnie Mouse."

"Aw, Minnie Mimi!" said Heather, with a chuckle quickly echoed by Stanley, then Mary, Eric and Gail.

"I bet you were adorable," Stanley said, squeezing her closer with the arm he had wrapped around her.

"I was pretty popular that year," she said nonchalantly. "Maybe not as much as the year I was Catwoman. Senior year at Vassar." She smirked.

"Probably not," said Kenchy, raising his glass.

"I was Wonder Woman once," supplied Mary quickly. "Probably one of my favourite costumes." Before Kenchy could add a remark, as he seemed threatening to do, leaning forward in his seat, she added, "That, and the time I was a pirate queen."

"I was a pirate one time," said Gail. "Johnston and I went to a party together, as pirates." She sighed, a soft smile on her face. Eric and Jake exchanged an embarrassed look, but Mary was smiling back at Gail.

"I can so picture you two," she said.

"We made quite the team," nodded Gail. "I had gold earrings and a patch, he had a parrot."

"His and hers costumes," nodded Stanley with a smile. He looked at Mimi who shrugged. "I told you it's not a costume party," she whispered.

"I can think of another costume team I loved being part of," said Gail. "Halloween before you were born, Jake. We went as a pumpkin."

"Adorable," said Stanley, reaching over to give Jake's shoulder an affectionate shake. His friend responded by giving him an affectionate swat.

"I bet you were adorable," said Heather quickly, pausing suddenly after the words had left her mouth. "I mean, great idea, Mrs. Green." Before anyone else could say something, she continued. "One year, Ted, Mike and I went as the Three Musketeers. That was a fun costume team."

"See, that's what I missed out on as an only child," said Mimi. "I never had anyone to dress up with. I had to go as a devil one year and an angel the next." She glanced from Stanley to Jake. "Did you guys dress up together?"

"Hasn't Stanley told you yet about the year of Star Wars?" asked Emily. "I would've thought it was one of the proudest moments of his life."

"I was Luke Skywalker," he said, flashing a look of mock annoyance at Emily. "And it was pretty great."

"He wore pyjamas but he had one of those light sabers you could get. A yellow one. So it was all good," said Jake.

"And you were?" Mimi asked, her eyebrows raised.

"Han Solo," he said, looking around as if daring anyone to make a sound.

"I could see it," said Kenchy, turning to look at Emily. "Princess Leia?"

Emily shook her head. "I had the chicken pox that year. These guys shared their loot with me though."

"Well, Mom made me," said Jake. "Or I would've eaten it all."

"And I thought you were such a good friend," teased Emily, affecting an unnaturally high giggle.

Rolling her eyes, Mimi turned to Eric. "So which dweller of a galaxy far, far away were you?"

"Oh, they didn't include me in that one," said Eric, pausing as Mimi and Heather said "Aww." Rolling his own eyes as Mary chuckled and leaned her head on his shoulder, he added, "It was okay. I was a scuba diver that year. It was a great costume."

"All the neighbours thought so," said Gail, smiling at her younger son. "How many pictures did you pose for that night?"

"There were pictures?" asked Heather, to chuckles from the rest of the room. Everyone turned to Gail.

"Oh, I don't know if any survived," she said casually, but winking at Mary, who had raised her eyebrows. Eric groaned, guessing what his mother would be unearthing and showing his wife over tea after the guests went home. Catching his eye then, his mother smiled.

"And I remember a time the three of you boys dressed up together and were quite the team." Gail grinned, glancing at each of them, and finally at Emily. Stanley, Eric and Jake exchanged glances of their own.

"The year of the ninja, right?" asked Emily with a sly smile.

The three men nodded.

"The three ninjas, huh?" asked Mary.

"They were so cute," said Gail, to a round of annoyingly knowing grins from Mimi, Mary and Heather.

"Mrs. G made the costumes," said Stanley. "They were great!"

"And a bit of a challenge," shrugged Gail, who seemed rather pleased at the memory.

"I'm guessing it was hard to find all black bed sheets," said Heather. The former ninjas exchanged glances again.

"We didn't exactly have all black ninja costumes," admitted Eric.

Amused by the questioning looks Mimi and Mary were now throwing their husbands, Emily spoke up. "It's because they weren't exactly regular ninjas. They were actually Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles."

"Yeah," admitted Jake ruefully, to howls of laughter from the women and Kenchy, who was laughing the loudest.

"And were you one of the turtles too?" asked Mimi, looking over at Emily, who had been chuckling herself.

"No, I was April. The knock-out non sidekick," said Emily with a nod.

"April," said Kenchy. "What a bombshell. I had such a crush on her." The chuckle died on his lips as he realized the room had grown rather quiet. Each of the Greens, especially, had suddenly begun to find the carpet, wall, or couch pattern fascinating.

Heather was the only one to meet Kenchy's eyes, and she sent him a sympathetic grimace. "So, what was your scariest costume ever?" she asked the room at large.

Stanley recovered the quickest. "Night of the living dead scarecrow."

Mary cleared her throat. "Banshee."

"Bag lady," shrugged Emily.

"Gumby," said Eric.

"Gumby?" came from Heather, accompanied by an incredulous raising of her eyebrows. Mary turned to raise her own eyebrows, amusement on her face.

"In college," he shrugged. "I worked really hard on it, all the weekend before Halloween. But still, it was kind of creepy. At least, that's what...someone said."

Heather gave a nod and looked back to the couch.

"Queen of Hearts," said Mimi.

"How's the Queen of Hearts scary?" asked Stanley.

"The power trip," said Mimi, suddenly raising her fist in a gesture and shouting "Off with your head!"

Kenchy, who had been sipping his tea beside her, jumped and dumped the entire contents of his mug onto the lap of the person sitting on his other side. Emily jumped up from her seat, gasping as the liquid covered her Jericho Marauders cheerleading uniform.

Several things seemed to happen in quick succession. Emily stood, letting out a small shriek. Kenchy's expression turned to one of horror in slow motion. Several people quickly arranged their faces into appropriately sympathetic grimaces, resisting the urge to laugh. Jake seemed unable to resist and chuckled audibly before looking down. Emily's eyes narrowed and she shot out "Oh, of course you would think this is funny!" at the same time as Kenchy began with an "I'm so sorry about that!"

Emily seemed to have Jake still locked in a stare as Stanley and Mimi leaned towards the other end of the couch. Eric, Mary and Heather glanced at each other, but none could seem to resist looking back at the scene unfolding in front of them like a car accident on the side of the highway. Before anyone else could do anything, Gail quickly assessed the situation.

"Sweetheart, why don't I get you something else to put on? You can go rinse that off in the bathroom." She grabbed Emily's arm in hers as she crossed the living room. Emily protested at first, but consented to be led into the hallway and up the stairs.

After she saw that Emily was finding her way to the bathroom, Gail went into her own bedroom and shut the door. She let herself chuckle quietly for a moment, before letting out a sigh. She was a little worried that inviting Emily hadn't been a good idea. It was very awkward, so soon after the latest breakup between her son and his high school sweetheart, and between that and all the other things going on in their family and circle of friends, it could very well lead to some tense moments. But tea on an old uniform was nothing, at least, nothing like the things that kept Gail up at night worrying, so she had to pause a moment to smile, as she had learned to do this past year. If Johnston had been there, she would sometimes think, he would be laughing at the small stuff too.

As she crossed the bedroom, still thinking about the times she and Johnston had laughed together over the things their sons had gotten into over the years, she stopped at the armchair and sat down. She could see, out the window, the full moon glimmering in the sky up above. She could still hear the kids downstairs, she realized, faintly, but it seemed like they were laughing about something again themselves. It had been a good idea to have a party tonight. She'd wanted to do something to celebrate the day, and to have all of them around. It was fun, something they always needed in their busy lives of survival, and it was also a good way for her to get her mind off other things. But, she realized as she reached for one of the photo albums on the small bookshelf nearby, sometimes you had to take a moment for the other things too.

She easily found the shot of Eric in his scuba diver costume, smiling through a gap where a newly missing tooth had been, balancing in flippers and a wetsuit far too big for him, and she chuckled to herself, wondering how much he would protest if she brought it out to show to Mary after the guests left later. She herself had seen the picture in Mary's living room, the one of a five year old laughing and reaching up at the falling leaves, with a tin foil tiara and wand and coat hanger fairy wings, a costume Mary had absently explained she had made with her mother. Gail supposed it was a fair trade-off. She laughed as she turned the page and came across the shot of Stanley and Jake, facing off against each other, dueling with light sabers. Stanley's had been his pride and joy that year, a Christmas present he had been asking for for months before the previous December, and Jake's had been homemade, from a wrapping paper roll and cellophane. She remembered that a few moments after she'd taken the picture, there had been an argument over who would actually win the duel, considering one was using an official light saber not made of cardboard and one was Han Solo. She chuckled again, running her hand over the page, smoothing the wrinkled plastic protecting the photo that had captured the moment before the storm.

She turned the page and took in a breath as she found the picture she supposed she had really been looking for. She and Johnston stood facing the camera, his arm around her waist, both beaming in their pirate costumes. She closed her eyes and let herself drift back, but not to the night she and Johnston had left their sons with a babysitter and gone to a party as pirates. It had been a different party, years earlier, before children or babysitters or even the town of Jericho had been on her mind. She had been dressed as an Indian princess - it had been before politically correct language had become a part of societal consciousness too. Across the room, standing by the punch bowl, she'd seen a man wearing a cowboy hat, his hands in his pockets as he spoke to someone beside him, his face serious except for a small smirk that sent an inexplicable shiver up her spine. Everyone around him dissolved into laughter at something he'd said, and his smirk grew to a chuckle. Then he had looked up, and by chance had glanced in her direction, and he'd grown serious again.

Blinking back tears that suddenly threatened to spill, Gail smiled to herself. You're right, she whispered under her breath. It's a good night, I've got people I love gathered down there, the kids are okay, and I should enjoy it. She stood up and stowed the photo album, patting it once more before turning to the dresser. Something for Emily to wear. She'd donated a lot of extra clothes to the shelter and later to the clothing swap at the beginning of the season. She pulled a wool sweater out of the drawer she kept her tops in, and searched for a t-shirt to layer with it, considering the chilly night and the scratchy wool. She couldn't find any in her drawers, and she found herself looking at the top drawer on Johnston's side of the dresser. The boys had gone through their father's clothes a month after he died, at her insistence, taking what they could use and donating some, but she knew they had left a few pieces there, and she hadn't had the heart to go through them herself. Hesitantly, she reached for the top drawer, reasoning there might be an undershirt she could offer their guest, and that would only be hospitable. Inside the drawer, she found only socks. She reached for one pair, holding it in her hands for a second. She could imagine him putting them in the drawer himself, as if it were yesterday. In the past, Johnston had often joked that he thought black socks disappeared in their washing machine, as they never seemed to make it all the way through the laundry cycle. Gail had suspected it had more to do with the boys 'borrowing' socks right out of the dryer. Johnston had taken sock sorting upon himself as one of the things he did around the house, each week making sure there was a pile of socks in his own drawer.

Putting the roll of socks back into the drawer with a chuckle, she paused as her hand brushed against a strangely shaped sock. She pulled it out of the drawer, and held it up, realizing the odd shape was because there was something hard and round inside it. She tipped the contents of the sock into her hand, and held up the locket that fell out. As she raised it into the dim light cast by the one lamp in the room, her eyes widened.

Downstairs, the costume discussion had continued after the drink upset.

"So you were an army man..." Mimi was saying to Eric.

"With my dad's old Army jacket," he nodded.

"And you were a hippie," Mimi nodded at Mary, who chuckled.

"When I was twelve and loved going through my dad's collection of music memorabilia."

"Now that's a his and hers costume set!" said Stanley.

"Like Fred Flintstone and Judy Jetson, I guess," said Eric, nodding towards his friends on the couch, to which they all chuckled.

"That's a time warp for you," said Kenchy, who was finally smiling again instead of staring somberly into his tea cup.

"Aw, the time warp!" said Mary. "Remember Rocky Horror?"

"Who doesn't?" asked Eric, to which Jake snickered.

"One time I tried to convince Ted to dress as a cat while I dressed as a vet," said Heather. "But he insisted on being a monster truck. So I went as a lobster."

"A lobster?" laughed Stanley.

"I had to explain what I was a lot again that night," she said ruefully, to which everyone chuckled again. "Really, I -"

Suddenly a strange, loud creaking sound could be heard. Eric shuddered and wondered briefly if it was one of those things he would notice more than everyone else, but the others seemed to have looked up too.

"Probably just the wind picking up," said Stanley after a moment.

"Yeah, some wind," said Eric as the creaking noise continued. Everyone else looked back at each other, and the conversation began again, Heather going into her history of dressing as misunderstood animals, but Eric found himself still staring in the direction of the sound, frozen to his chair. The creaking noise continued through Heather's description of the time she'd dressed as a skunk. After everyone had dissolved into laughter again, Mary tried to say something, but as she realized Eric's attention was still on the doorway leading towards the kitchen, she closed her mouth. Glancing from him, over to Mimi who shrugged, and back at him, Mary gritted her teeth.

"Okay, that's it!" she exclaimed.

"What's it?" asked Eric, feeling suddenly that any words he said would be slightly dangerous. Her eyes were already flashing.

"I know what you're thinking!" said Mary. "And it's not that ridiculous ghost!"

"I - I didn't - " Eric began, looking quickly around at the others. Mary had gotten to her feet and he stood now too, unsure whether to reach for her or give her some space. He held his hands at his sides.

"It's just a windy night! It's probably just one of the chairs on the porch." Her look of exasperation was suddenly replaced with a determined smile. Eric was nervous as she spoke again. "Here's what I'm going to do. I am going to go out there and check it out and prove once and for all that there is nothing else out there." She emphasized each of the last four words, and gave a resolute nod.

"But, Mary - " he began to protest.

She grasped one of his hands in hers, letting out a strange sort of laugh that unnerved him further. "Eric. It will be fine. Fine! I'll find that there's nothing out there and then we'll have a nice time talking with our friends and family and not talk about weird stuff for the rest of the evening."

"But -" Eric was torn between his fears of the grin of malice on the ghostly face he knew so well and the exasperation flashing in Mary's eyes as she folded her arms in determination.

Her expression softened but he could still see something in her eyes that prevented him from protesting. "I'll be right back, honey," she said, in a voice that was at once brightly cheerful and warning. She kissed him quickly and marched determinedly out of the room.

Eric stared after her for a moment, in too much shock to say anything. Everyone else was quiet, even Kenchy for once sporting a serious look on his face. Eric stood for a few moments, and finally sank back into the armchair, sighing and turning to meet the gazes of his friends. Even Jake didn't look amused in this moment, just shrugged awkwardly. Mimi also shrugged. "Time of the...full moon?" she suggested quietly.

Eric leaned an elbow on one arm of the couch and propped his chin up in his fist. He sighed again.

As she reached the back door and stepped outside, Mary let out a sigh. She had lost her patience again a few moments ago, feeling that irrational irritation heating up inside her again, but now, the cool night air was soothing as she breathed it in. She took another breath and let it out slowly, stepping further onto the porch.

She looked across the porch and immediately, she saw the rocking chair lying on the floor, its wooden runners against the wall of the house. She laughed to herself, though her laugh was mostly swallowed by the wind. Of course it had been one of the chairs. She stepped over to it and pulled it to an upright position again. It was slightly odd that such a heavy chair had been knocked over by the wind, but, it certainly was a strong wind.

Mary had always loved fall, with its gusty winds and crisp nights. Hugging her arms around herself, she took a step off the porch, into the yard, feeling the wind whipping through her hair and clothes. She smiled to herself, and turned her face up to the sky. It was a beautiful, wild night, and the cold air smelled like wood smoke and apples. She closed her eyes, and feeling the cold, hearing the roar of the wind, and breathing in the familiar scent, she could almost imagine other nights like this one, in years past, moments that usually lived only in her memories but now seemed all around her. On nights like this, those moments and memories seemed connected to the present, and the future, because she would imagine there would be nights like this again. And she would feel connected to all of it.

Breathing in deeply and sighing, she opened her eyes and chuckled. Again, she was letting herself get emotional over the strangest things. Maybe Mimi was right about the full moon. She glanced up. The moon was partly obscured now with dark clouds, and as she squinted at the sky, it seemed more clouds were moving in. Suddenly, she felt a drop of water hit her forehead. Then another on her nose. She noticed then that she was shivering, and more drops of water fell as the rain began. Hugging her arms even tighter across her chest, she glanced up once again at the moon. Something about the eerie light made her think she would be shivering even if the wind and rain weren't so cold against her skin. Despite the warm room, the laughing friends and hot cider she knew she could return to in a moment, she was beginning to recognize a strange feeling of unease in herself.

Mary had always felt she had good instinct. It had helped her deal with all sorts of people and situations all those years she'd run the bar. It had helped her in her smuggling and resistance activities in the days of the occupation, and it had helped her survive so far, in her life before and after the bombs. Her instinct was good, and it usually served her well, but on this night, it was a little too slow. Because in the moment Mary's instinct alerted her to the fact that someone was behind her, it was too late.

Back in the living room, the conversation had resumed and somehow drifted, thanks to Stanley's story about his parents dressing as ketchup and mustard, to food again. Heather, who hadn't been there for the earlier discussion of Reece's pieces and M&M's, submitted Sour Patch Kids as a favourite.

"Please," groaned Mimi. "No more food! Not unless we're going to have some."

"Well, I think I can arrange that," Stanley said.

"You're going to pop the popcorn?" she asked.

"Your wish is my command, my lady," he said, lifting her hand to kiss it. "I'll be right back."

She chuckled, and smiled after him as he left the room.

In the comfortable silence that followed, Eric could hear the winds, which seemed to have grown louder outside. He glanced at the window. Since it was dark outside, he couldn't see the clouds, but he could hear another faint noise. He stood and walked over to the window, putting his hand against the pane. It was rain, he realized. He peered out the big window, knowing he wouldn't see Mary, because this window faced the front yard. He couldn't see anything.

"Storm starting," he remarked casually.

Heather and Jake both glanced towards the window too.

"Well, the wind's been good for us lately," said Heather with a smile. "Means we've had power. But all these storms...I've had to deal with a few problems with the power lines."

"Hopefully this one won't be too bad," said Jake, giving her a small smile. She nodded.

"Well, I think it's serendipitous that on my first American Halloween, it is a dark and stormy night," said Kenchy.

"Wasn't your first Halloween here..." Jake began, quickly stopping himself before reminding everyone out loud that last Halloween, Kenchy had been stuck at the hospital of horrors in Rogue River.

Kenchy seemed determined not to go into it either, sipping at his drink and saying "My first real Halloween. A real dark and stormy night."

"Just like one of those movies you all love," said Mimi, wrinkling her nose. Heather raised her eyebrows.

"Oh, earlier Eric and I learned we married sci fi marathon enthusiasts," shrugged Mimi.

"I loved the Sci Fi channel," smiled Heather. "Or anything sci fi." Mimi sighed in dismay. Jake chuckled.

Eric was still standing at the window, looking in the wrong direction. "It's been a long time," he said quietly. He wasn't sure how long it had been, but they'd gotten through two stories from Heather's childhood and one of Stanley's rantings about the false rumours of razor blades in candy apples that his mother had believed in religiously. How long did it take to find a mysterious creaking noise?

"She's probably just in the bathroom again," suggested Mimi.

A flash of light lit the window. A clap of thunder sounded.

Eric turned and raised his eyebrows. "What?"

Suddenly, the lights went out. Eric jumped slightly, and Mimi gasped in surprise, but laughed to herself a moment later.

A shout in the dark told them that Kenchy had spilled his drink again. Standing up, he bumped into Mimi, who let out her own shout of protest. Eric reached the cabinet against the wall and tried to find some of the ever present candles, but it seemed they hadn't replaced them since the last time they'd burnt down. This summer, they had gotten more reliant on wind power.

"Okay, everyone, can we just calm down for a moment?" came Heather's voice.

"Who says we're not calm?" came Mimi's indignant voice, followed by an "Ouch!" It seemed as though she'd bumped into the coffee table.

"I'm going to go check on the breaker," said Heather. "It might be something I can fix."

"Good luck making it there in this mine field," grumbled Mimi, who Eric could now see had sat back down on the couch.

He could see Jake too, as his eyes adjusted to the dark, standing up. "I'll show you where it is," Jake said, stepping over to where Heather was.

"Okay, thanks you guys," Eric said, giving them a nod that they returned. He turned back to the other remaining occupants of the room, suddenly feeling calmer as he tried to get a handle on the situation.

"I'm going to go to the back porch," he said. He could see Mimi about to protest, but he continued, "I'm just going to see what's taking her so long, okay?"

"Can you see how Stanley's doing with the popcorn?" she asked.

He nodded. "Sure."

"Any way we can get some lights on in here?" she asked. "Can I go get some candles?"

He nodded again. "We should have some extras in the upstairs closet. Mom keeps tons of stuff up there."

She nodded. "Okay."

"Think you can find your way there?" he asked.

She stepped over Kenchy's outstretched legs and came around the coffee table. "I think I'll manage," she said.

He turned to Kenchy. "I think I'm going to get a refill," said Kenchy, holding up his empty glass.

Eric shrugged. "Okay, I guess -" but Kenchy had already stood and was making his way to the dining room.

Eric turned himself and made his way to the hallway. As he walked through the kitchen, he noticed the pot on the stove had been abandoned. Stanley had probably gone to find out what was going on when the power went out, he thought to himself. As another clap of thunder sounded outside, he crossed the kitchen and opened the back door.

Outside, the night was alive with screaming winds and whipping tree branches. The rain was beating down, and as Eric peered across the porch, he saw no signs of life. The rocking chair was moving in the wind, but in the same position as usual. He stepped off the porch, into the yard, shielding his eyes from the rain as he searched back and forth. There wasn't a trace of her anywhere, and though Mimi's suggestion she'd come back inside and disappeared in the bathroom was perfectly logical, he felt an overwhelming feeling of dread.

"Mary!" he tried to shout into the night. He could barely hear his own voice above the storm, and as he shouted her name a second time, a roll of thunder completely drowned him out. He took a few steps across the lawn, shouting, but he was sure wherever she was, she couldn't hear him. He turned back to the house. As lightning lit the sky, he noticed the back door. Someone had drawn the outline of a jack-o-lantern on the door in chalk. A chalky grin of malice. He was certain it hadn't been his mother or Mary.

He dashed back into the house. Through the empty kitchen he raced, shouting her name, and checking the bathroom just in case. It was of course, empty. He called her name again. She didn't answer his shouts.

He came back into the living room, panting, and stood trying to catch his breath. She had been gone way too long, and the chalk on the door seemed to be a sign. Just like everything else. The laundry, the broken glass, the roses, the nursery rhyme. Why did no one else ever see these things? They would have to see this, now. He would show them, and they would have to believe, and have to help him find...he lost his train of thought as he looked around the dark, empty living room. Where were they?

Suddenly feeling unable to move quickly, he called out cautiously "Stanley? Mimi?" Why weren't they back yet? He moved to the bottom of the stairs. "Mimi?" he called up the stairs. "Mom? Emily?"

He walked through the dining room and kitchen. Kenchy was gone, and Stanley had never reappeared.

"Jake?" he shouted, hearing the panic in his voice beginning to rise. "Heather?"

There were no answers. Every room he checked on the main floor was empty. He raced upstairs and found an empty hallway. "Where are you guys?" he called. "This isn't a game!"

He heard a crashing noise coming from downstairs. He ran back down, towards the sound, shouting. "Jake! Stanley! Mary, are you back?"

None of them were there to greet him when he came into the living room. He only saw the source of the sound. One of the windows was broken, and on the floor, amidst the broken glass, was a pumpkin. He recognized it as the biggest pumpkin that had graced the front porch when he'd arrived that evening. Sticking out of its eye was a rolled up piece of paper. Feeling a sickly dread in the pit of his stomach, he reached for the paper and unrolled it as calmly as he could.

There was one sentence written on the paper. Let the games begin.

Eric shuddered, and as another flash of light was followed by a clap of thunder, he could almost hear a high ghostly laugh ringing through the house.

Concerning some of our characters' favourite things:

"The Monster Mash" is a novelty song by Bobby "Boris" Picket, released in October 1962. It's been a Halloween classic ever since.

Star Wars is an epic space opera franchise from the mind of George Lucas. The first film debuted in 1977, released by 20th Century Fox, and five others have since been released, along with numerous books set in the same universe, and various merchandise, including toy light sabers.

The Birds is a suspense film directed by Alfred Hitchcock, released in 1963 and based on the 1952 novella The Birds by Daphne du Maurier. It depicts a small town in the San Francisco Bay Area which is, suddenly and for unexplained reasons, the subject of a series of widespread and violent bird attacks over the course of a few days.

The Shining is a 1980 psychological horror film directed by Stanley Kubrick, based on Stephen King's novel of the same name. The film stars Jack Nicholson as tormented writer Jack Torrance, Shelley Duvall as his wife Wendy, and Danny Lloyd as their son, Danny.

Gilligan's Island is an American TV sitcom originally produced by United Artists Television. It aired for three seasons on the CBS network, from September 26, 1964 to September 4, 1967. The show followed the comic adventures of seven castaways as they attempted to survive and ultimately escape from a previously uninhabited island where they were shipwrecked.

"The Time Warp" is a song and dance featured in the rock musical The Rocky Horror Show and in the cult film adaption The Rocky Horror Picture Show, performed during the chorus of the song of the same name.

These characters mentioned 54 costumes, some of which are copyrighted characters but all of which have been worn as Halloween costumes by someone, somewhere. They were not sued for doing so, so I hope I will not be sued for writing about them.

At this moment, Eric Green was in a state of panic.

As he knelt on the living room floor amidst shards of broken glass, staring down at the unrolled piece of paper in his hand, one thought was repeating in his mind.

"This can't be happening," he whispered out loud. If the situation weren't so dire, he might have chuckled. For months, he had been insisting that strange things were indeed happening, as bizarre and unbelievable as they had seemed. Now, in the face of all that he had predicted coming to pass, he could only reel over how strange and surreal it all was. "It's not happening," he said again, hearing the pathetic tone in his own voice. Hearing only his own voice and the rage of the storm outside. The house had become eerily silent again. He was suddenly aware of how alone he was.

He slowly stood. He took a few steps across the room, uncertain of where he was going or what move to make next but unable to stand still. As lightning lit the room, his eyes rested on the fireplace. The fire had gone out, and he could see the dim outline of the iron poker beside the log pile. He considered reaching for it, and shook his head. What good would it be against a ghost?

Suddenly, he heard the sound of the laughter echoing across the house again. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, but he remained silent. He began walking, slowly, wanting to avoid the sound but not knowing what action to take next. He could go out and try to get help. But where? Who was going to believe him when he told them that everyone at the Greens' Halloween party had mysteriously vanished? He didn't believe it himself, and he was alone in the living room, shuddering at the sound of a ghostly laugh.

Crossing the threshold between the living room and hallway, he peered across the hall. There were no signs of movement in the darkened house. The path to the door was clear, and he could walk out of this horror story in a few seconds. He knew, even as he thought it, that it wasn't an option. His mind was on Mary, and his mother, his brother, their friends. There was no way he could leave them. He would have to find them.

Slowly, he inched along the wall, his hand brushing against the wallpaper, vaguely reminded of the cops and robbers games he'd once played with Jake and their cousins from Cedar Run. He'd always been the best at sneaking up quietly to break his teammates out of 'jail' in the den. His younger cousin Kara had always given herself away, clomping down the hallway, and was always furious when everyone pointed it out. He couldn't help but think a ghost was going to be harder to avoid than clumsy Kara, but he did his best to be silent as he made his way through the main level.

He tried not to imagine what horrible things might have happened to them. What did a vengeful ghost do to the people she spirited away? He wished he'd paid better attention to those scary movies he and Jake used to watch when their parents went out, though, when he thought about, he figured a real life ghost probably wouldn't behave like the ones in the movies anyway. As he frantically searched the familiar shadows of the kitchen, dining room, and den, he couldn't see any signs of struggle. "Jake?" he called in a faint whisper, glancing nervously over his shoulder. He couldn't hear anything, but the dread-filled anticipation that held him in a vice grip was making his heart pound. "Kenchy?" He doubted they'd be able to hear him, but he didn't want to speak any louder for fear she'd appear. "Mary?" he whispered, feeling a lump in his throat.

A sound coming from upstairs startled him. It wasn't the musical laughter from before, but a thumping noise. He reluctantly followed the sound, back into the hall, and stopped at the foot of the stairs, glancing upwards. No signs of life, again.

"Mimi?" he called cautiously. His voice sounded loud now, in this empty hallway. "Is that you?"

He stood in the deafening silence until he couldn't bear it any longer. Taking a breath, he gripped the banister and took a step up. He'd never realized his mother's stairs were so creaky before this evening, but each step he took seemed to be excruciatingly loud. When he reached the upstairs landing, he stopped. "Mom?" he called quietly. "Emily?"

A sudden movement near the top of the stairs caught his eye. He jumped, but breathed out in relief as he saw that it was a piece of paper fluttering down. He reached for it, even as he felt sick to his stomach. There were only three words scrawled across it. Go back down.

Shivering as another crack of thunder sounded, he turned around. He was aware that he was playing into her game, a game that he didn't even know the rules to. He didn't have much power in such a game, but he was determined to keep going, to not stand still while they were all missing. He walked, trying not to shake, trying to show his determination. He resisted the urge to call out for them again as he came back into the living room. He knew by now that they wouldn't answer.

He didn't jump this time he heard her laugh, though the sight that met him as the lightning lit up the living room window sent a shiver up his spine. Scrawled across the window, in what seemed like lipstick, was the word "Outside". The arrow pointed towards the hall, the direction of the back door. It was clearly a message.

Hearing her laugh again from somewhere in the house, a panic seized him. He picked up into a run, through the hall and to the back door. To the last place he'd known Mary had gone. He grabbed the door handle, opened it, and went outside.

The storm seemed even louder than the first time he'd gone out to look for her, and he could barely see through the rain as he stepped off the porch. Though he knew it was useless, he shouted her name again. Again, she didn't answer. Wandering further off the porch, he turned around, searching the night for whatever clues he'd been meant to find. His feet suddenly slipped and he found himself sprawled on the wet grass.

Struggling to sit up, he lifted one of his hands. It was covered in a sticky substance. He held his hand to his face, sniffing. Pumpkin. Just like when they'd carved pumpkins the night before. He looked down, and found he was sitting in what seemed to be the squashed remains of a pumpkin. He reached in the dark, and lifted a piece of the large squash. And another piece. Someone had smashed another pumpkin out here. Not just a pumpkin, he realized as he traced along the carved edge of a particularly large piece. It was the remnants of a jack-o-lantern. The jack-o-lantern he'd last seen Mary admiring on the porch when they'd first arrived. Holding the piece of pumpkin and blinking furiously, he looked out into the night. "Mary, where are you?" His voice, like before, blended into the sounds of the storm, but it hardly mattered. The only screams that answered were the mournful calls of the wind.


Twenty minutes earlier, Mary had awoken in a haze.

Shaking her head and lifting herself up off the floor, she was suddenly aware of several things at once. The first was that she found herself in a small, dark room, but she could hear the rain pounding down on the metal ceiling. The back yard shed.

The second was that her wrists were caught in a knot of what seemed like a plastic jump rope, tangled into a funny shape in the darkness.

The third was the pale face, framed with red hair, staring down at her.

She let out a quiet groan.

The figure with the familiar face was watching her carefully, smugly, shifting the shovel in her hand. Finally, she spoke, in a voice that was both familiar and strange.

"Didn't think we'd meet again, did you?"

Mary squinted up at the face that was lit, she slowly realized, by a camping lantern balanced on the floor nearby. "What?" she asked, scrunching up her face as a wave of dizziness passed over her. "We haven't."

"What do you mean, haven't?" asked the figure, her voice rising in annoyance.

"Met," said Mary, struggling to pull herself into a more upright position. "What did you...what am I..." She tried to reach a hand to her pounding head but found she couldn't move her arms very far. "What the hell's going on?"

"Anyone ever tell you you have a hard head?" asked the mysterious woman in white.

"Was that a pumpkin?" asked Mary, feeling anger rising inside her despite the fact she was still adjusting to her surroundings and situation. She peered up at the face, through the fog that was just beginning to lift from her mind.

"Yeah, had to get you here somehow. Now why do you say we haven't met?" The figure took a step towards Mary, dragging her shovel across the floor of the shed. It made an ominous scraping sound.

Her voice held an uncanny warning tone, and though Mary's instincts told her nothing good about the woman towering over her, they also couldn't stop her from answering "Because we haven't. I don't know who you are."

The stranger shook her head, the annoyance on her face growing, and let out a strange laugh. Mary willed herself not to shiver, as there was something off in that sound. "You're meaning to tell me," the stranger began, pacing across the tiny room, "that you don't recognize the face of the woman whose life you stole?"

Mary stared back at this stranger for a long moment. "I never stole anyone's life," she said finally.

"Oh no?" asked the stranger, her voice rising again, a strangely, maniacally cheerful tone. "Not even April Green? What's the matter, don't recognize me when you see me?"

Mary attempted to pull herself up again, wincing. The jump rope, she vaguely registered as she looked down, was tied in a series of intricate knots. "You're not April Green."

"Excuse me?" squeaked the figure.

"Well, I knew April and you're not her," said Mary, feeling emboldened even though the menacing ghost impersonator was staring her down. "First of all, I never saw April Green without perfectly groomed fingernails." They both glanced at the other woman's chipped, grubby fingernails. "Second," Mary continued, "She took that Hippocratic oath thing, and she stuck with it. She'd never do harm to anyone. Even me," she smirked despite the grim situation in which she found herself. "Third, April's dead."

"Well, hello!" sing songed the stranger, waving the shovel around as she held out her arms.

"A ghost wouldn't need a lantern, would she?" asked Mary, glancing down pointedly. "And wouldn't need to hit me on the head with a pumpkin. And wouldn't you need to be wearing clothes that didn't age with you? Or at least didn't look like they'd been run over by a truck?"

The dress the stranger was wearing did indeed look like it had seen better days. Stains covered the skirt, which was frayed and torn along the hemline. This was apparently the wrong thing to point out to the stranger, who scowled and leaned over menacingly. "You shouldn't be thinking about that. You should be thinking about what you can possibly say to me. How you can explain what you've done to me."

"I don't know you," insisted Mary. Before the stranger could go on, she added, "I'd know if you were April Green. You know what the biggest difference between you and her is?"

The stranger said nothing, only stepping forward and gripping the handle of her shovel in her hands with her eyebrows raised.

"She'd never sneak up behind someone, or...keep them in a shed, like this. No matter what happened, April Green always had class. And well..." she glanced up and down the person towering over her. "You're no April Green." The non April had obviously caught her meaning, as she was seething with even more ire.

"You wanna say that a little louder, bar wench?" she spat out.

"Seems like you heard me," said Mary, staring defiantly back. She couldn't resist smiling just a little at the look of fury the other woman wore at her words. Her triumph was short lived, however, as the woman turned and smashed her shovel into a flowerpot a few feet from Mary. It shattered, and Mary suppressed a shout, biting down on her lip instead. Outside, the thunder was roaring. Inside, the non April was doing the same.

"Next time, Mary Magdalene, it's your head." She glared at Mary for a moment longer, and turned, pacing angrily across the small floor.

Mary sat in silence, hearing her own heart pounding in her ears, watching the April lookalike who was so obviously not April, and though she could admit to herself by now that she was afraid, she still couldn't help the words that came out of her mouth. "It's you, isn't it? Who's been doing all this, all this time..." She trailed off, knowing it was true before the other woman nodded. Something about that smug smirk made Mary bold again. She glared up at the stranger with the familiar face. "You made Eric think he's going crazy...made him think I...I didn't believe him." She suddenly felt her eyes growing hot, and blinked furiously, determined to stare back up at the stranger.

"Well, you didn't, did you?" asked the figure. Mary was for once completely speechless. The woman laughed now, practically prancing around their small hideaway.

Mary tried to ignore the stinging in the back of her eyes, tried to ignore the nausea washing over her and the dizziness surrounding her thoughts. She wanted to say that it wasn't her fault, that she'd been technically right when she'd said it wasn't a ghost throwing her favourite shirts into treetops. She wanted to say that she loved Eric and would've stood by him no matter what. She wanted to lob at the pumpkin throwing lookalike some words that she didn't usually use in polite conversation. Before either of them could say any more, a faint sound cut through the stormy night outside and the walls of the shed.

Mary strained to hear, but she didn't need to. She'd know his voice anywhere. Before she could call out in response, the April imposter made a cutting motion with her hands, glancing pointedly down at her shovel. "Don't think about it. Besides, he won't hear you."

Mary kept her gaze on the imposter, sending her the fiercest look of disdain she could muster. The imposter held a finger to her lips, and after a moment, after Eric's voice had disappeared again and all that could be heard was the wind and the rain, punctuated now and then by a clap of thunder, the imposter stepped towards the door.

"I'll be back in a little while. Don't go anywhere," she said, letting out a giggle at her own joke. She turned her back on her captive, reaching for the door handle.

"Hey!" Mary attempted to get up again, suddenly seized with renewed energy. She realized, as she yanked on the jump rope, that it had been wound around and around the closest wheel of the lawn tractor. Pausing in her struggles, she glared back at the fake ghost. "If you hurt him," she said, pulling again on the jump rope, "If you touch him, I swear -"

"You'll what?" asked the double, with a quick giggle as she stepped sideways out the door and into the stormy night.

As she slammed the door, Mary scrambled, trying to stand again. As she finally managed to get to her feet in an almost crouch, only to be pulled back by the opposite force of the jump rope stretching from the lawn tractor, she heard the sound of the lock turning. Sliding down on the floor again, the thin but tightly tied plastic rope smarting against her wrists, she suddenly found herself unable to fight the waves of dizziness that had come over her again. She leaned back against the wall as the tiny room slid out of focus and the darkness closed in.

As Eric crouched over the remains of the jack-o-lantern, rain pouring down his face and through his hair and the mournful winds matching his own thoughts, he pictured each of their faces. All of his loved ones. The ones he cared the most for. He didn't know what had happened to them, what she had done with them, but it was all because she was angry with him. Their problems, that they'd both kept from interfering with their duties to the town in life, had exploded and swallowed his friends and family members now, in her death. And all of them were in danger, were missing, and all because of him. At least, because they were associated with him. He felt the guilt inside him like a knife. His mother. Mary. His brother. Stanley and Mimi and the others, who really hadn't had much to do with April, and Kenchy who'd barely met her. All being forced to bear this ghost's wrath.

As he despaired over the possible fates of all his dear ones, another feeling began to intermingle with the guilt and despair. Anger. Anger that she would go after them, these people he loved, because she was angry at him. Anger that she'd punished him for months, after he'd done his best and, he felt, paid a certain penance, and it still wasn't enough. He decided, as he clutched the destroyed pumpkin, that it was enough. Squeezing the pumpkin flesh so that the juice dripped through his fingers, he clenched his hand into a fist and stood.
He marched steadily towards the house, holding a piece of pumpkin in his hand. He stopped at the porch, and stood, looking up at the house with grim resolution. For a moment, he merely waited, tapping his foot and narrowing his eyes up at the house. He turned and flung the pumpkin against the wooden pillar of the porch. It smashed into smaller pieces, pumpkin juice dripping down the wood like yellow-orange blood, staining the steps below. "April!" he shouted.

He crossed the porch and opened the door, shouting her name again, this time into the house. "April!"

His footsteps sounded loud as he stomped inside, but he no longer cared if he could be detected. He wanted her to hear. "April, come on out! I'm done playing this game with you. You want me, come out and get me!"

He rapped his hand along the stair railing as he went by, and then knocked his fist against the wall as he crossed the length of the hallway. He wanted to make as much noise as possible.

"Come on April, you know I'm the one you really want!" he shouted in the doorway of the kitchen, slamming the door shut and then opening it again. He stepped into the empty kitchen, noticing vaguely that his heart was pounding in his ears again, that his hands were sweaty, that he was breathing hard, and that it didn't bother him at all. There was nothing left to lose, and there was no more running, and no more hiding, and he didn't care at all.

As he waited for something to happen, his mind racing and his body coursing with adrenaline, he restlessly looked around the kitchen. What did one do to prepare oneself for an encounter with a ghost? It was April, of course, and he didn't want to hurt her, if that was even possible with a ghost. But how did one protect oneself, or possibly barter for the return of one's family and friends? His eyes wandered from the whisk laying on the drying rack to the wooden spoon collection on the wall. He chuckled to himself. His eyes finally rested on the abandoned pot on the stove. Stanley's popcorn. That he'd promised Mimi he would check on. Pausing for a moment in his determined stand, he touched the handle and thought of his friends. Where the hell are you guys?

Where the hell they were was this:

After the lights had gone out and Mimi had volunteered to look for more candles, she had carefully groped her way up the stairs, congratulating herself at the top when she realized she had survived and hadn't needed the help of any of those native townspersons, who often made jokes at her expense in other instantly-plunged-into-darkness situations. True, darkness had meant something different when she had lived in the city, where she couldn't even see the stars through the street lights, but she'd lived in the country for over a year now, and despite all the inconveniences, she liked to think she'd adapted enough to see in the dark.

Finding the upstairs closet in the dark didn't prove to be very difficult either. It was at the end of the hall, as she'd remembered from her trips to the bathroom during other get-togethers at the Greens' house. There was a window in the hallway, so a tiny amount of moonlight filtered in through the clouds. Mimi glanced outside for a moment, watching the sky light up. She nearly jumped as she thought she saw a shape move on the lawn, but a second later, as she blinked, there was nothing. She chuckled to herself, even as a shiver ran up her spine. It was shaping up to be a pretty spectacular storm. Her friend, she decided, was probably watching the storm. If Mary didn't come inside soon she was going to catch a chill or something. Mimi thought to herself that she was certainly glad to be inside the house as she opened the closet door, shivering again and hugging her arms across her chest.

It was a generous walk-in closet, it turned out. Mimi chuckled. No wonder Gail Green was always unearthing so many treasures. She left the door open, so that she could see by the small amount of light, and stepped inside.

Just as she was feeling around for candles amidst the boxes and blankets on the back shelf, the door slammed behind her. Once again, Mimi was plunged into darkness.

She spun around, letting out a gasp, and going straight to the door. She tried to push against it, but it didn't budge. It must, she decided, lock from the outside. Or something. She pounded on the door. There wasn't a sound coming from outside.

Noticing she was breathing quickly, she took a moment to calm herself. The door had swung shut and she was trapped in the closet. In the dark. It wasn't a big deal. The wind had probably blown the closet door shut. It had been strangely cool in the hall, a few moments ago. So there had been a draft. And sooner or later someone would notice she was missing and come looking for her. They would laugh about it later, and someone would make a tasteless joke about Eric's ghost. And they'd say that's where Mary had been, somewhere with the ghost. And that's where Emily had gone. And Gail. And...

Mimi wouldn't let herself think it. Not after all the times she'd shaken her head over the ghost she'd heard Eric was seeing. Not after the times she'd complained about Stanley's wanting to tell ghost stories around the bonfire. Not after she'd told Mary it was normal, that they all get a little crazy around the full moon. It was just the full moon.

Mimi waited five more seconds, and began pounding on the door. "Somebody!" she shouted. "Can anybody hear me? Stanley? Stanley!"

Stanley had been filling the pot on the stove when he'd noticed, sitting on the counter, the tray of candy apples Gail Green had made for the evening's festivities. They had looked so delicious, and reminded him so much of his childhood, and how he'd often gotten candy apples in his loot that had sat out on the table for a week as his mother told him about razor blades and poison. How he'd watch longingly until his candy apples turned rotten and he would finally have to throw them out. How his mother would insist it was for his own good. How much he'd always longed to just take one bite of that smooth, sweet candy surface and see how the flavours of the crisp apple and brittle sugary sheen collided in his mouth. The only exception had been Gail Green's candy apples. His mother had reluctantly allowed him to have those, since they'd come from a family friend, and each year, he would put his Green candy apple on the counter and stare at it, trying to put off biting into the forbidden fruit for as long as possible, knowing it would be his only taste of it for the whole year. Usually this only worked for a few seconds.

Of course, now he was a grown man, and had developed some self control. He knew the candy apples were for later, that he was supposed to be providing party snacks now himself. But it was so tempting. Their smooth, shiny red surfaces teased him from their cookie sheet on the counter. Surely he could taste just one apple. It could be his apple, and he wouldn't get another later when everyone else did. That would be fair, and people would be annoyed he hadn't waited but what could they do? He didn't even have to eat it all. He could save some to eat with them. They would make jokes, but when were they not teasing? Why did he care what they would think anyway? They didn't know how it was to be stuck staring, mouth watering, not allowed to take even one small bite. He would just take one bite.

One bite became another, and another, and soon Stanley had polished off the sticky treat, and was not quite certain it had been a good idea not to wait. He could already feel a sugar rush on the way, and his teeth were sticking together when he closed his mouth. His hands, he noticed when he looked down, were stained red, and his fingers were sticky. Thinking about how Mimi would react when she noticed, he made his way into the small downstairs bathroom.

He was rinsing the sugar off his hands when he heard her shout. It was faint, but he knew it was her, and she sounded panicked. He raced up the stairs, following the sound of her voice down the empty hallway and to the closet door. Wondering if she was playing a joke on him, he asked hesitantly "Mimi?"

After a moment's pause, he heard her voice again. "Stanley? Thank God!"

He smiled. She didn't sound too panicked.

"What are you waiting for? Open the door!" she shouted.

He laughed, wondering why he had panicked. She definitely sounded her usual self.

He opened the closet door, and there she was, looking at him with a flustered expression.

"Mimi, what are you trying to do, start a game of sardines or something-" he started to ask, stepping towards her and reaching playfully for her shoulders.

"No, the door-" she began, gesturing wildly. He spun around in time for both of them to see the figure in white, the flash of red hair, and the door slamming shut. Mimi closed her eyes and moaned.

The grin had finally vanished from Stanley's face. "Was that...?" he glanced at the door, and back at her.

"Eric's ghost?" asked Mimi.

Stanley chuckled nervously. "Come on, there's no such thing as ghosts. That was...I didn't even see who it was, probably someone playing a trick on..."

"Someone? Know any other redheads at the party?" asked Mimi, raising her eyebrows.

"No, there's no such thing as ghosts," said Stanley. "I think I'd know a ghost if I was face to face with one."

"So you don't think there's anything weird going on? Someone just locked us in this closet, just after the lights went out." Mimi put her hands on her hips.

"Someone's playing a joke," Stanley began, trying the door himself. "We're really locked in here?"

"I called for someone to come help me out," she said. "And you were the only one who answered."

The smile was gone from his face by now. "I didn't see anyone else around...they're probably just...maybe someone did want to play sardines."

Mimi sent him a look of incredulity he could barely see in the dark, but he could hear her worry in her sigh.

"It'll be okay," he said, trying to be bracing, reaching his hands to encircle her waist.

"I hope you're right," said Mimi doubtfully, reaching her arms and letting herself lean against his shoulders, glad that if she had to be in the dark, cramped place, she wasn't alone anymore.

As Eric prepared to face the ghost alone, he felt a strange sense of calm coming over him. Finally, after months of playing the game, as he realized it was a game now, it was going to come to an end. He didn't know how it would happen, but she wouldn't vanish, he knew, and he wouldn't hide. They would finally be face to face, and once and for all, something would happen, instead of just the threat of something, slipping through the air like smoke on a breeze.

He quickly looked through the kitchen drawers, but there wasn't much that would be useful in putting together an arsenal of weapons for protection from a ghost. He tried to think again about what people used in those stories he and Jake used to tell with their grandfather, out at the hunting cabin. A crucifix? Vampires, he thought to himself. Silver? No, silver bullet, and that was for werewolves. Holy water? He snorted to himself, imagining trying to find that in Jericho. In his search of the kitchen counter, his eyes rested on the salt shaker. Salt. It always seemed to come up in those stories. Reaching for it, he shook his head again, feeling ridiculous. He heard a sound then, coming from the living room. A high, clear, sing song voice, calling his name. "Er-ic," it came through the door, through the walls. "Eric!"

It was the same voice he'd heard before, singing that strange song by moonlight. And it was like the voice he'd heard many times before, when she'd been alive. But now there was a new quality to it. Something otherworldly and ominous. He clasped his hand around the wooden salt shaker and began to walk determinedly.

"Er-ic!" He followed the voice into the living room. He stopped and stood still. In the shadows, on the opposite side of the room, stood the figure in the white dress. It seemed a surreal moment, even as he held his body as stiffly as he could, clenching his fists and staring back at her. For a moment, neither of them said anything and neither of them moved.

Eric took a step forward. He took a few more. He stopped near the middle of the room.

She watched for a moment, and then she began to come towards him. As she stepped out of the shadows, her dress, arms, and face seemed to reflect the pale moonlight filtering in through the big window. The lightning flashed across the room again, and she smiled that horrible grin of hers. It should have sent shivers up his spine, but he held completely still, staring back into the eerily glowing face.


Mary's eyes were closed, her features still as the light first fell upon her face, her hair, and her encumbered arms. She stirred and lifted her head very slowly, blinking as soon as she'd opened her eyes, realizing what had woken her. The shed was filled with soft light, light that illuminated the whole room in a way a camping lantern never could.

Squinting at the brightness and ignoring the dizzying waves surrounding her again, she sat up against the wall, her instincts overwhelming her suddenly, warning her to be still and look up.

She breathed in sharply but didn't make a sound. Reflecting light illuminated her expression of shock as she stared, wide-eyed, at the figure in front of her. After a few moments in which the only sound in the shed was Mary's breathing, she sputtered out one word in a whisper. "You?"


"You!" The ghost's voice was less a sing song and more dangerous as she glared at Eric.

"April," he said.

"Not running away this time?" she asked, a small smile playing on her lips.

"I want my family. And my friends," he said.

The ghost glared at him, and he swore, if shooting fire from one's eyes were a ghostly power, he'd have been incinerated on the spot. A moment later, she let out a loud laugh. It seemed to ring across the house. "You do, do you?"

"Come on, April. You know it's me you want, not them." He spoke in a calm, even tone, and stared steadily back at her.

"You don't know anything about what I want," she said.

"Okay, maybe I didn't know what you wanted, or couldn't give it to you. But this isn't you," he said, holding up a hand cautiously.

"What, am I too good or something? Saint April, not allowed to fight back, not allowed to get back at people who ruin everything?" she looked angry again, but she let out another strange laugh.

Eric lowered his hand, and realized it was nearly shaking, but he steadied himself, taking a breath. "It's me then, alright? It's not Mary. It's not her fault. Please," he paused, going into a territory he hadn't planned but feeling his words going that way before his mind could stop them. "Please, let her go. I'm the one you want. Not her. And not them. Don't take it out on them."

The ghost threw back her head as she laughed this time. She took a step towards him, staring him down. "They're all a part of it. Especially her."

"No," protested Eric. "Just me. Leave them alone."

"Too late for that," she said, stepping beside him, beginning to circle him.

"It's not too late," he said shakily, turning as she continued her path. "Where are they? Where's Mary?"

"She's somewhere you can't get to. And the rest of them won't be bothering us either. But you should really be worrying about yourself right now."

"Why would you hurt Mom?" he asked. "She was there for you. And Jake. Kenchy, he tried to save you."

"Well, it didn't work, did it?" she asked, her voice rising in anger.

"And Stanley, Emily, Heather," he continued. "And Mimi. You barely knew her!"

"She's friends with your bar wench. And they're all friends with you," said the ghost, stopping to look at him. "That's the problem with you people. You're all so damn interconnected."

"Well, you were part of that too," he said, unable to keep the dismay out of his voice. "You were an important part of this community." He looked back at her. She was glaring menacingly. He felt suddenly, as he stared into that menacing grin up close, that he didn't recognize her. "What happened to you?"

She laughed again, but he looked back with a serious expression. "You're not the April I knew. I never would've imagined you could be like this."

"Is that so?" she asked, her eyes flashing in annoyance.

"You're not," he continued, narrowing his eyes. "I don't know what you've become, but it's not you."

"Well, you only have yourself to thank," she spat. She began circling again.

"It's not my fault," he said quietly.

She stopped and stared, her mouth open in surprise. "What?"

He took a breath, and spoke. "I'm sorry for hurting you. Sorry you died. And not a day goes by I don't think about Tracy. But it wasn't my fault you died. I have my share of regrets, and I accept the blame for those. But I've learned we're all responsible for what we choose to do next. After we've been hurt. It's not all my fault, if this is what you've chosen."

"Tracy?" she asked. He looked at her in confusion. "How can you say it's not your fault?" she asked in a louder voice. "You made me this way!"

"I didn't," he said. "If this is who you've become, it's you. But you're not April. Not the April I knew."

She was silent for a moment, and then without warning, she grabbed for his neck. Her hands encircled him, choking him, and he struggled, his eyes wide in surprise. In a moment of desperation, he held up the salt shaker in his hand, flinging it wildly in the direction of her face.

In the flurry of activity they were caught in, he wasn't sure why she'd let go right away. He continued to shake the shaker in her direction, but as he did, his heart sank. It was pepper he was sending her way, not salt. It would do nothing to protect him from a ghost. He watched in surprise, though, as she took a step back, waving her hands frantically in her face, scrunching her eyes. His eyes widened in surprise as she let out a loud sneeze. She sneezed again, stepping backward, and stumbling as she bumped into the coffee table in an entirely non ethereal way.

For the first time, Eric found himself not thinking about Mary, his mother, his brother, or his friends. He found he wasn't thinking about April's face in that hospital room, or Tracy, the name he'd never repeated to anyone else after she'd died. He wasn't worrying about what supernatural powers of punishment were about to be unleashed upon him. He was noticing instead, in sharp relief, the ghost's torn and stained wedding dress. Her grubby fingernails. Her shadow on the floor as the light from outside the window hit her. As she regained her balance and looked back at him, he cleared his throat and asked what he realized was the question of the evening. "Who are you?"


Mary was staring, her own eyes gleaming in the light, at the face illuminated before her, barely breathing. "Is it really you?" she whispered.

The figure nodded. Mary exhaled quickly, almost in a small laugh, though her eyes were wide with amazement. Her expression became more solemn, her eyes more brilliant, as she spoke her next words. "I'm sorry."

The figure with red hair and a glowing white dress nodded. "I know. Thank you." She smiled a small smile. "And it wasn't your fault."

Mary gave a small nod, blinking rapidly. "Thank you."

A moment passed in silence as the two continued to look at each other. Mary let out a shaky breath, and another, as she looked from the glowing face of the figure standing above her over to the smaller figure floating beside her. The little figure wore a white dress too, and her cherubic face was framed with red curls. Mary found herself smiling at her, but turned back to look at the taller figure. "Are you - are you okay?"

The radiant figure nodded, smiling gently.

"Is she yours?" asked Mary, nodding towards the little white clothed spirit.

April nodded again.

"She's beautiful," whispered Mary.

April smiled down at the little redhead. "I think so." The little one looked up at her and smiled, before looking back over at Mary.

"They grow faster there?" asked Mary.

April nodded again. "And deep fried Twinkies are fat free."

Mary let out a small chuckle, and seeing that April and the child smiled too, she continued to smile cautiously herself. "So you're really okay? Where you are?"

"I'm happy," answered April. As Mary's smile grew, April added, "And I've met someone."

Mary raised her eyebrows. "He's a doctor, and a mystery novelist," April continued.

Mary raised her eyebrows even further and let out a small laugh though her eyes were serious. "You've got a whole life going on, huh?"

"I do," she answered, smiling steadily. "And I wanted to tell you, because I know you've thought about it."

Mary nodded, not saying anything but smiling again, relief on her face.

"I also wanted to tell you," continued April, "not to be afraid. I know, given the circumstances..." she glanced around, and then down at the small child, who seemed to be sending her mother a significant look. She laughed gently, giving a nod at the little girl, and looked back at Mary. "I'm going to make sure you get to go on doing what you have to do, in your life that's going on here."

Mary raised her eyebrows, staring back solemnly again.

"You've got something coming up, and you might have your doubts, but you're going to do great." She stopped as the child sent her an even more pointed look.

Mary caught this exchange but her mind was too full already with so many things to sort out at once. She nodded, blinking rapidly again, and shook her head, trying clear it of the haze that still seemed to linger.

"Are you okay?" asked April.

"I - yeah," said Mary, "I just - how hard did I hit my head?"

"You don't have a concussion," said April. "The dizziness will get better. Just take some deep breaths."

Mary tried to take her suggestion. "I'm not dreaming, am I?" she asked.

The mother and daughter exchanged a glance, and both turned back to smile at her. April shook her head.


Eric held the pepper shaker in his hand, still staring at the woman he realized now was not April and was not a ghost, and his mind was reeling. Everything he had believed to be true for months, even as it had seemed crazy to him, was wrong, and he couldn't begin to fathom what might actually be true now, in this moment, as he stood face to face with someone who had, it seemed, done something to his loved ones. "Who are you?" he repeated.

She had managed to find her balance again, after the pepper upset, and was glaring at him just as furiously as before. She swiped a hand to her eyes, which were red now, and stepped towards him again. He stepped sideways, holding out the pepper shaker. She stepped sideways too, so that they seemed to be engaged in some kind of strange circling dance.

"Who are you?" he repeated for the third time. "What the hell do you want?"

She didn't answer for a moment, curling her lip as she continued to circle, a crazed look in her eyes. "I'm someone who's going to make you pay."

"Pay for what?" he asked, continuing to step in a circle himself, facing her with as much defiance as he could.

"For April," she said, narrowing her eyes as if daring him to say anything else.

"How's this supposed to make things right for April?" asked Eric. "You really think this is what she would've wanted?"

"She doesn't get to want anything, does she? She's dead!" growled the lookalike.

Eric tightened his grip on the pepper shaker, sensing something wild in her that could spring at any moment. "Look, no one here ever wanted her dead. I wish she hadn't died, wish I could've done something. But it's not my fault she died. So what are you trying to accomplish?"

"Trying to make things even," she said.

"But I didn't -" he began.

"You've been keeping your bar tender warm at night while April lies cold in the ground!" she shouted.

Eric took a slight step back, but continued to stare at her. "So this is how you make things even? By going after her, and all our family and friends? By going after me?"

"It's a start," she said with a small smile.

He gripped the pepper shaker in both his hands. Her eyes followed his movements but he continued to talk, drawing her attention to his face. "You really think this is what April would want?" he asked in a whisper. "Think this does any kind of service to her memory?"

"I think someone should be thinking about her," she countered, scowling at him as she stepped forward.

"Well, you know what?" he said, backing up a little more and feeling his heel hit the edge of the cabinet against the wall. "I don't think this is for April at all."

"What do you mean by that?" she asked, her voice even, though her eyes held a look of fury.

"If you think April would want someone hurting other people in her name, you can't have known her at all. You're not doing anything honourable in her name. You're a disgrace to her memory." He set his jaw determinedly and stared back at her.

She glared at him for a moment, leaning towards him, and suddenly lunged. This time, he was expecting it, and he moved quickly. He flung the pepper shaker towards her, holding the lid in his other hand. The entire contents hit the imposter in the face, a cloud of pepper. Eric stepped sideways and ran to the other side of the room as the sinister non April bellowed and swiped at her eyes.

Still not entirely convinced she wasn't dreaming, Mary was following April's advice and taking deep breaths, taking note of the hard floor of the shed, the tightly wound jump rope binding her wrists, and the sound of the storm still pounding against the ceiling.

"So I heard what you said, about having class," said April, a slightly amused smile on her face now. "Thanks."

"Yeah, well," said Mary, "I knew it wasn't you." She paused, and looked up at April. "So if it wasn't you..." She raised her eyebrows.

"Long story," shrugged April. "Long lost evil twin."

Mary wore an expression of incredulity but smirked. "Talk about your nature versus nurture, huh?"

April laughed. "Tell me about it."

Mary laughed too, and sighed. "You know, I've never been hit in the head with a pumpkin before."

April became serious again. "The pumpkin's in pieces out there, so I'd say your head won that one."

Mary smiled but it didn't quite meet her eyes. "What's she going to do?" she asked quietly. "She said she'd be back."

"She has plans to come back," nodded April. "But I won't let her come in here."

"But..." Mary began in a pained voice, glancing in the direction of the house, though they were inside the shed.

"Don't worry about him right now," said April calmly. "Just start thinking about how you're going to get out of that." She motioned down at Mary's wrists. "You've got plenty of time. I'll keep her out."

Mary still looked troubled, but she looked down at her wrists. The plastic rope was thin, but wound and tied in the most intricate series of knots she'd ever seen. She gave a tug on it again, but it was just as tightly wound around the lawn tractor's wheel. She stretched one of her hands so that her fingers could begin working on the knots. It was a strain but she reached a starting point.

"How did she do this?" she mused out loud.

April grimaced sympathetically. "My sister's always been good at trapping people in weird ways. She once tied three of her younger siblings to a tree with only fishing line." She paused. "But you were always good at getting out of these things, weren't you? Like that time your older cousin chased you into that briar patch and your hair got caught in the thorns."

"You know about that?" asked Mary, working away at the knots.

"Omniscience. It's one of the perks of the post-earthly-living state." April smiled.

Mary nodded thoughtfully, looking up a few moments later. "Is the war going to be over soon?"

April laughed softly and smiled apologetically. "Sorry, I'm not that omniscient. It's limited to my purposes for this visit."

Mary gave a slight shrug, holding up a short length of freed jump rope. "Thank you," she said, looking up to smile at April.

April nodded, smiling back at her. "And I didn't just come for you. Or for me."

Mary peered up at her questioningly. April smiled down at the little girl spirit. "Tracy?"

The little girl smiled up at her, and then turned. She came towards Mary, her gown not touching the floor, and reached a dimpled hand to the side of Mary's face.

Mary's breath caught at the strange feeling of the otherworldly being's hand against her cheek, but she stared back at the little girl, waiting.

Tracy raised her own eyebrows, her little face questioning and Mary gave her a small nod. Tracy leaned towards Mary's ear, cupping her hand against her mouth as she began to whisper.


The woman whom Eric had just called a disgrace to the memory of April shouted a wordless, angry shout as Eric stepped to the other side of the couch. Shaking her head furiously, coughing and spluttering, she stomped angrily on the floor. Searching wildly, she reached for the first thing she could get her hands on. It happened to be a small, decorative broom hanging above the fireplace. Swinging it wildly, she advanced towards Eric.

"I don't want to fight you," he said, holding up his hands. "I want to know where my people are."

She swung the broom and hit the couch. A cloud of dust dispersed into the air. "Too bad we don't have the same goals!" She swung the broom again, and Eric backed out of the way. She stepped up on the couch, climbing over the cushions. She was surprisingly adept at balancing on furniture at the same time as going in for the attack with household decor. She jumped up on the top of the couch and leapt over.

Eric searched for something to protect himself with. He'd been in fights before but he didn't like the idea of hitting a woman, especially one who so resembled his late former wife, no matter how different they were in personality. But he wasn't going to let her get to him, or get away with doing away with his friends. In desperation, he grabbed the only thing he could reach - a sweater Mimi had left draped over the arm of the couch. He backed up, holding Mimi's sweater. She came towards him, swinging the broom. He found himself standing up against the window, and out of habit, glanced outside. It was dark, and raining still, but as the lightning flashed, he thought he could see a shadow making its way up the walk.

"What are you looking at?" she demanded. He blinked. There was no shadow, but he could take advantage of her distraction. In one swift movement, he surged forward, flinging the sweater at her, wrapping the sleeves around her head, and grabbing her broom.

She stumbled, tearing at the shirt, yelling angrily again. He crossed the room backwards, facing her, brandishing the broom.

"That's all you've got, huh?" she shouted. Her face was bright red now, and staring him down, she stepped sideways, to the cabinet. "My sister Scrawny could fight better than you."

"I don't want to fight," he protested, but he kept the broom in front of him.

Fumbling for the cabinet door, she opened it and her hands closed around one of the china plates. Eric winced, and for a horrible frozen moment, he realized what was going to happen next, and hoped that if his mother ever turned up again she wouldn't be too crushed.

The infuriated woman flung the plate in his direction. He ducked and it sailed over his head, shattering against the wall behind him. She flung a second, and a third, and a fourth. Each one, he managed to deflect with the broom, like a bizarre game of baseball. With each crash, he imagined his mother's horror. When she flung the fifth, he reached up and caught it.

She laughed, and seemed like she was searching for a witty comment, but instead flung a sixth. Eric caught it, and he caught plates seven through twelve. "Aren't you getting bored?" he asked.

"Aren't you getting cocky?" she returned as the thirteenth sailed through his fingers and shattered at his feet. He looked down. That plate had been a keepsake his parents had brought back from a trip to Maine. He glared back up at her.

"Come on, haven't you had enough yet?" he asked, putting down the stack of plates and holding up his hands. He stepped forwards. She tossed a tea cup in his direction as he came closer, and he caught it, putting it down on the couch.

"I'm just getting started," she retorted, throwing a glass pitcher. He dodged it, and didn't look back as it shattered, hoping his mother would remember how she'd always complained about having to bring it out when Great Aunt Silvia came to visit.

"Just tell me where they are," he said calmly, catching the silver creamer she'd flung at his abdomen.

She shook her head, preparing to hoist a beer stein Johnston had brought back from Germany. He grabbed her wrist before she could lob it at him. She struggled but he held on, stepping closer. "If you hurt them," he said in a quiet voice, "If you hurt her, I swear, I'll - "

"Funny, that's what your wife said," she smirked. He paused for a second, and she took the chance to push forward with the arm that was in his grasp. He stepped aside as she escaped and he slammed the cabinet door closed. Turning to face her again, he noticed they were both breathing hard. "You won't see your friends again," she said, panting and smiling in his direction.


Kenchy could hear strange sounds through the walls. He didn't want to know what they were.

When he'd first woken up in the cramped space in which he now found himself, he'd wanted to get out. He'd frantically looked around at the walls that were close on either side of him. He'd struggled to sit up amidst what he realized, in his rather sluggish daze, were boots. When he had pulled himself into an upright position, his head and shoulders had been assaulted by coats all around him.

He wondered how he had come to be on the floor of what seemed to be a closet. The last thing he had remembered was going into the den to get himself more of that whiskey Jake had offered him at the beginning of the night. He subsisted on Mary's home brew most of the time, with some of the imports she occasionally had to offer, but there was something altogether soothing about sipping at that whiskey. It was like stepping back into another simpler, less painful time, where he only had to worry about whether patients had coverage, not whether they had access to basic nutrition. He remembered sitting down on the couch, cradling the whiskey glass, sipping thoughtfully and meditating on the finer points of American culture as he'd experience it during the holidays since he had arrived in Jericho. He had supposed he must have dozed off on the couch, seeing as his mind had been feeling rather heavy. But that hadn't explained how he had gotten from the couch in the den to this coat closet.

He had looked up then, and all at once it had become clear. He found himself staring into a ghostly face. She was grinning.

He had passed out, and had only woken later to the strange sounds coming from somewhere outside the closet. As he sat on the floor, hugging his knees to his chest, he tried to ignore each crash. Tried to pretend it wasn't there, in the hopes it might all go away.


As the battle wore on the living room, Eric tried to ignore each act of destruction he and his opponent were inflicting on the place. After he'd managed to get her away from the china cabinet, she'd proceeded to employ several Green family heirlooms as weapons. She'd used his mother's angel figurine until he'd gotten close enough to wrestle it away. The side of his face bore an odd looking cut, from when she'd lobbed a small ornamental bird cage at him. Dirt scattered the floor near the door separating the living room from the hall, from a tug of war over a potted plant that now lay dismembered near the scene of the crime.

After she descended on the area near the old record player, Eric found himself jumping in another odd game of catch as she sent records flying towards him like Frisbees. At one point, she seized the guitar case from behind the buffet, and cornered him near the fireplace. He avoided the case as it nearly squashed his head against the fireplace ledge, grabbing the bucket from beside the fireplace. He dumped the cold ashes on her, and darted away as she screamed.

Whenever he seemed to have gained the upper hand, he would threaten and plead for his family and friends. Whenever she had the upper hand, she would mock and tease with taunts about all of them.

"You think you'll just be able to walk away from this?" he shouted, carefully avoiding the coffee table as she advanced towards him. "People in this town look out for each other. What do you think the town will do when they hear what you've done here tonight?"

"Who's going to blame me? Who's going to blame a ghost?" she answered, reaching for one of the pillows on the couch. Lunging forward, she smacked his shoulder with it.

Leaning back, he grabbed a pillow himself. As she struck again, he deflected, using his own pillow as a shield. "Who's going to believe that?" he asked, holding his pillow against hers, directing all his energy into it and pushing her backwards.

"You did," she panted, trying to push back.

"Well, I had more reason to than most," he strained, pushing with all his might. She backed up. "How was I supposed to know you were - I don't even know who you are."

Without warning, she stepped sideways, and without her to push against, he found himself falling forward. Caught between the couch and the coffee table in a half crouch, he held up an arm to shield himself as she continued to hit him with the pillow. "You don't want to know who I am!" she shouted between blows.

"I - I do want to know. I deserve - to know!" he shouted back, meeting her blows with one arm and grabbing his pillow with the other. He stood, bringing his pillow up to meet hers.

"You don't really want to know who I am!" She continued. "No one does. No one ever has!"

"Can't - imagine why," he grunted. He finally landed a blow against her shoulder. She leaned back with the impact, but furiously darted forward, aiming for his head.

"I will make you pay. I will make all of you pay, and you'll wish you were never born -"

"That's enough." At the sound of another voice in the room, she suddenly stopped talking. Both of them turned quickly to the door.

Gail stood at the threshold, her face the picture of a dangerously calm fury. Behind her stood a tall man with dark hair sticking out from underneath a baseball cap, who was taking in the situation with a worried expression. For a moment, everyone stood absolutely still. Eric looked from his mother to the April lookalike. She was staring at Gail Green, a strange look on her face. She turned and swung her pillow at Eric again.

"Sunday!" Gail shouted.

She turned to look at Gail, her expression one of genuine shock. Again, for a moment, no one moved. Eric seized the opportunity to attempt to tackle her. He nearly had her at first, but she was fighting with a new zeal, the kind of energy that comes upon an escaped animal as the zookeepers close in. She grabbed fistfuls of his hair, yanking, and he winced as he tried to keep struggling. The newcomers came into the room, quickly trying to assess how they should intervene.

"Sunday, I'm talking to you," said Gail in a firm voice. "Let go of my son right now!"

Sunday let go of Eric's hair but reached for a broken piece of plate that had been lodged between couch cushions. She held it towards him.

"Sunday, it's over. Put it down," said Gail, holding up a cautioning hand.

"How - how did you get out?" asked Sunday, still wielding the weapon but with a hint of desperation in her voice.

"I had an idea of what was happening as soon as I found this," she answered. Eric was wary of the sharp piece of china inches from his throat, but he turned to look. His mother was holding out a half of a locket. It looked faintly familiar.

"I was going to come downstairs to warn the kids, but you locked me in," continued Gail, speaking quickly. "I tried to get out. And then I tried to get the window open. I saw Heather's brother coming up the walk." She nodded to the man standing nearby. "He was coming in from New Bern, I remembered, for the party."

He nodded awkwardly. "Hi, Eric."

"Good to see you again, T," Eric answered, eyeing the china again.

"I waved him down, and he came to the rescue," said Gail. "He climbed up the trellis."

"How...gallant," said Sunday in a flat tone.

T shrugged.

"So I told him what was going on," said Gail. "And we figured something out."

"How to pick the lock from the inside?" asked Eric. Sunday pushed her weapon closer to his throat and he inched backwards.

"That," nodded his mother, "And..."

"And, I'm your brother," said T.

Sunday's expression remained unchanged for a moment. After a moment, she let out a strange laugh. "What?"

"He is," said Gail.

Sunday laughed again. "What the hell are you trying to pull?" She turned back to Eric, fixing him with her most menacing glare.

"Nothing," said Gail. "It's the truth. Let go, Sunday, and I'll tell you the whole story."

"I don't have a brother!" exclaimed Sunday. "I had a sister, and she's dead."

"Born on the twenty third of April, nineteen seventy two, in a hospital with good care standards but lousy record keeping?" asked T.

"That's what April said," Sunday said quietly. "But how would you know about it?" she asked, looking over at Gail.

"You'd be surprised," said Gail with a smirk. She fixed Sunday with a stern look. "Let them go. Let them all go, Sunday, and I'll tell you. I'll tell you your story."

Sunday was evidently torn. She stood for an eternity, holding the broken china up against Eric's neck, looking back and forth from the man who'd been the object of her wrath, the woman who'd once protected her own sister from her, and the stranger who claimed he was blood. After a painful silence, her grip on the makeshift weapon loosened. Eric quickly knocked it out of her hand, and T came forward to help him subdue her.

She said nothing as they tied her hands behind her back with one of the rubber snakes Gail had used to decorate the table, and as they led her to one of the chairs. She sat, staring patiently back at them, and the three of them looked at her expectantly.

"Well, what's my story?" she asked finally.

"Where are our family and friends?" asked Eric. She looked away from him.

T leaned forward. "Sunday, you've got to tell us where they are. His wife," he said, nodding at Eric, "and her son," he continued, gesturing at Gail, "and my little sister and their friends," he finished. "Where are they?"

"Relax." With a look of utter annoyance, Sunday reached to lift her skirt slightly. Around her ankle, she was wearing a ring of keys. "They're all there."

"Those lead to everyone who's missing?" asked Eric.

Sunday nodded, sending him a look of contempt. "Going to tell me now?"

"Keys first," said Gail. "Then story."

With a sigh, Sunday stretched out her ankle. Flashing a murderous look at Eric, she turned to Gail, who tactfully grabbed the key ring. She handed it to Eric who clasped them in his hands and closed his eyes. Sunday looked back at Gail.

"I'll start from the beginning," said Gail.

The mood inside the house on Chestnut Street was considerably more cheerful than it had been moments earlier. Moments earlier, two of the people inside it had been locked in a deadly duel with household items and couch cushions.
 
Now, Eric Green triumphantly searched through the ring of keys he had been handed, attempting to figure out the first door he should try in the search for his loved ones.
 
Sunday Hendrickson, sister of his currently dead former wife and also his recent deadly opponent, sat expectantly waiting, ignoring the rubber snake binding her hands behind her back as she anticipated hearing the story of her origins and filling in the long missing pieces of her past.
 
T, belated party guest from New Bern and recently discovered sibling of the party crashing Sunday, stood nearby, looking towards Gail Green.
 
Gail Green took a breath and began to tell the story.
 
The facts were these:
 
Long before our story began, in the small town of Heartsease, Pennsylvania, through a white picket fence, a friendship had begun to grow.
 
On either side of the picket fence, two children were growing. The dark haired Annaliese Callahan was the daughter of an esteemed judge. The judge and his wife were well respected throughout town and their only daughter was often noted for her charming laugh and infectious smile.
 
Stuart Colburn only heard his given name a few times a year when his grandmother visited from Indiana. Everyone else called him Rusty, due to his shockingly red hair. His father ran the used car dealership in town, and older women on his street often remarked that Rusty had an entrepreneurial spirit of his own, as from the age of seven, he hired himself out to rake lawns and shovel snow from walkways. Most of the time he was paid partly in cookies and hot cocoa, and he didn't seem to mind, sitting down at kitchen tables to sip the hot drink and compliment the lady of the house on her decorating skills.
 
Annaliese had a reputation for being well behaved, but she also held a secret longing, some nights, to throw aside her parents' rules and run down hallways, climb trees in her neat school clothes, or rip the tags off of mattresses. In a fit of such rebellious angst, at the age of nine years, seven months, twenty days, six hours and thirteen minutes, she wandered away from her parents' backyard party, down the path that extended beyond the property and into the small alcove in the woods. Hiking up her party dress and splashing around in the stream, she revelled in her small but significant strike for independence.
 
A sound of a branch snapping startled her, and she turned, wondering suddenly about wolves and ghosts and whatever else lurked in the woods and came out on moonlit nights to pounce on disobedient little girls.
 
The figure who stepped out of the shadows was neither beastly nor ghostly, but awkwardly smiling as he gave her a small nod. His jeans were rolled up, and one pant leg was rolled slightly higher than the other. There was a small dot of mud on the end of his nose. Clutched in his hands was a large frog. The frog croaked.
 
Annaliese smiled and nodded back at Rusty. She held out her hands, her eyebrows raised.
 
Rusty had never before met a girl who'd wanted to hold a frog, but he'd never seen a girl splashing around a creek, muddy creek water streaking up her bare legs, with quite the same enthusiasm the girl standing in front of him seemed to have. “Be careful of his legs,” he cautioned as he passed his slippery friend to her.
 
That moonlit night was followed by other nights and days of catching frogs, watching clouds, conquering kingdoms and riding bicycles. Their friendship grew as they grew, and their parents, though somewhat puzzled by it, shrugged it off as a phase that would end when she started buying magazines and hairspray and he started fixing cars and lifting weights.
 
It did not end, but it changed as they did. In their teenage years, they committed their acts of teenage rebellion together, partners in crime. At their spot by the creek, they shared first cigarettes, a first kiss, and first plans for the future. Both dreamed about leaving their small town some day, going out into the world beyond the edge of the fence, discovering new people and places and things.
 
As is always the way, some day came sooner than they expected. As is also always the way, it wasn't what they expected at all.
 
They sat side by side on the fallen tree trunk, the letter between them, saying nothing for an eternity.
 
“When do you have to leave?” Annaliese finally found herself asking.
 
“Basic training starts in two weeks,” said Rusty quietly.
 
She tightened her grip on his hand, letting the letter flutter to the forest floor. He held his hand in hers, looking for once, not up at the clouds, but straight ahead.
 
The night before he was due to ship out, they sat together on a blanket, looking up at the stars through the trees. Rusty tried to keep his eyes from tearing up as they tried not to whisper about tomorrow. He wanted her to see him being brave. It was hard enough as it was.
 
Annaliese tried not to let her voice waver as she recounted the time they'd taken his father's rowboat out on the little pond at the edge of town. She wanted to leave him with funny memories of how they'd attempted to get back in after the boat had capsized and how they'd had to paddle back with their arms and legs. She didn't want him to remember having to comfort her.
 
In the end, they comforted each other, with as few words as possible.
 
“The old 'I'm shipping out tomorrow, better make this night count' thing?” asked Emily, striding into the room with a rather red faced Eric behind her. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at Sunday.
 
“So you're the one who locked me in the bathroom. I thought it was one of these guys getting me back for telling everyone about the year of the Ninja Turtles.” Emily put a hand on her hip and continued to stare at the red head.
 
Sunday stared back at her, unabashed. Gail turned to give Emily a faint smile. “Glad you're alright, Emily. I'm sorry I didn't get you the shirt I promised.”
 
Emily shrugged. “My shirt dried in there while I tried to figure out how to break out. Well, almost. And I almost escaped. I just wish your bathroom window didn't have a straight drop down.”
 
“I wish your shirt had dried before I unlocked the door,” grumbled Eric.
 
Everyone glanced at him and he glanced down, a grimace on his face. Sunday giggled. “So come on, before the blond interrupted...”
 
Eric went back to examining the remaining keys as Gail resumed her story. “I was telling you how Rusty got drafted -”
 
“How do you know all this, anyway?” asked Sunday.
 
“Because,” smiled Gail, giving Eric a nod as he held one key up and took off in the direction of the hall. “Rusty ended up serving in a unit with someone I knew really well.”
 
Rusty and his sergeant got to be good friends quickly. They bonded because they were both small town sons hoping to make proud their fathers, both had small town girls waiting for them, and both enjoyed telling stories. The Sarge told Rusty about the pranks he and his friends played and the pranks his old man used to play before he got a respectable job as mayor and had to be more careful. Rusty told Sarge about his schemes and dreams that had often gone haywire as he tested out his various entrepreneurial projects on his small town neighbours, and how his childhood best friend had always been there, had always laughed along with him anyway.
 
It was Sarge whom Rusty confided in when he got the letter. He could tell Annaliese was trying to sound brave, trying not to worry him too much, but he imagined she had to be as nervous as he was at the news that he was going to be a father. Even more, because she was the one having to make the choices that would come up. Her letter just contained the news, there was no plan or decision, and he wished he could be there to help her figure it out. Sarge was sympathetic as Rusty talked about his feelings of helplessness, trying to console him that as soon as their tour was done, he could go home and be there for her.
 
“He always wanted to be there for you,” said Gail, looking from the uninvited guest who'd terrorized her family and friends all evening to the invited guest who'd helped her escape the locked bedroom. “All of you, though he didn't know you weren't just one baby.”
 
T looked moved as he nodded silently. Sunday sniffed, unimpressed at his display. “No prenatal care, huh?”
 
“Annaliese tried to hide it as long as she could. She knew how her father would react to a scandal like that, during an election year. I think she was probably waiting as long as she could, hoping Rusty would come back and they'd be able to face it together.” Gail paused in her story as Eric and Heather came into the room, supporting Jake between them. “Jake, honey...” she began.
 
“I'm fine, Mom,” he said groggily as Heather and Eric helped him into a folding chair.
 
Gail looked accusingly over at Sunday, but Jake continued. “Just had a bit of a fall.”
 
“After we realized we were locked in the basement, I thought I could come up with a creative solution, but Jake thought he could climb out that window in the corner of the room, and well, the tower of boxes he made to climb on didn't really have a strong foundation...” Heather trailed off as she caught sight of T standing in the Greens' living room. “T!” she exclaimed, bounding over to him.
 
T caught her in a tight hug, lifting her off the ground, and then mussing up her hair when she let go. “Chickadee! You're okay?”
 
She chuckled, and shrugged. “Yeah, I've been through worse. The basement's a little...”
 
“Heather tried to invent an escape device,” supplied Jake, who had been watching this exchange through suspicious eyes.
 
T grinned. “How did I know you'd be doing something like that? So what'd you come up with?”
 
Heather smiled sheepishly. “Well, nothing that actually worked. But I did figure out a good way to put out a fire with only a french horn and a vacuum hose!”
 
T chuckled, and Gail smiled over at them. “Heather, your brother climbed up the trellis and rescued me.”
 
Jake shook his head. “A regular knight in shining armour,” he grumbled. Eric momentarily glanced up from his next frantic search through the keys to smirk at his brother. Jake looked ready to make another quip, but he paused suddenly. “Did you say brother?”
 
“Oh, sorry, Jake, this is my brother T.” Heather patted T on the arm.
 
“You're T?” asked Jake, his face a picture of incredulity.
 
“Hey, if your name was Twenty-Third, you'd go by T too,” he protested.
 
“How did he get a name like Twenty-Third?” piped in Sunday. “And when are you going to quit gawking at non McGuyver and non Gallahad and get back to the story?”
 
Gail flashed her a look of reproach, but pulled up a folding chair for herself. T and Heather busied themselves brushing pieces of broken china off the couch and Emily brushed off the armchair as Eric dashed out of the room to try another key.
 
“Where was I?” asked Gail, more to herself than the others, but Sunday quickly jumped in.
 
“You were going to say why our dad was there for us, and then wasn't,” she said.
 
“Well, something happened,” said Gail. Everyone else was silent, anticipating what she would say next. “Rusty was killed in action.”
 
T, Heather, Jake, and Emily looked down, observing a moment for the sad, if belated, news of the death of Heather's brother's father. Sunday, however, cocked her head to the side. “And then what?”
 
“Well, I'm not sure exactly what happened next, since the letters weren't coming anymore,” said Gail slowly. “I don't know what happened to your mother next.”
 
Gail knew, of course, the sadness with which Johnston had told her of the passing of his friend. She could imagine fairly accurately the feeling of agony the young mother-to-be must have felt at the news, as she'd dreaded hearing news like that, in the past, and experienced it herself recently. She did not know, however, that Annaliese had crept out that night to the spot in the woods, and only in the seclusion of the trees, on their fallen log, under the stars, did she finally give in to the tears she'd held back all day.
 
By the time the story was recounted to the living room full of Halloween guests, there was no one left alive who had witnessed the day Annaliese told her parents, two weeks later, that she had been hiding something. There was no one left to remember how she'd stood with one hand over her slightly protruding abdomen, the other clutching Rusty's favourite baseball cap, telling her news in a voice that only wavered slightly. No one to recount the hasty gathering of belongings as the judge ranted and raved, or the teary hug his daughter exchanged with a loving but diminutive mother who offered no words of comfort, but pressed a locket into her daughter's hand in a wordless goodbye.
 
As for Annaliese's comings and goings over the next months, they left very little record. So little that a long lost son, searching before the bombs, was unable to dig up a scrap of evidence as to his late mother's whereabouts from the time she left her parents' house in Pennsylvania and that fateful stormy night she arrived at the hospital in Colorado. After the bombs, any evidence there had ever been was gone completely. The details of a life are seldom noticed or remarked upon by those who stumble across them anyway, so it is debatable whether anyone would have made note of a discarded bus ticket, stamped, that told of a one way trip to New York City. Perhaps one might be able to question someone living in the New York area now and find a former resident of the squat in the city's Greenwich village neighbourhood. But would such a survivor recall the face of one girl who had lived among them? There was at one point news footage of the anti-war protests that went on that year, but only one person in the world recognized Annaliese's face, in the split second it flashed across the screen, and that person said nothing at the time. Her breath caught and she blinked back a tear, not saying anything out loud at her husband's questioning look, but she turned back to the screen and her daughter had vanished in the crowd. There were, later, police logs of the night of the Eleventh Street squat's eviction, but they focused on the more troublesome tenants, and there was little mention of the pregnant girl with wistful eyes, who went quietly down the stairs and out of the building.
 
It is not to say she was not remembered or noticed by any. A nun in charge of the charitable donations at St. Andrew's church in Chicago held forever in her heart the reminder she'd been given, when she'd been grumbling distractedly to herself, struggling with a box, and she'd come across the girl with the sad eyes, lighting a candle in the dark corner of the sanctuary. A truck driver remembered wistfully the experience of almost feeling some small closure after fifteen years of imagining the whereabouts of his missing daughter when he stopped one evening, along the I-80 to give a ride to a girl who reminded him of her. There was also the harried mother of three, balancing her purse as her son and daughter reached around her to pull each other's hair, who remembered gratefully the joke told by a strange girl on the bus that had given her a peaceful reprieve for a moment, and the understanding smile that the girl, who was obviously on her way to motherhood herself, shared with her. Annaliese did not pass through those months without an effect on those around her, but like her life, it was an effect that was quiet, invisible by any means of record keeping or measurement.
 
Her last appearance in recorded history was so incomplete, it omitted her name. It was only through extensive detective work that her only son discovered a few clues to his identity.
 
“The hospital records didn't include a name, or much history,” said T, who had taken over the story, since Gail knew nothing of her husband's fallen army buddy's sweetheart after the letters had stopped coming for the dead soldier. “Had our birth date, weight, names of course. Though, seems there was some confusion over that.”
 
“Didn't include an explanation of what kind of joke she was playing on us, huh?” asked Sunday.
 
“There's a note about wanting to honour her wishes, but I'm not sure they understood them,” said T, trailing off confusedly. “Something about naming us after the day we were born.” He glanced over at Gail.
 
“I think I might have some idea of what that's about. Your mother was Catholic,” said Gail. “Rusty told Johnston, her parents were Catholic and there'd be hell to pay when they found out about...well, you know. Annaliese was a Catholic too, always talking about lighting a candle for Rusty at church, in her letters. Johnston didn't quite understand, why she'd hold onto the religion her parents held onto, when they were so angry with her, but I knew how it goes.” Gail chuckled, refraining from a joke about Catholic guilt as she glanced around the room. “But what I'm trying to say is, in that tradition, you can name a baby after a saint who's celebrated on their birthday. So, maybe she actually meant you to be named after whatever saint's day falls on April twenty-third.”
 
“Lucky us,” said Sunday, ignoring the reproachful looks she was now getting from most occupants of the room. “So how is it that you all managed to know all about this, but April and I didn't?”
 
“See, I told you!” came a triumphant voice in the doorway.
 
Mimi strode into the room, pointing her finger towards the seated captive and staring her down. “Look, a redhead not invited to the party! Who looks just like Eric's ghost!”
 
“And who isn't a ghost!” said Stanley, coming in closely behind her and motioning at the snakes holding Sunday's arms behind her back. 
 
“So we're both right!” exclaimed Mimi, holding up her hand while keeping her eyes locked on Sunday. Stanley lightly high-fived her. “And you! You...” Mimi continued, seething in Sunday's direction. “Locking us in the closet! You are so-”
 
“The upstairs closet? I don't think there is a key for that one,” said Gail, glancing at Eric who had come into the room behind them, a distinctly embarrassed look on his face.
 
“There, uh, isn't,” he said, scratching the side of his face distractedly. “I just opened the door.”
 
“So, how'd you know to look in there?” asked Jake.
 
“I, uh, I heard them,” said Eric. Stanley chuckled and Mimi grinned, though her cheeks had gone slightly pinker. “Eric to the rescue,” she quickly said.
 
Sunday was surveying her former captives with amusement. “Not sure it was the rescue moment any of you wanted,” she said wryly.
 
Mimi cleared her throat and glared at the redhead again. “Not sure you should be saying anything. Unless you're going to tell us where our other...” she glanced around the room, making a quick mental tally. “Our other two friends are!”
 
“Oh, believe me, asking her gets you nowhere,” muttered Eric, giving Mimi a reassuring half smile, half grimace. He held up the key ring. “But I'm going to find them.”
 
As he made his exit again, Mimi looked back over at the ghost-impersonator. “And I'm going to keep my eye on you,” she warned, taking Stanley's arm and leading him to the couch, where Emily and Heather were now seated.
 
Stanley wrapped his arm around her shoulder and tried to fix Sunday with a stern look too. “For the record, I'm as pissed as she is,” he began. “Halloween sabotage and kidnapping our friends...not cool. But, I really want to know what happened, and Eric said you guys are telling the story.”
 
“We are, if you all would stop interrupting,” Sunday said with a groan. “You were just going to tell us how the hell Twenty here -”
 
“Twenty-third,” interrupted Heather.
 
“Twenty-third -”
 
“Actually, I go by T,” he said with a grin.
 
“How you somehow got to know all this stuff and me and April didn't. Unless April...”
 
“April didn't know,” began Gail. “Not beyond what she knew when she first visited you, anyway.”
 
“But, she was married to your son. How...?”
 
“When Eric first brought April home to meet us,” began Gail in a slow voice. “Johnston thought she looked familiar. Reminded him of Rusty, he told me later. I hadn't heard him talk about Rusty in years. Of course, we found out she was adopted, had never known her parents, and didn't know anything about where she'd come from. We had no way of knowing anything, and it would be a huge coincidence. So we let it rest, though Johnston told me he always had a funny feeling about her. So familiar.”
 
Gail paused to sigh, a small smile on her face. “It didn't really matter, we loved her and knew, eventually, she'd be one of our own anyway. But I think Johnston always felt that looking out for her, it was a way to do right by Rusty. Even if she wasn't really his daughter, she was somebody's daughter, without a father, and it'd be a way to give something to him, still.”
 
Sunday was frowning as she turned over this information. “So that only applied to one daughter, huh?” she asked.
 
“Well, you were a surprise to us,” admitted Gail. “April'd never mentioned you before. By the time we met you, she was more than Rusty's daughter, she was ours. And the circumstances under which we met you...you can't really blame us for reacting the way we did.”
 
At the look on Sunday's face, Gail continued. “Not that Johnston didn't worry about you too. He drove up to South Dakota a week later...I'm pretty sure he punched out that father that raised you.” Gail chuckled to herself. “But by then, he figured...we figured, it would be better for the two of you to stay separated. Given your track record.”
 
“He came out to see me,” Sunday said, for the first time showing emotion on her face. “He told me to stay away from April. That it was for the best.”
 
Gail for once did not have a reply as the captive curiously seemed close to tears. “You picked her,” choked out Sunday. “And now you even act like you care about the bartender, and you invite all these -” she motioned around her, “All these freaks over to your party.”
 
“Hey, who are you -” Emily began, but Jake interrupted with a “How come I never found out about any of this?”
 
“Apparently he's the only brother who did,” grumbled Sunday, looking over at T.
 
“How did you find out?” asked Jake, fixing him with a curious, though admittedly, less hostile look than he had earlier.
 
“Well, I didn't find out 'til I was older,” said T. “'Til I was out in the real world, and could use my contacts and pull some strings.”
 
“Just what we need, another high muckety muck,” grumbled Jake.
 
“He's a social worker, actually,” said Heather, flashing Jake a look before smiling over at her brother.
 
T nodded. “I did everything I could to put the pieces together. See, we went to three different states, through three different agencies that apparently didn't keep records in common. Took me a long time to just track down the hospital where I was born, and even longer to even realize there were more than one of us. Hospital had filed us separately. I figured it out when I came across your file, and thought it would be weird if two babies born on the same day were given such...unusual names. Then I looked through all the records from that day, and saw there were three of us born to the same Jane Doe.” He smiled suddenly, looking down at his hands, and then back up at the room. “Annaliese, I mean. I didn't know about that, 'til tonight. 'Til I started comparing notes with Mrs. Green.”
 
“So what did you know?” asked Mimi, who was looking curious now in spite of herself.
 
“Knew I had two sisters,” he said. “I mean, besides the one I already had.” He grinned at Heather, who grinned back. Sunday rolled her eyes at this display of sibling affection.
 
“But the records were such a mess, as I said, that I knew your first names, and not much else,” he continued. He grew serious again. “I can't believe April was just one town over the past few years and I never got a chance to know her.”
 
“Yeah, well, she was quite a treat,” shrugged Sunday.
 
“When they say trick or treat, they really mean it, don't they?” came the voice of Kenchy. It was somewhat muffled by the fact that he was standing behind Eric, seemed to, in fact, be attempting to keep the deputy mayor between himself and the rest of the room. He seemed to be trying to give off an air of bravado while at the same time, leaning on Eric and peering carefully around his shoulder to look at the 'ghost' seated in the living room.
 
“Look, she's real, not a ghost,” Eric was saying. Kenchy seemed to be fighting some kind of internal battle as he stepped out from behind Eric and faced the woman who had been haunting him for months.
 
Sunday, for her part, didn't help matters as she smiled at him and whispered “Boo!”
 
Kenchy took a slight jump backwards, gripping Eric's sleeve and then letting go, an embarrassed look on his face. Emily flashed him a sympathetic smile and patted the couch. Kenchy made his way across the room, not making eye contact with anyone. Mimi sent Sunday a withering look, though Stanley distracted her by kissing her temple and grinning mischievously when she turned to look at him. Kenchy slumped down beside them, as Heather and T got up to give him space.
 
“So where were you, Kenchy?” asked Jake, trying to show concern for his friend as he pulled back his own injured ankle to let Heather and her brother pass.
 
Kenchy, who was now clutching a drink Gail had passed him, glanced at Eric, who was feverishly looking through the keys in his hands. “Oh, he was in the coat closet,” said Eric, looking up.
 
“I didn't know we had a key for the coat closet,” said Jake in bemusement.
 
Gail waved a hand. “Your father installed it after the year you found all the Christmas presents in there.”
 
Eric chuckled at the look on Jake's face. Kenchy did not look amused. Jake shrugged. “I don't remember it being locked. But I don't remember finding the presents again the next year.”
 
The Greens all chuckled, and Mimi eyed them in dismay. “Eric! You still have to find -”
 
“I know, I'm going to find her!” he said, separating one key from the others and holding it up triumphantly. “This the last one! I'm going to find her. I'm going to find you, Mary!”
 
“Uh, if she could hear you, you'd probably already have found her by now,” suggested Emily.
 
Ignoring her, Eric ran from the room with a new sense of purpose.
 
Sunday smirked as he went. She suddenly hesitated as she felt eight pairs of eyes on her. “What? Don't get your panties in a knot,” she shrugged. “He'll find her and she's fine. Maybe a little worse for wear, but if the rest of you survived...”
 
Noticing the angry looks on several faces, T stepped forward, standing right in front of his new-found sister. “Sunday, you don't have to treat people like this.”
 
Sunday looked at him for a few moments, and chuckled humorlessly. “Yes, I do.” He raised his eyebrows, and she narrowed her eyes, glancing around the room. “You all think you know me, as soon as you meet me. My whole life, people would try to compare me to her. And what could I ever be, up against Saint April, the good daughter, good sister, good doctor? I tried, and I could never be that. I did everything I could, and people would still say 'You're Sunday and you don't belong.' 'You're not the one.' I wasn't allowed to be anything else. I was the bad one, the evil twin, as soon as I met her.”
 
Everyone was silent, but T bent down so that he was eye level with Sunday. “You don't have to be,” he said. “Not anymore.”
 
“I am,” she said. “Look around. Who here doesn't know that's what I am?”
 
“Look, Sunday,” continued T, in what Heather recognized as his social worker voice. “That's not the way things have to be from now on. You can make choices. April's gone. There's no good twin, and no evil twin. There's just you, and the choice you make, from here on out.”
 
Sunday stared at him for a long time, her expression frozen in something that seemed to fall between horror and rage. Many of the room's occupants were in fact holding their breath as they waited to see how she would respond. Finally, Sunday spoke in a surprisingly quiet voice. “I don't know how.”
 
T just nodded for her to continue. “I don't know how to start again,” she said.
 
“Well,” he said slowly, carefully placing his hand on her arm. “I do. I'll help you.”
 
“What do you mean?” she asked. A general furor of questioning had rustled across the room as well, and from the look on Jake's face, it was obvious his plans for Sunday hadn't involved beginning with therapy.
 
“That's what I used to do, for a living. Help people put their lives back together,” said T. “And that's what I can do for you. We can go, out there, and start again. Somewhere no one knows us. And I'll help you.”
 
“Why?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.
 
“Because you're my sister,” he said simply. Over by the fireplace, his other sister made a squeak of protest. T flashed Heather a quick look, and she remained silent, though she watched the scene with a look of worry. “What do you say, Sunday?” he asked.
 
Sunday was silent, and seemed to be wrestling with something in her mind.
 
“There's nothing left for you here,” continued T. “Let go of it. Let go of April, let go of everything you've done here. Make a choice for yourself.”
 
Everyone else was glancing back and forth at each other, mouthing things and exchanging raised eyebrows, but Sunday stared back at the earnest man crouching in front of her. “Okay,” she said finally. “I'll try.”
 
“Okay,” he echoed, smiling as he nodded.
 
“But you're actually going to keep your word, right?” she asked quickly. “You're not going to say you want to be my brother and then dump me somewhere out there?”
 
“I promise I won't do that. I'll keep my word,” he said.
 
The brother and sister smiled, a look passed between them, and the other occupants of the room let out a collective breath.
 
One occupant of the room, however, was watching the scene with teary eyes. T turned from his new found sister, and stepped over to the fireplace where the little sister he'd watched grow up stood, her arms folded, trying to appear undisturbed.
 
“Heather, I -”
 
“You're really going to go, aren't you?” whispered Heather, avoiding his eyes and looking past him at the fireplace ledge.
 
“She needs me,” he said simply, touching Heather's arm lightly. She looked up at him, her eyes a brilliant blue.
 
“And I don't?” she asked.
 
He gave her a small smile, but shook his head. “You don't. You're one of the most capable people I know, Heather. You're brave and strong, and -”
 
“And you're all I have left,” she said, fixing him with a look he remembered from when he'd first taught her to ride her bicycle.
 
“Look,” he whispered, motioning over his shoulder at the roomful of people who were pretending they were not listening to or watching this second private sibling moment. “That's not true. You have all these people. Friends. If they care about you as much as you care about them, I'd definitely say you've got people to be close to. You're not alone.”
 
Heather quickly glanced around the room, and though most were still pretending to not be listening in on her goodbye with her last living family member, Gail gave her a quick smile.
 
“I'll miss you,” she finally whispered, giving him the slightest of smiles.
 
“I'll miss you back,” he answered, pulling her into a hug.
 
They stood in silence for a few moments, as the living room filled with activity around them, Emily and Stanley moving to release Sunday but keep a hold on her in case she tried anything, Gail locating the broom and dustpan for the various debris on the floor, and Mimi straightening the afghan and puzzling over her sweater, found in a heap behind the couch. As Heather finally pulled away from her brother and wiped her eyes on her sleeve, T brushed a tear from his own face. “I'll try to stay in contact with you, however I can,” he said. “And I'm sure we'll meet again, some day.”
 
“Stranger things have happened, right?” asked Heather with a breathless chuckle, glancing at Sunday, who was stepping forward, Emily and Stanley on either side of her.
 
T just nodded. “Bye Chickadee,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
 
A few moments later, Heather stood, waving goodbye, on the front porch as T climbed into the driver's seat of his truck. Stanley and Emily had escorted Sunday to the passenger's side, and now she was seated, staring out the window and avoiding the scene on the porch. The rain was still pouring down, so Stanley and Emily dashed back to the porch, where everyone (except Kenchy who was now lounging peacefully on the couch) had crowded in. Mimi had passed them the blankets she'd brought down from the closet, and they stood with her, Gail, Heather and Jake, watching the dark haired brother and red headed sister backing out of the driveway, the strangest pair of travelling companions anyone had seen.
 
“What are you guys looking at?” came Eric's voice suddenly from behind them. The already squished group turned to look at him as he stood in the doorway. Mimi, who was standing closest to the door, noticed he seemed to be trying to catch his breath. “Sunday and T,” answered Emily, who was clinging to Stanley's arm in efforts to keep from slipping off the side of the porch.
 
“Why are you looking at -” Eric began, trying to make his way into the crowd of family and friends on the porch.
 
“They're going off to start a new life,” supplied Stanley. “T went to help Sunday. And if Sunday's going out in the world, I guess he's gotta protect the world too.”
 
“They left?” croaked Eric, trying to elbow his way to the front of the porch. “No! She needs to tell me -”
 
“Ouch! What does she need to tell you?” asked Jake, pressing himself against the wall.
 
“This last key was for Mom's room!” shouted Eric frantically, waving the key ring in the midst of his family and friends. “Mary wasn't in there, Mom and T were, and they picked the lock. I couldn't find Mary anywhere, and now Sunday's getting away!”
 
Before anyone could respond, Eric pushed his way through the crowd, off the porch and onto the soaking lawn. “Come back!” he shouted, running down the driveway.
 
“Eric, you won't catch them that -” Jake began, but Eric continued to shout “Tell me where she is! Come back!”
 
The rest of his family and friends began to shout to him to come back, that they would figure this out, but he ran in a fury, towards the edge of the driveway, until one voice suddenly made him stop.
 
“Eric!”
 
He turned and looked, blinking, across the lawn. From their vantage point on the porch, the others couldn't see what he was looking at, only the expression on his face as his eyes widened.
 
He stared at the figure emerging from behind the house, shivering in the rain and coming towards him, and then he ran towards her.
 
“Mary!” He was dimly aware he was shouting her name even as she was in arm's reach and he was pulling her towards him. He was nearly shaking as he held her, kissed her, and pulled her closer.
 
She was shaking violently, her teeth chattering, but she was beaming at him. “Eric! I'm so sorry I didn't believe you!”
 
“But you were right!” he said with a strange sounding laugh. “It wasn't her, you were right – and you're soaked. Let's get inside.” He kept his arms around her, trying to guide her to the porch, from which their family and friends were now shouting, some coming towards them on the lawn.
 
“But – but I saw her,” said Mary, gripping his arm as they crossed the walkway. “I saw her - oh it was amazing! She said she was okay, she said I'd be okay, and you would be okay....are you okay?” She reached a hand to the side of his face. He paused for a moment, looking into her eyes, thinking he could look into them forever, and they were suddenly surrounded by the others, Stanley and Emily offering their blankets, Mimi anxiously throwing out questions no one answered, Gail trying to hurry everyone onto the porch. Mary continued to look at Eric, her teeth chattering, waiting for his answer.
 
“I'm – I'm fine. How about you? You look like you're freezing.”
 
Mary shrugged. “I haven't been out in the rain that long, but it's a little cold I guess. I was in the shed for a while, and April showed me where the key was. I wanted to get out as soon as I untied the jump rope, but April said I should wait 'til the coast was clear, and we both thought it was important you get to face your demons yourself.”
 
“April?” asked Eric, glancing quickly to see if anyone else had caught this reference, but the others were busy hurrying them inside. “Honey, it wasn't April. It was...well, a long story, but it was her sister.”
 
“I know,” said Mary, in a far too cheery voice. “She hit me in the head and tied me to the lawn tractor. Part of me really wanted to get out here and kick some ass, but you know, after April came, when someone comes to visit like that, you kind of get a different perspective. Thanks,” she smiled at Mimi, who had draped another blanket around her shoulders, and stepped up on the porch, holding Eric's arm as he followed. “And, God, Eric...Tracy...she's so beautiful. And Eric, she has your eyes.”
 
Eric was still reeling over the first thing she'd said. “She hit you in the head?” he asked, exchanging a worried glance with his mother, who had paused, in her instructions for Stanley to go heat water for tea, long enough to hear the last exchange.
 
“With a pumpkin,” said Mary, nodding matter-of-factly. “But April said I'm fine. It's okay, really.”
 
“April?!” Eric mouthed to his mother, worrying suddenly about what could possibly have gone on in the shed that would have led to Mary convincing herself she'd instead been conversing with a ghost of her own.
 
“Oh, sweetheart,” said Gail, taking Mary's other arm as they finally made their way through the front door. “April wouldn't hurt you. And it wasn't her, it wasn't a ghost at all.”
 
“I know,” repeated Mary, as though her assertion was perfectly reasonable and she didn't understand why anyone was making a fuss. “Sunday, evil twin. Angry, likes to break things with a shovel. I know the difference between her and April. And that's who was with me, in the shed. With Tracy.”
 
Eric shook his head slowly, following her into the living room, trying not to wish Sunday hadn't left yet so he could toss the last pumpkin at her, when he suddenly stopped mid thought. He stared at his wife, who was now neither shivering nor laughing as she sat down on the couch, Emily and Heather having hurriedly cleared a space.
 
“You don't believe me, huh?” she asked in a more subdued voice.
 
Eric continued to stare at her, pondering what she'd said.
 
“Of course we do, sweetheart,” said Gail, hoping Stanley would hurry with the tea.
 
“We're just glad you're okay!” enthused Mimi, relieved that Mary had finally said something that made sense.
 
Eric sat down beside Mary. “Did you say Tracy?” he whispered.
 
No one else paid him any attention, as their focus seemed to have shifted to the corner of the room where Emily and Heather were hurriedly trying to get Kenchy to eat a candy apple, to mixed results. Mary, however, looked at him, and nodded, leaning closer to whisper to him, “She wanted me to tell you something.”
 
Before Mary could tell Eric anything more about the message from the unborn child whose name he had never spoken out loud before that evening, they were interrupted by Kenchy, being prompted, it seemed, by Gail and Emily, crouching in front of them. “How many fingers?” he asked groggily, holding up his hand.
 
Mary sighed, and with an expression of someone who was playing along, answered, “Two.” She answered his next questions, followed his finger with her eyes, and answered the questions Gail asked when he began mixing up his dates and place names, with polite resignation, but Eric continued to stare at her.
 
“And that's really all you remember?” Gail was asking.
 
Mary nodded. “Well, that's when she went into the house, and locked the shed. And I sort of...I don't know, I got dizzy, and then April...” she trailed off, noticing Gail's look of concern. “I know I sound crazy.”
 
“We know you're not crazy, dear,” said Gail quickly, patting Mary's arm and glancing from her to Eric. Looking away from them for a second, she allowed herself a moment to let out a sigh. It was, truthfully, very difficult, all this talk of her dearly departed daughter-in-law, and then she was worried about the one she still had in front of her. She told herself it was just a strange combination of head trauma and hypothermia that had got her seeing and talking about these things. That wouldn't be long lasting, hopefully. And anyway, she'd stay close by until the baby came, and after. Gail breathed another sigh, this one slightly more relieved, as she watched Mary take the mug of tea from Stanley, watched her say something to Eric, watched him nod solemnly. She wasn't sure they knew yet, but she'd known, from the beginning of the evening, and she was certain they would figure it out sooner or later.
 
“Eric,” said Gail quietly a few moments later, grabbing him gently by the sleeve as he passed by. He'd stood to let Heather take his seat, as she'd promised to recount the background of the triplets that Mary had missed, and was on his way to help Jake start another fire in the fireplace. Gail decided sooner would be better. “I think you should bring Mary by the clinic tomorrow...” she glanced over at the corner of the room, where Kenchy was now arguing with Jake over, it seemed, a bottle of whiskey. “Come by on the second,” she amended.
 
“The clinic? Oh, for God's sake,” groaned Eric. “She's not actually crazy!”
 
His mother only smiled mysteriously. “Just bring her by the clinic, on the second,” she repeated, stepping back over to the couch where Mimi, Heather and Mary were now putting together all the instances of sabotage from the past few months that could now be attributed to Sunday.
 
“She's not crazy,” Eric repeated under his breath. “How did she know Tracy's name?”
 
He watched bemusedly as his mother pulled up a chair and joined the conversation at the couch. He shook his head, thinking about how a half hour earlier, he and Sunday had been engaged in a high stakes battle right up against the couch, and he had despaired that he would never see his loved ones again. Now, they were talking, smiling, even chuckling quietly as they recapped the strange events. He let out a deep breath, and picked up some of the empty mugs, offering tea refills and heading into the kitchen.
 
Mary, from her seat on the couch, gave him a small smile as he went, but was distracted as Mimi, seated beside her, pulled a pumpkin seed from her hair.
 
Chuckling at Mimi's horrified expression, Mary took the seed from her. “So she just locked you in the closet, just like that?” she asked.
 
Mimi smiled sheepishly. “I guess she didn't have that much trouble with me, I was already inside. I was looking for candles.”
 
“And we were already in the basement,” said Heather. “She just locked the door on us.”
 
“And none of you heard Eric looking for you?” asked Mary.
 
“Well, I was trying to escape,” piped up Emily from her seat by the fire.
 
“I was trying to invent something,” nodded Heather.
 
“I was trying to flag someone down outside,” nodded Gail.
 
“I was...distracted,” shrugged Mimi as all eyes were suddenly on her. Stanley, who had come into the room with a bowl of popcorn, smirked, and Mimi grinned but didn't make eye contact.
 
Gail hid a smirk too. In a few weeks, she thought to herself, she might be suggesting a trip to the clinic for Stanley and Mimi.
 
“Well, I'm just glad all the weirdness is over,” said Mimi, taking a handful of popcorn.
 
“Mimi, haven't you figured out by now? The weirdness is never over around here,” smirked Jake, to a round of chuckles.
 
Mimi sent him a look of mock annoyance. “You know what I mean.” She flashed Mary a significant look. “No more haunting.”
 
“Well, there never was any haunting,” said Gail, also glancing carefully at Mary, who it seemed, was thinking about this quietly.
 
“But there was something, going on, all these months,” continued Mimi. “And we all thought Eric was making it up. Not making it up,” she amended, “But you know.”
 
“Yeah,” Mary answered quietly. She was silent for a moment, moving over on the couch so that Stanley could join them. Soon everyone was comparing their encounters with the 'ghost', realizing who had been interfering with their daily life for the past few months, and even making nervous jokes.
 
Eric could hear the faint laughter as he stood in the kitchen, looking out the window, and he was glad of it. Finally, the stand-off between him and the ghost was over, and he could breathe again. The rain had died down and he stood, peering out the window at the moonlit night, amazed at how much that sky seemed to have changed in the past few hours.
 
“It's okay to let go.”
 
He turned around. Mary was standing in the kitchen doorway. She offered him a small smile. “That's the message.”
 
“The message, huh?” he asked, as she came towards him. She nodded, coming to stand beside him. He wrapped an arm around her.
 
“She said she knows you loved her, and it's okay to let go,” Mary continued, looking out at the night as she talked, but then turning to look at him. “Believe it or not, but that's what I promised to tell you.”
 
Eric was silent for a moment, and then he let out a small, hoarse sounding laugh. Mary looked back out the window.
 
“I believe you,” he said quietly. She turned quickly to look at him again.
 
“I just never thought – but I believe you,” he repeated, hearing an emotional hitch in his voice. “She really said...?”
 
Mary nodded slowly. “Just remember, and remember the promise, she said.”
 
“What promise?” he asked.
 
“I don't know,” Mary answered. “I guess she thought you would know. Or maybe you will know.” She raised her eyebrows.
 
“I...yeah,” said Eric, smiling and kissing her forehead, deciding to just accept it for now. “I just...I can't believe...all of this happening...”
 
“Mind blowing,” nodded Mary. She smiled. “I know how you must have felt now. I'm sorry I didn't -”
 
“We were both right,” he said. “It wasn't a ghost but it was someone...and who would ever have guessed what was really going on?”
 
“It's a pretty crazy story,” added Mary. She let out a chuckle, pulled Eric's arm closer across her, and glanced out the window. “This night...” she sighed. “Reminds me of the stories my dad used to tell me.”
 
“Your dad ever tell you a story as weird as our lives?” asked Eric incredulously.
 
Mary smirked, but her eyes were serious. “You know, he used to say Halloween was a night to remember our dead. The power they have in our lives. And how they still walk among us.”
 
Eric didn't say anything, but leaned against her as they continued to look out the window. Mary was watching the last drops of water hit the glass with a solemn expression, but she laughed again. “And you know, this is all reminding me of a story your dad told me once.”
 
“My dad?” he asked, his lips forming a small smile.
 
“Yeah, he ever tell you about his cousin Bertha?”
 
“Cousin Bertha, no.”
 
“Come on, I'll tell you,” she said, shivering suddenly and taking his hand. “Somewhere warmer.”
 
“Okay, let's bring the tea into the living room,” he nodded with a smile. She nodded, and let go of his hand to gather several of the mugs. He made a move to follow her, but found himself looking up at the moonlit sky, out the window, once more. Wondering, again, at all those things they could never explain, but he would have to accept. Wondering just what promise he was supposed to remember.
 
“You coming?” she asked, pausing in the doorway, balancing the mugs of tea.
 
He nodded, deciding he would figure it out soon enough, and followed her out of the kitchen.
 
 

“Tracy!”

The red haired woman in the white dress was smiling as she called the name.

The little girl grinned up at her as she came to stand behind her. “She told him!”

“Well, she said she would, didn't she?” asked her mother with a laugh. She brushed a hand through her daughter's crimson curls. “You ready to go now?”

The little girl glanced towards the clouds again, but looked back at her mother.

“You know we've got to hurry, we've got that big night tonight. Dinner with all the parents.”

“All of yours?” repeated the little girl with a giggle.

The woman glanced up to where, a little distance away, a young man with hair the same colour as her own stood holding the hand of a dark haired young woman, both watching them with soft smiles. “All of mine,” she answered with a chuckle. “And his. Remember, it's a practice for the wedding.” She paused, watching her daughter. “You know, you can look down whenever you want, but we don't want to keep all the parents waiting.”

“Okay!” said the little girl, after observing the scene a moment longer. She reached up for her mother's hand, prancing along beside her. The young couple had began walking away, and the mother and daughter followed them, passing by two older men who were seated on either side of a folding table, which was strewn with playing cards. One of them put down his cards and grinned at her. “Have a good time, April.”

“I'll see you later, Dad,” said the woman with a smile, bending over to give him a hug.

“See you later, honey,” he said.

The little girl was by his side the next moment, reaching to grab the sides of his face with her chubby little hands as he leaned towards her. “Good night, Grandpa!” she chirped, planting a kiss on his cheek.

“Good night, darling,” he whispered, giving her an affectionate pat on the back and chuckling as, on her way towards where her mother was already walking, she stopped to chase a butterfly that had made its way into the clouds.

“Come on, Tracy!” called the woman, with an affectionate grin of mock exasperation. The little girl dashed towards her, and then skipped alongside her as they made their way along the misty path.

“Grow up fast, don't they Johnston?” asked the other man with a chuckle.

Johnston gave a nod. “You'll know, soon enough.”

“Not too fast, I hope,” said the other man.

Johnston shook his head. “The kids'll have their hands full for a long time.” He smiled to himself. “Though, after surviving tonight, I'm sure whatever else comes up won't seem too daunting.”

“Ah, I knew they'd make it out just fine,” said the other man, waving a dismissive hand.

“You were pretty nervous for a while there,” smirked Johnston, flashing his friend an accusatory look.

“Well, she is still my little girl,” said the other man, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender, a wry smile on his face.

“Always are, no matter how old they get, right?” asked Johnston with a chuckle.

His friend nodded. “But I knew she'd make it. And your boy. Quite the dramatic last stand, huh?”

Johnston shook his head. “Like something out of one of your stories, Patrick.”

Patrick chuckled. “Don't know if either of us ever had one as good as this one. But think of the story we have to tell now!”

Johnston laughed and nodded. “What do you say we get a drink? Toast to the kids?”

“I say I know where there's a great bottle of single cask whiskey,” replied Patrick, quickly rising from his seat.

“And you can tell the one about the llama,” said Johnston, clapping his friend on the back. “Been forever since I heard that one.”

“Long as you tell one of yours,” answered Patrick.

“But start with the llama,” said Johnston with a nod.

“Alright. Well, it was back in, I don't know, that year we had the big ice storm that broke a window in Gracie's Market. This guy comes into the bar one night, says he wants a drink, only first, do I know what he can do with the llama he's got sitting in the parking lot...”

The friends laughed as they walked along the same pathway where the couple and the mother and daughter had trod earlier. As the mists surrounded them, their laughs echoed in the night.