Page 10 of The Haunting of Lockton

His grin widened.

I didn’t know how it worked with other ghosts, but Alan could touch and be touched. When he wanted to anyway. He could also go invisible and take on a transparent form that was more like mist than anything solid. On Halloween, he was able toleave the property and eat and drink, but every other day of the year, he couldn’t.

Alan followed me into the living room and sat in his favorite armchair. “You need more than coffee for breakfast.”

“I’ll grab something on my way to work.” I dropped onto the couch and took a drink from my mug.

“Dark circles are under your eyes too. You need to take better care of yourself. Get more sleep.”

“Someone’s demanding today.”

“I worry about you.”

“It’s not your job to worry,” I said, disregarding his concerns. Ever since my mom passed away five years ago, Alan had been my rock. Sometimes, though, he got overbearing. He didn’t understand why I didn’t have many friends and why I spent so much time alone.

“I can’t help it.” Alan’s form flickered. “You’re my family.”

He was mine too. The only family I had left.

The TV turned on without either of us touching it. Who needed a remote when you had a ghost?

“You still haven’t told me how your date went the other night,” he said after selecting a show. Some documentary about modern warfare.

“Not much to tell.” I glided my thumb along the rim of the coffee mug. The date in question had been a meet-up from a dating app—one that had since been deleted. “We had dinner, then went back to his apartment, where he tried for dessert. But I wasn’t into it.”

“Why not?”

“When he kissed me, he licked my tonsils.” I could still feel his tongue jabbing at me. A true thing of nightmares. That hadn’t been the only reason I’d left early though. The guy had mocked my job and said anyone who believed in ghosts was an idiot.Seeing as to how the person I cherished most in the world was, well, a ghost, that remark hit a bit too close to the chest.

Alan laughed. “I remember my first kiss.”

I peered over at him, curious. He’d never spoken of it before.

“Her name was Mary Ellen, and she had blonde curls and a face full of freckles. We snuck kisses in the schoolyard.” Alan’s blue eyes, which always had a slightly unnatural gleam to them, sparkled. “But the one I really wanted to kiss was Clint Jenkins.”

“Poor Mary Ellen.” I chuckled into my coffee.

“She wanted to marry me someday,” Alan continued. “Once we got older, she’d tell me. That’s when I stopped meeting her for kisses. She was awfully sour about it.”

I knew the feeling. Knew just how devastating it was to fall for Alan Prior.

I had once crushed on Alan big-time. Around sixteen, I’d started looking at him differently, noticing things I hadn’t before: the slight rasp of his voice and that strand of hair that never behaved. The curve of his neck and his cupid-bow lips. Lips I had then kissed one night.

The memory surfaced as I stared at the TV.

“We can’t, Pax.” Alan shook his head and gently pushed me away.

“Why?” I asked, feeling that first sting of rejection. I’d never felt it before. Then again, I’d never wanted anyone as much as I’d wanted him. “You don’t like me?”

“Of course I like you.” He touched my cheek, and the sadness in his gaze seeped into me too. “I like you just fine.”

“Then why—”

“One day, you’re gonna become a man. You’ll lose the boyish roundness of your cheeks and get older. But me?” Alan took my hands in his. “I’m Peter Pan, remember? The boy who never grows up.”

“Did you ever tell Clint how you felt?” I asked, snapping out of the memory. The years had taken away that attraction, but a part of my heart would always ache because of it.

Alan had been my first love.