Billy was ten years old when his mother knelt on the kitchen floor, hand shakily clasped over her reddened lips, eyes wide, tired, and wet. He walked into the kitchen and found her there; smiling or sobbing, he wasn't sure. She was his mother, and she was crying, so he came nervously to her side.

"Mom?" He asked tentatively, not sure if she'd been upset by his grades-he'd been doing so well lately, just for her-or something of the like. He was pretty sure it was his fault; there were only ever two reasons why his mother might cry, either money or her son. She looked up at him from beneath quivering, wet eyelashes, her eyes two flashing, distraught bulbs, bright and glossy with tears that bubbled along her lower eyelids, threatening to boil out. Her mouth trembled. In her hands was a paper that would change their lives forever. She smiled, broad and bright and happy, a daring hopefulness shining in her eyes as it hadn't in a long time.

He stood still, confused, as she leaned over and wrapped her arms around him, her heaving breast pressed tightly against his small frame. He could smell her perfume, the kind he'd saved up to get her for Christmas, the one with the bird on the bottle. It smelled terrible; if only he'd known, and if only she hadn't worn it every day since he gave it to her.

"Baruch, thank your cousin. Thank Spencer, may he rest in peace, bless his soul..." She was smiling, though; shouldn't she be sad if someone's dead? She was crying, so maybe she was sad. It was all very confusing for Billy.

"Mom? Is everything okay?" He asked, tentative, hand on her back.

"Well, sweetheart..." She leaned back and pressed a wet mom kiss to his cheek, and he cringed. He was ten already, she shouldn't treat him like a little kid. "...your cousin, the famous director? He's dead." Billy's eyes widened.

He'd never met Spencer; the man was the stuff of myths, even to the tabloids. Billy had always heard of his exploits, but he was far away, like some mythical creature on the edge of his life, overwhelming in his periphery, something he could never touch. Spencer, to Billy, was an idea more than anything, a hope. A hope that one day he could be like his cousin, be liked and respected and powerful; have clothes that weren't secondhand, and be adored. So naturally, it came as a complete surprise that death was even something within the capacity of such a powerful idea. Billy went slack jawed. He didn't care about Spencer, had never met him, but it was so strange to hear that he had died. It was like finding the corpse of a unicorn, crushed to discover that it could die.

"So what?" Billy finally said.

She didn't tell him what. She just cried into his shoulder in their apartment, fifteen minutes late for the night shift at her workplace.

Packing up all of their things was easier than Billy would have liked. He didn't like seeing the whole of his existence fitted into a suitcase. Everything he owned, all that would be left of him should he disappear, crammed into a box. He didn't like amounting to baggage claim at the airport on the way to Beverly Hills, but he wasn't complaining. This whole thing was like a dream.

There were legal hoops to jump through, but they were out of Billy's sight. He was only waist high and nobody made eye contact with him, and therefore wasn't concerned with adult problems, save for the instance of money. That was a problem he was always acutely aware of, even when he was very young, because it had always had such a great power over him. He didn't like that paper had power over him, but he grew to respect it after the first few missed Christmases.

They arrived in a limo-a limo-and stepped out into Beverly hills. If Billy had been overtaken during the limo ride, the mansion floored him. It was unlike anything he'd ever dreamed of; when they walked inside, it was so huge, he wondered what gave them the right to keep it all for only two people. Pretty much everything was still intact, furniture much as it had been left when Spencer died. It was so much bigger than his old apartment that it made him dizzy, like a goldfish int he ocean. He just stood there, mouth agape, while his mom conversed with a man in a suit. He handed her a ring of keys, and bid them good day.

There were many rooms for Billy to choose from to sleep in, but he chose one up stairs. It was spacious and full of interesting-albeit frightening to some degree-things. He walked in, a computer with an enormous, wall-mounted monitor to his left, and a bed to his right. This room was different from the others in the house. No other room had a single picture on the wall or anything that looked personal; it was like a doll house, built out of plastic. But this room, it was incredible. There were large, tiki-head type things stuffed in the closet, and posters on the walls of classic movies that hadn't been popular in years, most of which Billy was never allowed to see. All movies he hadn't been allowed to rent because they were rated R and his mom was afraid they'd give him nightmares. They did scare him a little, he had to admit, a tremble rushing down his back, but he was ten years old and could handle it. He was big now, and had to protect his mom from this new place and its new people.

"Baruch? Are you up here?" He heard his mom call. It was so strange; she'd never had to call him before, their apartment was so small he was never far enough away. He grinned brightly and ran out of the strange bedroom, out into the hallway, where she stood at the opening of the stairs. "Oh my goodness." She whispered, pushing the tips of her fingers to her lips and looking taken aback. Billy was briefly afraid that he'd broken something.

"I didn't touch nothin'!" He said, putting his hands up, as if to prove his innocence by the lack of blood on them. She exhaled sharply and smiled, a little oddly, walking up to him.

"Not that room, sweetie. Don't go into that room."

Billy was hit with a pang of betrayal. "Whaaat? But Mom, that room is the best ever! There's posters and action figures and-"

"Baruch, that's Spencer's room."

Billy froze. Looked up at her concerned, gentle gaze, and then looked at his sneakers. "...oh. I'm sorry." Billy didn't really understand; it wasn't as though Spencer would be wanting it back any time soon, but he understood enough about respect to know that he shouldn't dawdle in Spencer's things. That was private, even if he was dead.

His mom grinned, her eyes twinkling, and snatched at him playfully. "It might be haunted!" She made a little spooky noise, altering the pitch and cadence of her voice, and tickled under his arms. He squirmed, because he was too old for these shenanigans, but was laughing almost immediately.

"There's no such thing as ghosts, Mom!" He squealed through fits of laughter.

"It's haunted, and cousin Spencer is gonna eat you up!" She made an act of gobbling at Billy's hands. Billy was too old for that trick, but he was laughing anyway. She pulled back suddenly, smiling softly.

"Now, come down stairs. It's time for lunch."

"Pbj?"

"Naturally."

It took a while for them to settle in properly. Billy occupied a room next to Spencer's, but even though he was told to never open the door-and he certainly was scared to, he'd always been easily spooked-the place seemed to call to him endlessly. Maybe it was the mischief of it, the promise of posters from movies he wasn't allowed to watch, but sometimes he'd walk by it and the door would swing open, just a crack, and the way the light from the hallways caved into the dark room would sing like it was trying to suck him in.

He didn't do it, of course. For a long time there were too many other, more interesting things to occupy himself with in the new house. For the first few days he just ran around a lot, using up all of his new space, running up and down the stairs and making use of the elevator, which covered all three floors of the house plus the basement, which seemed to be another entire house on its own.

His mother seemed happier than she'd ever been. She didn't seem to really appreciate the extra space, but the money Spencer had left behind-there were too many zeroes, Billy wasn't even sure how much it was-was enough to cure the worries that had left lines around her eyes and at the edges of her mouth even though she was so young.

For a while, he played Spencer's X-box and swam in the pool. He hadn't really had a lot of good friends at his old home, so he didn't really miss anyone.

But, after a while, all of those things, though wonderful, seemed to melt into his life seamlessly. He fit well into big spaces, he found, and eventually he simply settled like disturbed dust. His mother began talking about enrolling him in school that upcoming August, which Billy secretly dreaded.

Once all the thrill had died down, he was left with one last mystery.

Spencer's room.

He knew beyond knowing that he was never supposed to go inside, mostly out of respect for Spencer. He and his mother had a lot to be thankful for, and even though the reasons behind it had been entirely unclear, Spencer had left everything to them. But Billy passed Spencer's room on the way to his every day, always tempted to turn the doorknob, to switch the lights on and scare the promise of ghosts away. It was so tempting, when the door would crack open or when Billy would wake up to find his room rearranged, to know if Spencer was really still around, if he really wanted to gobble Billy up. Billy told his mom about all of these things, but she just shook her head and told him not to be silly, that if he was going to play pretend he should pretend to march up stairs and clean his room. Which he did, with dramatic flare, to be a smartass. She didn't think it was funny.

The suspense accumulated until he caved.

ATTEMPT 1

He thumbed over the switch on his flashlight, hesitant but determined, swallowing the lump in his throat. It was noon on a Saturday, the birds outside singing, and Billy thought it would be a time too happy for a ghosts to hunt him. He didn't need the flashlight especially, but the light switch in Spencer's room, if Billy remembered correctly, was at the far end of it. He'd have to traverse the dark of the room before he could turn on the lights, and if there was a ghost, he wanted to at least see it before it killed him.

"Okay, Billy, you can do it." He said, pumping himself up. He was big, he was tough, he could take the ghost.

He slammed the door open, and for a strange, confusing second, the lights were on,and the room was not in the state it had been in when last he saw it.

Movies on the floor, DVD cases open, covers on the bed thrown to the side. And then, as quickly as he'd seen it all, the light went off again.

Billy screamed.

ATTEMPT 2

This time, Billy was ready. His mom was outside tending the yard, which meant two things. Firstly, he was alone in the house, and he might die. Secondly, this time he wouldn't be so embarrassed when he let out a blood curdling scream, since his mom couldn't come thundering up the stairs thinking he was dying. He wasn't sure which was more important to him at ten years old; his life or his dignity.

He swallowed thickly, flashlight in hand, and turned the doorknob.

The door flew open when he pushed it. He stumbled into the dark, panic racing up his veins as he ran to the other side of he room, slamming into the wall and searching frantically for the light switch.

He found it, flicked it on, and turned around, pointing his flashlight out into the now bright room like it might ward away a monster.

There was nothing. The room had been restored to the way it was before, but Billy knew his mother would never come in here to clean, much less mess the room up like it had been during his last visit. The electronics were off, camera and tripod tucked away into the closet with the tiki heads, frightening monster masks lined up on shelves beside the bed rather than scattered about the floor. His breathed slowed, his heart thundering down to a gentle throb.

He lowered the now useless flashlight and looked around. Somehow, he'd been expecting something much more spectacular than this. He had rather wanted his feat of bravery to be accompanied by fanfare. He turned the flashlight off and threw it on the empty bed of his dead cousin, decided that this wouldn't be an opportunity totally wasted. Just because he wasn't accosted by a spirit didn't mean this wasn't exciting, though to be honest this bedroom more closely resembled one belonging to a child than one belonging to a famous director.

So Billy rifled around for a while, looking under the bed, finding movies that he wasn't supposed to watch; a few of them had scantily clad girls on the cases, which made him uncomfortable, but curious enough to stare for awhile before putting them back where he found them. He figured he'd have to use this time wisely while his mother wasn't around to scold him for intruding.

Eventually he reached the last part of the memorabilia from his dead idol, Spencer. His camera.

It was new, but nothing fancy; a handheld camcorder with a tripod as an accessory. Billy turned it over in his hands, wondering if he could film something with it if he was sneaky. He flipped open the side screen and was startled to find the thing in full functioning order. He'd never used one before, but it was fairly intuitive, so he figured it out quickly.

There were videos already on the camera. Some seemed pretty old, from when Spencer was alive, but there were some that seemed...odd.

He set the last one to play and watched it on the little screen. He was startled to find himself on it.

It was him, the day he moved in. He saw, with strange, detached horror, his own stunned stupid expression upon seeing the opulence of the mansion for the first time. The footage cut away, this time from the ceiling over the dinner table, as Billy picked peas that had mixed with his mashed potatoes out and set them on the side of his plate before stirring in gravy. It cut away again; Billy and his mother at the poolside, both in swimsuits, playing together.

Billy dropped it, his heart seeming to stop. Someone was in the house, and they'd been taping him and his mother.

Much to his horror, the camera stopped in midair, cradled carefully by nothing. He ran screaming from the room.

He slammed the door shut behind him and bolted down the stairway, stopping in the kitchen the catch his breath, hand on the table, enough distance between him and the floating camera for him to feel safe.

He shook his head, heart pounding. "Third time's the charm." He whispered under his breath, feeling the swell of a challenge bloom in his heart along side the fear.

ATTEMPT 3

As it turned out, the third time was not the charm.

ATTEMPT 4

Billy's curiosity made him brave. Years of action movies and cartoons had prepared him for this moment, perched in front of the door to Spencer's old room.

Billy was so sure that he was in there, even if his mom didn't believe him; of course she didn't, she was a grown-up, and this was a kid problem. He'd have to be brave if he wanted to conquer a kid problem properly, or finally discover the secrets of Spencer's old room, with its strange horror paraphernalia and its shut curtains. It was the strangest room in the house, marked so clearly with Spencer's presence.

All week since his last encounter, Billy had kept an eye out for the floating camera; if it had been filming him, it'd have to appear at some point, and how that he was aware of it, he was sure he could spot the thing.

At the mall he'd thought he'd caught a glimpse of it following him around, before his mother's hand directed him back to the task at hand; picking out school clothes. June was progressing steadily into July, and soon it would be time for Billy to go back to school. The thought made him uncomfortable like it made him uncomfortable to be in the mall; at first it had been huge and exciting, he'd never been in one this spacious or with so much stuff, but it quickly became intimidating. Even though his mom feigned confidence, he could tell she was just as lost as he was, from the way she bit the inside of her cheek when looking at price tags to the way she jiggled her knee while waiting for him to get out of the changing room. He picked out his clothes, and the camera was not seen.

Nor was it spotted when he was playing in the pool, or when he watched cartoons, or when he spilled spaghetti on his shirt and got flustered when his mom tried to clean it up for him-he could do it himself, he wasn't a baby-only to be scolded for being so messy.

All of it had culminated in this moment. He licked his lips and adjusted the bill of his baseball cap, wearing it like he imagined a soldier wears a helmet. He spent the few nights of that week straining to hear sounds int he house, swearing eh heard them, only to find them to be imagined. This whole 'Spencer's mysterious room' thing had gotten way out of hand. If it was a ghost or not, he didn't care; he just wanted to know what was going on, and if he or his mom were in danger. But his mom didn't believe, so it was up to him to protect her.

"I know you're in there." He whispered quietly, hand on the doorknob, bracing himself for whatever lay in wait for him.

He opened the door slowly. The light was on, the bed was messed up, and the computer was booted up and operational. The camera, on it's tripod, stared at him with it's beady, black bulb of a lens from across the room. He made eye contact with the thing, saw the fish eye reflection of himself in it's inky surface, when something joined him in that reflection, something that flashed in his periphery.

He turned, and a grotesque, rotted face met his eyes. He screamed and recoiled, tripping backwards and slamming the door shut; his mother, in the pool outside, would never hear him. Rotten flesh slid from the creature's face like greasy, grey pudding, eye bulging out of their sockets like some kind of distended, bloated frog, its maw opening, toothless and fleshy, reamed with dark, wet slime. He didn't know he was screaming until his lungs burned for air, eyes locked wide open.

He only stopped to inhale, blinking fearfully, only to find that...this was a mask.

A beautifully crafted, done-up with fake slime mask, maybe, like one from things he can't watch-and now that he's almost had a heart attack, he thinks he knows why-and comics he can't read, but it was fake. Very, very fake. And floating in front of him, lifeless.

Something slipped over his head in a blur, and when he blinked, someone joined the mask. His paralyzing fear remained, but he was too stunned and confused to muster any screams or run away. He felt weight of something on his chest, hanging around his neck, felt fingertips slip from around it, icy cold ones.

"Ah, it's no fun to scare kids." It was a voice, gravelly, adult, but very human, and very real. Slowly, Billy released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, his arms shaking, lips quivering, heart pounding against his ribcage so hard it hurt. "Scares like that are cheap, anyhow."

The mask hit the floor. Before him, suspended in the air like a stream of mist, was Spencer Wright.

Billy had seen him on tv, in interviews with designer sunglasses on, saying intelligent stuff Billy didn't understand. He was tell, broad shouldered, and young for someone with his degree of success. He had big, dark, intelligent eyes, the kind that had always represented hope for Spencer, the eyes of the unicorn he thought he'd found dead.

But here it was, alive and kicking. Spencer was translucent, Billy noticed, and a strange shade of greyish purple, closer to some shade of pink. His half hooded eyes regarded Billy with vague disdain, lip curling a little, his perfect, finely styled hair framing his still boyish face. He looked younger than Billy would have predicted; he knew that Spencer was twenty six when he died, but also that the young man had accrued more awards than Billy had action figures by the time he was fifteen. His shirt was long sleeved, red at the arms and white at the chest, with some kind of monster emblazoned on it.

Billy's breathing slowed.

Wow. Wow. He couldn't believe this was happening; there was a real live ghost in his house! Well, maybe not live, what with being a ghost and all, but wow, he was right. His mom was right, ghosts were real.

"Whoa." His whispered under his breath, expression in awe. Spencer arched a perfectly groomed, dark line of an eyebrow.

"Don't look so surprised, brat. You caught me here once before." Spencer didn't seem as scary as Billy would have imagined. The ghost lounged on his back, sailing calmly back into the other side of the room. "I mean, you moved into my house, what did you expect?" Billy isn't really sure. For a grown up, Spencer sure seemed to operate on a child's logic.

"Um, are you Spencer? My cousin?" Billy asked, slowly standing, a strange Ghostbusters trinket hanging from his neck. He wasn't afraid any more; Spencer may have been a ghost, but he seemed about as harmless as one could be. Besides, Billy was still at an age where he could believe in ghosts, where this could be incorporated easily into his life. Though he wouldn't think to consider it, this probably played into Spencer's decision to reveal himself.

Spencer didn't act like a grown-up. He definitely wasn't as energetic as Billy, and seemed to be rather foul tempered, but he made eye contact with Billy, even though the child was only waist high. Spencer seemed lofty and distant, like the dream Billy had been trying to catch ever since he could remember.

"Yeah, that's me. Famous director, Spencer Wright, dead and at your service." He made a lazy mockery of a bowing gesture. He looked up at Billy, who seemed stunned. "I hate kids, you know, but it seems like I don't have a choice. Your mother would have a heart attack, and nobody around here will visit me 'cause I'm dead." Spencer lamented, eyes scanning over Billy in a way that made him uneasy. It was always that way, when he was around someone who seemed too smart for their own good, people Billy had trouble with because he didn't understand them.

Spencer obviously didn't like Billy, and that didn't sit well with Billy at all. He was used to being strange, to having a name like Baruch in elementary school, but Spencer had always been the light at the end of the tunnel, even if he didn't know it. Billy refused to be a disappointment.

"So..." Billy grinned widely, crooked teeth and fading freckles. "...you're my new best friend, huh?" he'd make Spencer like him if he died doing it.

Spencer at least had the decency to appear offended.