Things aren't always what they seem, for instance usually when some one tells you that they will be committing suicide, they tend to mean it in a ' Oh, I just can't go on, my life is dreadful' sort of way. That isn't what I'm after. I'm not often depressed, and I don't much care about the 'leaving everyone behind' thing. I'm not in it to punish the living for being cruel or because I'm put upon or a moaning minnie, if I thought anyone would truly miss me I could haunt them till they're sick of me, if they really want a pesky poltergeist lingering about.

You see the thing about this is that I don't want to grow up and become a housewife, or a schoolmistress, or anything at all, really. I want to be a ghost.

I know, weird aspiration, right? But I'm not scared to die. I just want to make sure I choose the right place, and have all my materials pulled together. Just like when going into any new career in another part of the country you need to come prepared, and I figure that after I'm dead I won't remember all that much (or anything at all), so I'll probably benefit from trying to make myself a sort of 'guide' book to being dead, but still hopefully with enough reminders of who I was when alive.

I'm planning on hiding it in the attic of my new 'township', so to speak; it's my hope that I will find it before anyone new moves in so I can have the time to learn from what I find. Maybe I'm being optimistic by hoping that the dead still remember enough about the language they've been speaking, writing and reading all of their human lives, that maybe my 14 or so years of English fluency are going to mean a thing in the afterlife, but when you're pursuing a career like mine about all you've got is hope.

If you're reading my story right now and wondering when it is I'll be getting to the interesting bits, about the vampires and werewolves, the interesting collaborators, then I suppose you'll just have to be content to wait. This story first and foremost is mine, about me, of which I am telling.

It begins presently.

The sun was really bright that day, my last day alive. I guess I wanted something beautiful to cover in the last proof of my human life, to cover it in gore and destroy it's peaceful facade.

…

That's much of a lie to be completely honest, I decided hanging myself was the best option to be had, less mess for the people who have to clean me up, and I really was mostly apathetic from what I remember, you see? Onward with the telling, when I got out of bed that day I vaguely remember writing in my diary to myself. (another thing I was going to hide in my new home) I was hoping to stay in touch with my thought processes, to learn myself if what my research on victims of amnesia was true, as I thought perhaps death might be. I still wanted to be 'me' in the future.

One of the things you have to understand is that although I wasn't an original resident of Forks, I came from Vancouver, just across the river from Portland; while it wasn't ideal, it still wasn't that far removed from everything I had grown up around, I was still in the deciduous rain forest I loved and spent my childhood in, even if the trails had changed.

Things after that morning are a blur, I don't quite know who found me, but they mentioned something about being so sorry to this one lady, saying how the note had been very up front and honest. I later learned while looking through my book that the lady I saw had been my mother; quite the surprise for me, hm? all I really remember with any clarity was waking up in my new home. It was tall, with a large wrap around porch, pretty fashionable if not close in to the general populace. Judging by the drawing I gave myself of my old home, it was a vast improvement, if not a little too spacious for my tastes.

My new home after what we will dub 'waking' (as a ghost you don't really sleep) was unkempt and out of the way. the property surrounding the house was overgrown and looked as if it had been forgotten about, the inside covered in dust and I assumed that was because of the location and it's vacant status. The grass outside had been trampled in the front where the carts and what not had driven up and parked themselves, but time in the first few years of my death had passed by so quickly...It almost seemed to me at that time like the wounds to the plant life were healed in minutes.

it wasn't long before I became hopeful that I would get a family soon, as I learned when the boredom set in that I really didn't want to be in this huge place alone forever; it seemed ironic to me because I enjoyed my privacy, and when you're dead, you just don't comprehend time in the same way.

Something I can say with certainty to you is that having a book written by you for your own afterlife is so much easier. I had left the book open and out so it would be easily visible if I explored my surroundings like I tended to do in new places; the page I'd left it open to wasn't random either. I had gathered every anecdote, quote and explanation with photographs and drawings scattered on the floor surrounding the book describing how a ghost or someone attempting telekinesis might go about moving objects without a physical touch.

That action saved me a lot of frustration, and I can tell you now is probably the cornerstone to a successful un-life. Once the action of moving things was accomplished I surged through the book, devouring everything I could read about the research I had gathered before-hand.

Talking about this now, it probably sounds like I did this great thing, and maybe like I had money to plan for all this, but don't let my wording fool you. When I say 'book' what I really mean is several notebooks bound together with yarn and the covers removed for cohesion. Page after page of my best handwriting and my most defined idea of what exactly constituted a chapter. I was only lucky that I had expected myself to be voracious in my appetite for information after death, because I think if I'd had to read that thing over while alive I might've cried. (I later certainly cringed)

Despite this that book taught me what I was, why I was, knew who I had been and how I acted. I knew everything about myself straight from eye color to favorite color. Of the things I discovered through the information dump was that most ghosts didn't get the luxury my sad excuse for a book provided, and I can say with all honesty that I am happy with my own insight to have thought so far ahead, I treasure the darn thing despite it's ugly presentation. Who knew the library and folklore would be so useful when you were dead.

I didn't know how much time passed while I stayed there alone, I'm not sure I understand the passage of time like a living person might, my days were often spent stopping to learn things from the books left in boxes of the attic, volume after volume, many stolen from the library from what I could see. This kept me entertained for a while but you can only read the same book so many times and eventually I ran out of things to do without feeling as though my actions were nothing but a pattern I completed on repeat.

After all, there are only so many things you can do by yourself, and apparently things get done faster when you don't have to sleep, eat, or use the powder room.

So I explored my home, and discovered what was where, and eventually wandered outside of the house. I know it's odd to never have thought to do so before but I had been learning the extent of my ghostly abilities, amongst other things…(namely attempting some of the things I had learned about).

I quickly found that I could not leave the clearing that the property rested upon; a couple yards from the property edge where I could make out the trees there was a kind of fog that never really let up. At first I'd given it no mind, but attempting to travel into it...I will save you the horror, but if ever a deceased person could feel something physical it was then. Imagine if you could walk the entire world in a dozen footsteps or so, and you began at the equator moving towards either pole naked as a jay bird and I think you'll get the idea.

Soon after returning to the house and attempting to get warm I found a remnant of the noose that I hung myself with. Apparently the lazy dolts who took my body forgot to clean up all of the way, or perhaps they all just assumed some one else would do it. After twisting and braiding it, I was proud to say that it wasn't a terrible looking bracelet, as it wasn't quite long enough to be worn about my neck as a choker. Don't think for a moment that was my only reasoning of course, as I did not truly want to draw eyes to the bruising around my neck that never quite went away nor was it an option as while my control of objects had gotten quite good it wasn't that good. If nothing else the blue color of the rope remained, and the material had not been too frayed.

And then…well, I don't know how much time passed from my first try to my second, but I had the brilliant idea that mayhap my new bracelet would allow me travel farther from the house, like an extension to my leash if you will.

The second attempt doesn't really need iteration, safe to say I tried going further, ignored my own discomfort but eventually gave in.

Returning from the second attempt was odd because the house looked different when I got back; it was obvious that a family had moved in while I was out being an idiot, lost and freezing in the fog. I beat myself up over missing that for quite a while, but I got a good look at the things they brought while they were gone. There was a piano downstairs in the drawing room, a beautiful thing, darkly colored and well tuned. Upstairs the bookshelves had been filled in the library, everything filled to bursting. I spent the time til they came back going through all of the new things. (and yes, if it has occurred to you, I did in fact check to see that they hadn't messed around in my attic. While it looks like the took a peak at my things, everything is still, in fact, there.)

I thought maybe when the people returned my bracelet could 'mysteriously' appear as a gift, and then I'd be able to follow them instead of staying at home all of the time, since it was obvious they didn't mind leaving my things for me. (I had found several pictures of my family so far, Two adults and four children, angelic looking little things.)

If nothing else my home was roomy and architecturally lovely though I had begun to notice a distinct decline in its quality...As long as I could remember there had been people stopping by on the outside to take a look, but they had always left before ever stepping inside. I keep thinking how strange that has been as I watched them from the window, vaguely insulted that they don't like the look of the house and hoping they might come in to get a better look despite it, I often keep things quite tidy, and there wasn't a speck of dust to be found (It was most likely safe to lick the windows with how free of dirt they were).

Where is my family?

It's felt like a long time since anyone came by to look inside but today I spy outside something mildly interesting. Outside the window is a woman and two men, I can't really see any of them clearly from here, but I'm pleased to see them all the same. Usually when anyone comes by they are dressed for work, or there is only one of them, so I know they can't be who I'm waiting for, not that these two are, they don't look right at all; family perhaps? Watching them talk with who I assume is the property caretaker I cross my fingers and hope, because they keep smiling and nodding, and the sharply dressed man in the two-piece suit keeps gesturing at the house with a slowly growing excitement. Goodness, but I can feel it from here!

The man with the woman, blond where the caretaker is brunette looks up at the house and I back away, I just really can't bare scaring more people away, not when it looks like I might actually be close to people returning. I'm not sure how long it takes but the sound of the door opening downstairs echoes up to me and I hear their voices chiming up to my ears, an excited babble and the damn near musical sound of what I can guess are part of my family.

This is the first time anyone has entered the house besides the occasional daredevil and any number of caretakers coming to look at the place, since my family moved in. I know there isn't any paint sprayed on the walls so I'm not too worried, and I've kept everything tidy in the absence so it won't be filthy, but I've noticed that my presence seems to unnerve people more often than not so I make haste to the attic where my things are.

Today my people might begin coming home, if I only mind my p's and q's long enough. the creaking of the floorboards downstairs feels like it continues forever as I trace their location in my mind.

The front hall, to the family room and linger.

the sound like a bell of distant laughter, soft, and I'm not sure how I can hear it at all when their voices are just a distant murmur, and perhaps I'm only imagining it.

Then kitchen...dining room...drawing room...office...powder room...playroom...door opening?

I then remember that there is a basement and wish I were capable of a slap for self idiocy. I don't think the basement matters too much though as the space is difficult at best to get into and maneuver. Proof of such comes when the sound of a door closing soon follows its opening.

I keep listening, I know that they have already seen all of the first floor rooms which means if they continue for the second floor...I hear the creak of stairs and wiggle around in excitement because...just oh my goodness yay!

Their voices become slightly louder but still distant, the stairs from the second floor to the third being at opposite ends of the house. I sit content in my little crawl space attic while I listen to them moving around cataloging the rooms as they go through. the second floor of my home has six bedrooms and two bathrooms, each with a palatial amount of room. My nerves start to go haywire as they near the third floor stairs but then...they stop.

"...You shouldn't worry about the temperatures too much, I'm sure when you get the electricity started up again it'll warm up. besides which there might be some damage to the roof, warning you now, as this place hasn't really been worked on in a while. we can take a peek if you'd like? I know with old properties like this there are any number of issues, but when this place was last occupied in the 1930s the owners did some excellent upgrades. It's just a shame the owner died; town gossip has it that his widow and children couldn't bare to stay so far from their family back in England with him gone, so this place has stood alone ever since."

I...So I missed them completely? This isn't...this is a new family altogether. I missed my first family...

"No, I'm quite certain it's fine, let's go ahead and see the third floor."

I feel a sense of acceptance settle in, so what if the family won't be the same? If nothing else, this family will be completely mine this time. This might be my chance, I wasn't going to miss the bus just because I was caught moping. The third floor staircase begins to creak as they ascend and I listen to the caretaker talk about "this kind of wood" things are made of, "continues to this floor"...blah. he drones on as they look at the two bedrooms and bathrooms, and then the big reveal, and what I think may be something I'm most excited about...the library.

The library is the room directly below me, and is the only way into the attic; I'm not too modest to say that it is absolutely stunning. After this house was first made I came by for it's first evening, the man who made it was a Lawyer from out of town wanting to show off his new home before he left to retrieve his brother and family from somewhere out East. The entire town was there, my diary describes how magical the first sight the whole place had seemed to me. I don't know for sure, but my diary alluded to the fact that the man hadn't come back due to some kind of epidemic where his wife was living; it doesn't say anything about anyone returning.

I'm woken from my thoughts by a pleased exclamation from both the man and woman.

" Carlisle, this is wonderful! This will be perfect, don't you think?"

"For having minimal upkeep it has held well. When can the property be available?"

I must be about to float through the roof with how ecstatic I am at this moment, 'when can the property be available', isn't that just another way of saying, 'we'll stay!' right? I mean they have to be coming to the place, they like it! I'm going to have people! I don't remember the last family, how am I going to act?...should I act? oh my...would it be better to just watch? Observe and then act. Plan formed I'll stay back...

"Now, I'm going to warn you because you look like a nice couple, big family and all that. This house has a nasty history of ousting its occupants. Other than the last owner dying out in a car accident, the owner before that left and never returned, died of some kind of plague in San Fran back in the 1900s; then sometime between that first family and the second a young girl committed suicide here. It's a nice place, but its got a bad history..." Well that's rude, it isn't the houses fault that I was gone! Besides which that first time was just how things were back then, everyone was always getting sick of something or another.

"I appreciate your warning but it seems my Esme has fallen in love with this place. When we start to move in we'll get a priest to come take a look, for both of our peace of mind, hm?" Uh oh. I'm not entirely sure if I like that idea, it isn't as if I'm a bad sort of spirit, but what if they decide they don't want me here? the book says that 'blessings' (whatever those are) and exorcisms (whichever that is) might be able to purge me of the home. oh dear...

"That's great! I'd really feel a ton better, since you seem set on this place. When your priest comes try and get him up to the attic, alright? From what I've heard there's some strange stuff up there, none of the workers who come by ever go anywhere near it." That absolute ninny! He may as well have given the dog a bad name, I've not hurt a single one of those nosy nancies!

The sound of a door closing echoes to me and if ghosts can startle, well...I allow myself to drop the rest of the way through the floor (startle for a ghost usually means forgetting where the floor is) and beat feet to the next room where the driveway can be seen; and there they are. Oh, but humans do move so quickly. I would have wondered how they slipped from top floor to porch so quickly but this was not the first time I lost myself in thought.

It wasn't long before I saw them getting back into their automobiles to drive off.

I kept staring out that window for a while, I'm not entirely sure what I was expecting to happen. Sometimes when you're dead you just...stop. It's like the world stops spinning for a while and you are...just locked in place. These were going to be my people, right? I suppose I just expected them to instantly pop back up, to come down that rickety old drive with all their things in hand and on truck; all ready to settle in. what was I going to do? It's not like I hurt anyone, and I keep up this place!

I'm not going to leave, I've decided. When they get back, I'll just have to get one of them alone and have a talk with them; I was here first after all, they've no right to evict me from my own home! I just...I leave the window before long, I haven't practiced it in some time, but there are a couple descriptions for taking physical form that I read about to brush up, and I'm thinking I'm going to need it soon enough if I have any hope of staying. It'll be a last resort if it needs to be, if they can't hear me first, but...It's all I can do.

AN: Hey everyone if you're still paying attention this is me revamping and picking this story back up! I hope you're excited, because I believe I have matured as a writer and will be capable of doing this story much more justice, because I still love the idea of it. I'll get around to the next chapter soon, so don't be too impatient, as I'll be working on it this weekend!