When Langenscheidt finished telling his story, Kielholz looked at him in confusion and disbelief. "This has to be a trap of some kind," he said.

"I do not think so," Langenscheidt replied. "I saw the monster part of him die. All that is left is the man he once was, before he was influenced by the witches."

"And he wants to be your… magical guardian?"

"Yes."

"Does that mean he is going to be hanging around the camp in plain view of everyone?"

"No. I think he will only come out when I need him."

Kielholz fell silent. "After everything that has happened, I do not know if I am comfortable with that idea."

"He will return in a few days. We can talk about it then."

From the corner of his eye, Langenscheidt spotted Colonel Ritschmann entering the infirmary. The older man smiled at him. "Congratulations, Corporal, on your victory."

"Thank you, sir." Langenscheidt thought back to the night before he was dragged into Westworth's afterlife. "I… have to ask, Colonel. Is it true that you yourself went through something similar?"

Ritschmann raised an eyebrow. "It is. Why?"

"Westworth brought it up before our fight."

"I see." Ritschmann thought for a moment. "How much did he tell you?"

"He mentioned a former commander of yours in World War One had gone down a dark route and chose you to be his target."

"Indeed, I did."

"Was it just one spirit you had to deal with? Or was there a… good spirit trying to break free?"

"There was just the one. What exactly are you talking about?"

"Westworth… had two spirits. The man and the monster. I destroyed the monster."

"Two spirits? That is not supposed to be possible."

"His former self hung on long enough."

"Incredible. It is certainly not a phenomenon I am familiar with. Everything we have discussed seemed to imply there was just the monster, nothing else."

"That is what I thought, too. Now, he feels indebted to me and wants to be some kind of guardian."

"Ghost guardians are quite rare," Ritschmann said. "Few spirits will choose to tie themselves to a specific living person, but when they do, it is a unique bond that you carry with you for the rest of your life."

"Can he leave if he wants to?"

"Absolutely, but it is not common for such a thing to happen." Ritschmann fell quiet for a moment. "So… it was the monster that killed my wife."

"Yes."

The colonel nodded. "I would like to see Westworth when he returns."

"Are you going to hurt him?"

"No. I imagine the 'good spirit' has suffered quite a bit, but I want to hear his side of the story."

"He certainly has a lot of people to explain things to. Erich, Newkirk, and now you."

"Given his relationship with Newkirk, I imagine that is going to be very difficult."

Langenscheidt was able to leave the infirmary later that day, and was greatly relieved to see Stalag 13 as it should be. He was exhausted from his ordeal, and he was surprised it all took place in under a day. He remembered fainting earlier in the morning. Now it was the middle of the afternoon. He thought, jokingly, At least I got out of patrol duties today.

He stood still, listening to the laughter of the prisoners as they played ball, the guards barking orders to each other, and the sentries in the watchtowers chatting with each other. Life moved on around him, and he wondered how many of the men in the camp were aware of what had happened.

Langenscheidt snapped out of his thoughts before walking over to where Barracks One once stood, where it all began. It didn't feel as strange and foreboding as it had in the past. Now, there was something sad about it. As he paced around the area, he heard a voice say, "I still need rest. Come back later, Langenscheidt. Spend time with your friends. They've missed you."

Nodding, Langenscheidt walked away, though he kept looking over his shoulder at the empty area. It remained in the back of his mind for the rest of the day, even while catching up with some of the other guards. He already felt alone most of the time, as he didn't relate much to the others. Most of them were loud and overeager at their positions because they didn't make it far in their career as regular pilots or paratroopers. It was a means of compensating, so they didn't look like failures. Langenscheidt stayed quiet and didn't act very eager at all. He didn't feel like he needed to compensate for anything, as he knew that no matter what, his injury from the crash in training would show itself, often at a bad time.

Now, he felt further isolated from them. How many of them could say they were haunted by a ghost and pulled into a state where they had to fight that ghost just to survive? None, aside from him.

Shortly before sundown, Langenscheidt paced aimlessly in front of Barracks Two. He was contemplating whether or not he wanted to talk to Newkirk about Westworth, and he was leaning toward "not yet." He didn't feel ready, and he didn't think Westworth was ready, either. As he walked, he noticed Sergeant Carter had come outside, and paused to look down at something in the snow. Carter crouched, and picked up the silver dagger, partly buried and covered in frozen blood. He looked up, and his gaze settled on Langenscheidt. "Hey! Do you know what this is?"

Nervously, Langenscheidt walked over. "What makes you think I know what it is?"

"Just a feeling, that's all." Carter showed him the dagger.

"Well, you are not wrong. It… It is mine—actually, it belongs to Colonel Ritschmann. He… let me use it when I fought Westworth."

Carter nodded a little. "Honestly, I can't imagine what that must have been like for you."

"Hell. It was hell."

"At least you're alive and okay. Word got around fast after you were brought to the infirmary."

"Everyone knew?" Langenscheidt raised an eyebrow. "None of the other guards… acted like they knew. They pretended everything was normal, or that I had just gone to the infirmary for a simple cut or something similar."

"They probably didn't want to upset you by bringing it up."

Langenscheidt gave a muted sigh. "I guess that makes sense."

"But—" Carter put his hand on Langenscheidt's shoulder, "if you need someone to talk to, I'm here to listen."

"I appreciate that, Carter. It… It is a lot to explain, though."

"That's okay." Carter grinned a little and shrugged. "It's not like I've got anywhere to be."

"True. I will take you up on your offer, but I need some time alone."

Carter nodded. "Take all the time you need, but I'll be here to listen when you need it."

"Thank you." Langenscheidt watched Carter walk away, then looked down at the dagger. He took it into the guards' latrine to wash off the dried blood and viscera from Westworth's corpse, then brought it back to his bunk to hide it until he had a chance to return it to Ritschmann. After setting it on top of a collection of letters from home, Langenscheidt stared at it, still in disbelief at what had happened. He alternated between wondering if what happened was real, and being surprised that it was all over.

Kielholz's voice pulled him from his thoughts. "Evening mealtime, Karl," he said.

The rumbling in Langenscheidt's stomach reminded him that he didn't even have breakfast that day. He closed his foot locker, and stood to follow Kielholz to the mess hall, not saying a word.

"Are you alright?" Kielholz asked. "You are very quiet."

"What else is new?" Langenscheidt replied.

"Quieter than usual."

"What do you expect? I was nearly murdered by a ghost. Do you think I am supposed to be happy?"

"Well, I… I expected you to be happy that you survived."

"I am, but I still… I am still shocked this all happened."

"We have been over this before, Karl. It is not your fault—"

"I do not care about that anymore." Langenscheidt abruptly turned to head back to the barracks. "You know what? I want to be alone."

"You need to eat, Karl."

"Forget it. I no longer have an appetite."

Kielholz grabbed his arm. "No! I am not going to let you do this." He made Langenscheidt face him. "I know you are still upset, and you do not know how to process all of this, but I will not let you isolate and starve yourself. You need to talk to me about what you are thinking about."

An urge to cry began slowly building in Langenscheidt's throat. "Did this… Did this really happen? Was I really haunted by a mad ghost and pulled into a dream-like state so he could try to kill me?"

"Yes. That really happened."

"You are telling me the truth?"

"I would never, ever lie to you, Karl. You know that."

Langenscheidt's throat closed and tears began rolling down his face. In that moment, he had never felt more broken, more tired, more confused, or more scared. Not since his accident in training. He let Kielholz pull him into a hug, and sobbed hard into his shoulder.

It didn't come as a surprise to Langenscheidt that he was finding it hard to fall asleep that night. He lay awake in his bunk, staring up at Kielholz's and listening to his friend's rhythmic breathing. Now that the debacle with Westworth was over, everyone was expecting things to get back to normal, and Langenscheidt desperately wanted everything to be back to normal again, as he had been wanting over the last several weeks. Why didn't he feel normal again?

Random creaks in the barracks would make him tense up, and there was a part of him terrified that Westworth, the monster, was still lurking around. He looked for the glowing silver eyes in each dark corner of the room. He looked for red-eyed black rats scurrying on the floor. He was afraid of going to sleep, of being dragged into another nightmare.

Langenscheidt managed to sleep, but every few hours, it was interrupted by him waking up and fearing that Westworth was preparing to torment him again. The next morning, he followed the rest of the guards to the mess hall, and absentmindedly stirred the porridge-like concoction on his tray, only forcing himself to eat when Kielholz threatened to spoon-feed him.

Colonel Klink gave them their duties for the day, and expected them to be carried out to the letter. He was certainly acting like everything was back to normal. Not much of a surprise there. Langenscheidt accepted his orders and tried to follow everyone else's example, though he felt like he was trying to free-climb a mountain while everyone else had all of their equipment.

He had to inspect Barracks Two that day, and as he approached the infamous building, he looked over the empty space where Barracks One used to stand. The transparent figure of Westworth was floating a few centimeters off the snow-covered ground. His pet rat was on his left shoulder, and he was looking around the camp with a melancholic expression. Unable to resist the temptation, Langenscheidt approached him. "Westworth?" he said.

Westworth turned. "Good morning, Langenscheidt," the ghost replied. "How are you feeling?"

"Honestly, not well."

"I'm sorry. I did say before sending you back that this would bother you for some time."

"You did. What I do not understand is… why is everyone acting like things are back to normal?"

Westworth shrugged. "They didn't suffer like you. Don't fault them for not understanding. Frankly, I would not wish what you went through on anyone."

"I just still cannot believe this happened. It… does not feel real."

"It reminds you too much of your accident."

Langenscheidt nodded. "Yes. Exactly. It… I-I have no way of knowing if it was really real aside from everyone else telling me that it happened."

"You will feel like that for a while."

"Is there anything you can do to help?"

Westworth shook his head. "The scars of what happened will fade, but never completely. It is up to you now whether or not you want them to dominate your life."

"I am always going to be the… damn ugly duckling in this camp." Langenscheidt kicked a chunk of ice that had fallen from the roof of Barracks Two.

"Did you forget the duckling turned out to be a swan?" Westworth asked.

"I am the cygnet at the beginning at the story, when he was still thought of as a duckling. I do not think I am a swan. I am a broken duckling."

Westworth grinned at the comparison. "What makes you think you are the ugly duckling, Langenscheidt?"

"I have never had anything in common with the other guards, and now it has just been made worse by fighting your monster. I have not grown anymore graceful. I am only becoming more isolated. All of the scars that make up my past have grown uglier. I will always be known as the one who hit his head and frequently misremembers things, or the one who did not make it out of training, or the one who had to fight a raging ghost. I will never be thought of as 'not suffering.'"

"Your friend Kielholz doesn't think so. He was the one thing keeping you moving forward when the monster was fighting you, as well as the men in Barracks Two. They clearly care about you."

"They felt responsible for your monster."

"Peter does." Westworth frowned and bit his lip. "I am a bit surprised he hasn't said anything to you since yesterday morning."

"He probably thinks that there is nothing more to what happened. I do not blame him for wanting to just forget."

"Trying to just forget isn't the best thing to do. You and Peter have taken opposite routes when it comes to dealing with this situation. You are unable to forget, and he has chosen to forget. That is something that hasn't changed about him since we met back in training. He doesn't talk about his problems until they become too much to bear, and to be honest—" Westworth began walking toward the door to the barracks, "I am not going to let him forget this."

Langenscheidt gave Westworth a confused and somewhat concerned look. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to talk to Peter, like I said I would." Westworth glanced at Langenscheidt before he knocked on the door. "Will you be with me?"

Langenscheidt shrugged. "Alright." He walked up alongside the ghost, waiting for someone to answer the knocking.

It was Newkirk who opened the door. His face immediately reddened with anger, and he took a hard swing at Westworth.

Langenscheidt's mind flashed to Westworth's monster punching him in his afterlife, and dropped to the ground, screaming and whimpering. He could hear Kielholz shouting to Wilson that they needed towels to stop the bleeding, and feel the tight sensation of nothingness in his chest, the warmth of blood running down his face.

When he returned to reality, he saw Westworth was standing over him, glaring at Newkirk. "That was futile. Everyone knows you can't punch a ghost."

"I sure as hell would like to punch you. What are you doing here? I thought Langenscheidt destroyed you!" Newkirk shouted.

"He destroyed the monster I became. I am the Westworth you once knew, the one who trained with you, and rescued you when you were shot down."

"Right. Right, I'll believe that." Newkirk folded his arms over his chest and moved to slam the door shut.

Westworth grabbed the door, forcing it to stay open. "I understand it is hard to believe. I have not forgotten what happened to me, and I am so sorry for what I put all of you through."

"Don't give me the crocodile tears, you traitor! A simple 'I'm sorry' isn't going to fix anything."

Westworth didn't respond at first. "Honestly, I expected this."

"That's the smartest thing you've done in the last two-and-a-half years. Get out. Don't start haunting the barracks, or else we're going to find a professional ghost hunter and get rid of you permanently." Newkirk gave Langenscheidt a dirty look. "You were supposed to get rid of him, not make friends with him!"

"Will you just listen for once?!" Langenscheidt shouted as he stood up. "Westworth is telling the truth! I destroyed the monster. All that is left is the man he used to be."

"Langenscheidt, this is a discussion between me and Peter," Westworth said. "I will talk with you later."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. Go back to your duties."

"I am supposed to be inspecting this barracks, actually."

"Oh." Westworth looked a little embarrassed, then returned his gaze to Newkirk. "I suppose we can continue this conversation when the lad is finished."

"Don't pretend to be so friendly with him, you bastard," Newkirk growled.

Langenscheidt entered the barracks, uncomfortable with the fact that the rest of the barracks' residents were all looking at him. He kept looking over at where Westworth and Newkirk were staring each other down, then glanced up to see Colonel Hogan leaving his bedroom. The barracks fell completely silent for a minute or two before Hogan said, "So, this is Sergeant Westworth?"

"Sure is," Newkirk replied. "I have no intention of talking with him civilly, Colonel. I don't care what he or Langenscheidt say."

"I am not the monster I was when Ritschmann killed me," Westworth said. "I am here to make things right, as I have decided to become a guardian to Langenscheidt, which means you may have to put up with my presence from time to time."

"Why exactly did you decide that? That still makes you a traitor, because you're guarding a Kraut!"

"He destroyed the monster. The lines of war do not apply here. Langenscheidt was willing to listen, you were not, Peter!"

"Alright, that's enough!" Hogan stepped in between the two Englishmen. "Newkirk, you're going to take some time to think about all this, and we'll return to it when you've cooled down. Westworth—" Hogan looked at the ghost, "you know, I have no idea if you're under my command or not."

"I will leave if that's what you wish, Colonel," Westworth said.

"Leave for now." Hogan turned to Langenscheidt. "Can you bring him here when I ask?"

Langenscheidt nodded.

"Alright. Thank you."

Langenscheidt left after finishing his inspection, finding Westworth waiting outside the building. Overall, he was unsure what to say. "I am sorry about that."

"Don't be. I expected Peter to react that way," Westworth said.

"Are you at all worried about him getting ghost hunters to take care of you?"

"No. I can see he deeply respects Colonel Hogan. If he wants us to sit down and talk, that will definitely happen."

"Hogan is a very intelligent and cunning man. I have wondered if things would have turned out differently if he had been here while you were alive."

"Perhaps. I can't say for certain." Westworth shrugged, then looked around the camp. "Will you be alright, Langenscheidt?"

"I… do not know. What do you mean?"

"Do you think you will be able to get through this? I should apologize that Peter's actions caused you to relive my monster striking you."

Langenscheidt nodded a little. "I think I will be alright. Things will not heal overnight, but as long as I have Erich, I can get through this."

"Don't forget Sergeant Carter. I overheard him offer to listen to you yesterday."

"Right. I will not forget."

"You also have me, now. I understand it'll be strange at first, but I think in time, we can become good friends."

"It already is strange, but when has my life not been strange?"

"Fair point." Westworth turned to head toward the area where Barracks One used to be. "I will be here if you need me."

Langenscheidt watched him walk away and disappear into thin air. A part of him was still in disbelief, but a much warmer feeling inside him told him that at least he was not alone.