Lydia's attention turned to me. "I suppose I could start with silly questions like how old you are or what grade you're in, but I don't really see the point in it. Can I ask you something?"

I nodded.

"You're the author, aren't you? Your pen name is Reese Night?"

I sat up straighter. Surely my mother must have told her, because I specifically never put any personal information about myself in any of my stories. Again, I nodded.

"I've read so many of your online work! Frankly, I'm impressed. Have you considered getting a short-story book deal? I know a man who would do it for you."

My eyes lit up. I had thought of this in the past, but I never thought they'd do it for my time of work. Lydia was earning major points in my book.

"Well," my mother said. "I need to get going. I'll be back in a while. Lira, you behave. Don't feel bad about kicking her out, Lydia!"

She walked out and I heard the car start up and drive off.

"Are you serious?" I asked Lydia.

"Oh, yeah!" she claimed. "But back to your work. I was particularly interested with your writings having to do with fanfiction. You may not have noticed it, but word about you has gotten around. You're very highly regarded in some forum's I've visited. People are calling you the Shakespeare of the modern fanfiction."

My jaw dropped. I had some reviews of my stories, but nothing like this. She saw my expression and laughed.

"It's all true. But I really liked some of what you've done with movies. They're very well written. By the way, this house is haunted."

I did a mental double take.

"I'm sorry?"

"Oh yes. It's just that some of your work involves certain ghosts, certain apparitions. I figured a day trip here would inspire you. I specifically asked your mother to bring you along today."

A shiver ran up my spine. Thoughts were becoming clearer, bit by bit. Names, circumstances, all sorts of things were beginning to link and take shape in my mind. Again, I tried to push them away as coincidental evidence, but they wouldn't disappear.

"Listen," I started, convincing myself that this woman was a little over the edge. "I've never been around any real ghosts. I don't plan to. Truth be told, sometimes I scare myself when I write about them."

"But you don't have to worry about these ghosts. They can't hurt you. Some are rather nice; I'd love for you to meet them."

This comment cinched it. Never, in all my years of inspecting apparitions and reading and writing about them had I ever head of friendly ghosts, disregarding Casper, who in my mind did not constitute a true otherworldly being.

Lydia here was living in a dreamworld, probably a mild schizophrenic living up here in the middle of nowhere on doctor's orders. I decided it would be safer to indulge her rather than deny her visions.

"Follow me," she requested. "I'll show you."

I got up and Lydia led me deeper into the house. We stopped at an overflowing closet. Shoving aside piles of whatnot, I noted an eerily creaking door near the end of the hallway and averted my attention back to Lydia, now waist-deep in the junk. She was muttering something with her head deep in the alcove.

"Maybe Beetlejuice is back there," I commented jokingly.

"Oh no, he left awhile back. I doubt he'd be hiding back here…" she claimed seriously, standing up and straightening out her dress.

With an exasperated noise, she abandoned the closet and led me to a tearoom near the back of the house. I admired the cleanliness of this room, elegantly bedecked in wicker furniture and fine porcelain statues. The inner columns were covered in live ivy, creating a charming outdoor-garden effect.

"Have a seat and I'll call for them"

I sat in a white wicker chair, which was covered with a soft rose-patterned cushion, convinced she was nuts. What would I do when she claimed they were floating above me or standing next to me? Probably act, I thought. Pretend to see them…

Lydia cleared her throat and spoke to the empty hallway.

"Alright, she's ready. You can come join us now. I know you're anxious to meet her."