Scene Two: "I speak to the dead."

(Suze speaks in a voice over)

By now I'm pretty sure you're all wondering why I'm so weird. Maybe I should explain why I hate old houses. Maybe I should explain everything.

The story of why I hate old houses is also the story of why all the kids at my old school thought I was nuts. It's the story of why my mom brought me to about thirty different counselors back in New York. It's the story of why I still see my dad sometimes, despite the fact that he died ten years ago.

It's also, coincidently, the story of why I've never been asked out by a boy.

Basically, in 12-Step lingo, it's like this: My name is Susannah Simon, I'm sixteen years old, and I talk to the dead.

Or rather, they talk to me. It's not like I go around instigating conversations with them.

(Cut to a Suze as a young toddler, standing at the bottom of the stairs in her old apartment building, supporting herself by holding on to one of the stair rails. At the top of the stairs is the sad, grey ghost of a pretty young woman, looking down at Suze imploringly. Toddler Suze stares up at the ghost with wide, fascinated eyes, but the ghost sighs sadly.)

(Suze's mom walks over to young Suze)

YOUNG SUZE: Mommy, look! (Points to the top of the stairs where the grey ghost was) The grey girl! Can you see her, Mommy?

(Suze's mom looks up and sees nothing. The grey ghost sighs again and disappears)

YOUNG SUZE: There Mommy, she was there! I saw the little grey girl!

MOM (Smiling pleasantly): Uh huh. Listen Susie, what would you like for lunch today, grilled cheese or tuna fish?

(Cut to young Suze eating her grilled cheese sandwich)

(Present-day Suze, voice over)

I realized then that the reason my mother had no idea what I was talking about was that she couldn't see them. At the time, I just figured it was yet another thing that separated adults and children. Children had to eat all their vegetables, adults did not. Children could ride the merry-go-round in the park, adults could not. Children could see the grey things. Adults could not.

And even though I was only a kid, I still realized that the little grey thing at the top of the stairs was not something to be discussed. Not with anybody. Not ever.

(Cut to Suze, a little older, sitting on a fire escape alone in her apartment. In the background we can hear people saying things like, "I'm sorry for your loss" in comforting tones)

I was never able to understand what ghosts wanted, at least, not until my dad died. They were just there. They tried to talk to me, I didn't know what they wanted, and after awhile, they'd just go away.

People kept assuring me, after my dad died, that he was never coming back. Of course, I didn't believe them. Not coming back? Were they nuts? I mean, sure, I knew he was dead. But he was definitely coming back.

(Suze's dad appears, a little more grey and a little more see-through, on the fire escape. Suze grins and hugs him, and they start talking)

My dad tried to explain it all to me. He did a pretty good job, too. It's like this: I'm basically the contact person for dead spirits who can't ascend to a higher plane because they have unfinished business. In plain English: ghosts who leave things untidy come to me. And if I can, I have to clean up the mess.

Needless to say, this interferes with my ability to live the life of a normal teenager. And prevents boys from asking me out because, well...people don't think too highly of girls who go around talking to what appears to be walls and other inanimate objects.

(Cut back to the present day, with Suze looking around the enormous old house in awe, but in apprehension too)

MOM: Do you want to see your new room, Susie?

SUZE: Uh, yeah, sure.

(They go up the stairs to Suze's bedroom, painted a pleasant pink, with a large canopy bed and silver and white furniture and a dressing table. A large bay window faces the sea, and in the window seat, sits a ghost–a young man in old fashioned clothing. Suze sees him and her eyes widen, she glares straight at him. At first he doesn't realize she's looking at him; he turns his head and stares behind him to see if she's speaking to someone else. Then he stares back at her in shock.)

SUZE (whispering to the ghost) Who the hell are you?

MOM: Did you say something Susie?

SUZE (hurriedly): Um, no. This is really great, Mom, everything's really great. Thanks so much.

MOM: Well, I'm glad you like it. I was sort of worried. I mean, I know how you get about, well, old places.

SUZE (trying to steer her mom towards the door) Really Mom, it's great, I love it.

MOM: Are you sure, Susie? Because I know it's a big change, asking you to leave Grandma and Gina back in New York and all. I know things haven't been easy since Daddy died.

SUZE (hugs her mom): Don't worry Mom, I know I'm gonna be really happy here. Now, uh, do you think you should go and help Andy make dinner?

MOM: Oh, yes. You're right. Are you sure you don't need any help unpacking?

SUZE: Yeah Mom, I'm sure. So, uh, you go and help Andy, and I'll be down in just a minute.

(Her mom leaves, and immediately after she closes the door Suze turns to the ghost, who is still staring at her wide-eyed)

GHOST: I don't understand...I don't...how can you see me? After all these years, no one has ever–

SUZE: Yeah, looks as if it's been awhile. How long has it been since you've croaked, anyway? What, a hundred and fifty years?

GHOST: What is...croaked?

SUZE: You know. Kicked the bucket. Checked out. Bit the dust.

(The ghost looks completely lost)

SUZE (sighs): Died.

GHOST: Oh, yes...died.

SUZE: Yeah, that. So what's your glitch?

GHOST: Glitch?

SUZE: Yes, glitch. Problem. Why are you here?

(The ghost looks blank again)

SUZE: Let me elaborate. Why haven't you gone to the other side?

GHOST: I don't know what you're talking about.

SUZE: Whaddya mean, you don't know what I'm talking about? You're dead. You don't belong here. You're supposed to be off doing whatever it is people do when they die. Rejoicing in heaven, or burning in hell, or being reincarnated, or ascending another plane of consciousness, or whatever. You're not supposed to be just...well, hanging around.

(The ghost changes position so that he's leaning an elbow on one leg. He looks thoughtful)

GHOST: Well, what if I happen to like hanging around?

SUZE: Look. You can do all the hanging around you want, amigo. Slack away. I don't really care.

GHOST: Jesse.

SUZE (turning around and starting to unpack) What?

GHOST: You called me amigo. I just thought you might like to know I have a name. It's Jesse.

SUZE: Well, fine then, Jesse it is. You can't stay here, Jesse.

JESSE (smiling): And you?

SUZE: And me what?

JESSE: What is your name?

SUZE (glaring at him): Look. Just tell me what you want, and get out. It's really hot and I want to change clothes. I don't have time for–

JESSE: That woman, your mother. She called you Susie. Short for Susan?

SUZE: Susannah. As in, "Don't Cry For Me."

JESSE (smiles again): I know the song.

SUZE: Yeah, it was probably in the Top 40 when you were born, huh?

JESSE: So this is your room now, is it Susannah?

SUZE: Yeah, this is my room now. So you're gonna have to clear out.

JESSE: I'm going to have to clear out? This has been my home for a century and a half. Why do I have to leave it?

SUZE: Because this is my room, and I'm not going to share it with the ghost of some dead cowboy.

(Jesse slams his foot down on the floor and stands up facing Suze angrily)

JESSE: I am not a cowboy.

(As he speaks, the mirror hanging over Suze's dresser starts to shake)

SUZE: Whoa. Down, boy.

JESSE (waving a finger in Suze's face): My family worked like slaves to make something of themselves in this country, but never, ever as a vanquero–

SUZE:(angrily grabs Jesse's finger and pulls him forward by it) Stop with the mirror already. And quit wagging your finger in my face. Do that again, and I'll break it.

(Suze lets go of Jesse's finger. Jesse goes pale and incredulously stares at his finger that Suze just touched: the first person who's touched him in 150 years)

JESSE: ...Who are you? What kind of...girl are you?

SUZE: I'll tell you what kind of girl I'm not. I'm not the kind of girl who wants to share her room with the member of the opposite sex, even a dead one. Understand me? So either you move out on your own or I force you out. But either way, Jesse, when I get back I want you out.

(Suze storms out of the room and slams the door behind her)

(Jesse raises his eyebrows in an amused sort of way. He sits back down on the window seat and smiles, stares out at the sea, softly singing, "Oh Susannah, now don't you cry for me, 'cause I come from Alabama with this banjo on my knee...")