You know what's mine.

A/n- Now, we're at Tara in 2005.

It was late morning, and once again the sun was in my eyes. I groaned and buried myself deeper under the covers.

Buried. Now there's a word I don't use lightly, being a ghost and all. Michael and I had been at Tara ever since we left Jack and Melanie's wedding, and that had been years ago. So many years in fact, that I no longer bothered keeping track. But I knew it had been a lot. I knew that any day now, Michael would say that we should go back home so that I could see Mama and Daddy.

The thought filled me with prickles of unease. It wasn't because I didn't love my parents. If I didn't, they would never have come back in the first place. It was because my father and I differ somewhat in our afterlife goals and the amount of sanity we possess.

While I would prefer a nice, quiet afterlife, like the one I enjoy here at Tara, my father has been, and always will be, in love with money. He squanders dollars right and left and then thinks of new ways to get more. Needless to say, these money-making schemes are ridiculous and impractical. I shudder to think what's happened to my mansion and the people in it at the hands of my father.

Just as I shut my eyes to get back to sleep, I heard a knock on the door. I sat up and shoved my covers away just as Michael came into the room holding a rolled up paper in one hand and grinning at me mischievously. I can tell he's going to tell me something that I think is unpleasant, but that he finds amusing.

"Well Peach, if it's a nice, quiet afterlife you want, I guess we have to move someplace else."

Groaning and stretching, I take the paper from his outstretched hand. My brain is having trouble processing what is happening.

Michael letting me read the paper is something that doesn't happen very often because he is an extremely old-fashioned nineteenth century man who thinks I'll pass out if I see anything too extraordinary. The first thing I do is look at the date in the upper-right hand corner. It says June 19, 2005. We've been at Tara almost seventy years. Then, I read over the article, feeling more and more horrified with every line.

Majestic Tara Now Top Paranormal Site

By Chip Davies

No, Scarlett O'Hara hasn't died and begun haunting, but the house that inspired the best-selling novel Gone With the Wind is reputed to have a Southern Belle of it's own. Several of Atlanta's top psychic investigators say so anyway. They also say she's not benign.

"Yes, there is a violent presence at Tara. I wouldn't go back there for any amount of money," says local psychic Justine Bateman. "I felt angry, threatening energy in the house."

The psychics claim the ghost throws things at them, and has even pushed a few down the stairs. But the tourists who come to Tara for a heaping helping of Southern charm and hospitality have a different story to tell about the ghost of Tara.

"She's very benign," says one guest. "I didn't feel threatened at all."

Guests also say that they were treated to some down-home cooking. Peach jelly on toast and pie and ice cream although the heat and water were turned off at Tara years ago. Now I want to see for myself weather Southern charm and hospitality are still in good spirit at Tara, or if the ghost has it in for me too.

I looked up at Michael. "Lordy, if I'd have know that that peach jelly and toast would have caused a national incident, I never would have made it." Michael was still grinning so I threw the paper at him, careful to aim at his head.

After that, Michael looked at me seriously. I knew what he was going to say. I'd been waiting for it all along.

"Like I've been saying Peach, if you do want a nice, quiet afterlife, I think we should move. Perhaps to your parents' house."

As I sat there staring at him, I felt a peculiar sensation. If I had been alive, I know the blood would be gone from my face.

"Michael, you really don't know what you're asking me to do! I can't go back there just like I really can't imagine what my father's done to the house while I've been away and he's been in charge!"

But Michael's gaze was still steady and hard on mine.

"Darlin,' you can go back there, and you will. Now, your Daddy promised you that he wouldn't do anything strange or weird to the house while we were gone and you should take him at his word."

I shook my head. "But Michael, you don't know my father. The man is obsessed with money! He's not a nice Southern boy like you. He'll do anything for it!"

At that, Michael's fist hit my hardwood night table, shattering the glass vase that was sitting on it. His eyes were on fire.

"And may I ask what happened to the strong, intelligent girl who told Leota that she loved her father no matter what?"

I sighed. "Michael, my family is very complicated. And I've been in charge at home for so long that sometimes, I just want to forget about it and let someone else be in charge."

He breathed deeply and took my hands in his. "Peach, I know your life was tough and you had lots of difficulties, but forgetting about them won't help anything. Now, get packed, because we're taking the next train to your parents' house weather you like it or not."

Knowing I was defeated, I watched him leave, then turned to my own drawers of clothes.

An hour and a half later, the two of us were standing by Tara's front doors bidding my granny and granddaddy goodbye when all of a sudden, Michael's older brother Jack came charging through the entrance from the other side of the room.

"Michael, where are you going?" Michael turned to face him.

"We're going to Christine's parents' house."

Jack shook his head. "You can't go with her. You and I have to try and get Greeling Terrace back from Frank Malrooney."

And in a flash, I remembered the story that Mama had told me about Michael's death. About how he'd died because of a wound he'd gotten while fighting a duel with the town poker champ about the deed to his own ancestral mansion, which his father had put in the pot to help cover a bet.

After Jack spoke, he looked at Michael and I looked at Michael too. He just stood there for a long time until he finally turned to me.

"I'm sorry Peach, but I have to help Jack get our house back. You'll manage just fine without me."

Groaning, I grabbed my ticket away from him. I understood what he needed to do. I even respected it. But I needed moral support! I narrowed my eyes at both of the Allen-Park brothers.

"Fine!" I said. "I'll go alone, but I won't like it!"