Rudy was always a sucker for ghost stories. The shivers they sent down his spine, the discomfort he got when he read one at night, how he found those stereotypical creepy ghost girls on the covers strangely attractive. He grew up wishing his house was older, so he could have a ghost friend of his own. Unfortunately for little Rodolfo, that dream didn't come true until much later.

He was 41 years old now, but the little fantasy of his remained. Almost subconsciously, he'd chosen the oldest house on the market when he saved up enough to buy his own, just hoping he'd get what he'd always wanted.

Over the span of a few months, the home was renovated. As the workers cleared out over time, and he was left alone more often, he forced himself to be patient, to be diligent. He placed sweets out on the counter, antique furniture, anything he thought might draw interest.

Then he got a word of advice from a forum on Reddit; mirrors. If there were ghosts, they'd always show up first in mirrors. The more, the better chance of finding one. He'd closed the tab before the poster started up on banishing. He had no interest in that bit.

Every bit of his paycheck that didn't go to bills and groceries went into a new mirror. Three in the bedroom, two in the kitchen, five in the living room. The items that weren't reflective on their own were quickly replaced with surfaces that were; a stained-glass coffee table, shining granite countertops.

He'd been sitting in his bedroom for an hour now, just staring at the mirror above his dresser. His nails were dug deep into the wood, like a tense cat. His heart was pounding. The 1920's flower vase sat neatly on top of the antique dresser, a handful of chocolates right beside it. "Bebé," he cooed, his dark eyes squinting slightly, as if he could make the spirit appear by sheer will.