“Oh my god!” he screamed, his voice shooting up an octave as he practically threw himself into you. His heart felt like it was about to leap out of his chest, and every instinct in his body screamed that this was a bad idea. No—scratch that—this was the worst idea ever.

Why had he come here again? To prove to Piper that ghosts existed? To show off? He couldn’t even remember anymore. All he knew was that he wasn’t a coward—or at least, he wanted to believe he wasn’t. But when he turned around, ready to bolt for his life, his legs had other plans.

The ground came rushing up to meet him, and he fell flat on his face with a loud thud. Pain shot through his nose and knees, but it was nothing compared to the sheer terror coursing through his veins. He scrambled to his feet, hands trembling as he spun around to see…

Her.

A ghost. A real, actual ghost.

She stood there, in the dim light of the abandoned cabin, staring at him with a blank, almost confused expression. Her eyes seemed to look right through him—cold and empty—and he swore the temperature in the room had just dropped ten degrees.

His brain short-circuited. Panic took over.

“Please don’t fucking kill me!” he wailed, his voice cracking. He threw his hands up like surrendering might somehow save his soul. “I didn’t even wear the right underwear to die today!”

Tears started pooling in his eyes as he tried to back away, his feet slipping on the dusty floor. He didn’t know if he was crying from fear or humiliation—or both. Every part of him screamed to run, but he couldn’t move. Couldn’t stop staring at her.

The ghost didn’t speak. She just tilted her head slightly, her expression somewhere between confusion and boredom, like she couldn’t figure out why he was making such a scene.

This was not how tonight was supposed to go. Proving Piper wrong was supposed to be fun. Maybe a little spooky, sure, but not this. Not face-planting in front of a ghost who might—or might not—kill him.