The air oscillates, ripples, and darkens around everything, like the universe has plunged underwater. Grandpa’s shiny shoes twinkle into nothing, followed by his legs, his waist. My ancestors wither with him, one by one, and then they’re gone, the mist bringing them back to their amorphous shapes. The light disperses toward me, framing my hands in the blue light of my soul aura. The aura of all of their souls.

“Don’t let me catch you thinkin’ ’bout givin’ up again . . .” My grandfather’s voice fades like a train engine down a railroad.

“I won’t,” I tell him. It’s more a hope than a promise. I can’t make any promises.

My ancestors abandon me to a blackness. A coven of ghouls closes in to fill their places, arms out, fingers curling like falcon talons.

I cross my arms over my head as their shadows descend, and their roars blow apart the darkness.

My eyes spring open as a wave of cold, wet air shoots through my throat.

I’m on the carousel again, with my legs curled up and my arms tucked under my head. The carousel is perfectly still, and there’s someone sitting cross-legged next to me.

“Sucks to know your family’s not really there for you.”

I recognize his voice immediately. Powerful and tinged with uncertainty.

Here I am again. The swing set. The fence. The court and trees beyond it.

I’m in no hurry to jump off the carousel. Sawyer thrives on my fear. I refuse to let him see it.

“You watch me everywhere I go.” Finally, my voice comes out in full depth.

He turns to face me. “Bold of you to assume that.”

“You follow me everywhere.”

“You’re a medium. Any sensible ghost would.”

A frigid wind blows through the park, stirring the maple leaves and pine needles into sinister whispers.

“What are you waiting for?” His voice comes like a pitchfork, prodding and sharp. “Banish me, medium.” As he stands, pieces of mist spiral around his arms and legs. “Make me go away. Make the whole country forget me. Make them stop showing my face on the news or shivering when they speak my name. Make them stop trembling under the shadow of my memory. Write me out of existence . . . if you have that power.”

“What happened to Kieran Waters?” I ask.

A face with a desperate mouth pulls from Sawyer’s skin, turning him, momentarily, into a two-headed creature. Sawyer shakes his head and sucks the soul back into his cheeks.

He’s mastered the art of trapping traveling bodies between this world and the next.

The carousel starts to spin, slowly at first, and then fast. The park moves behind him—behind both of us—and the fence becomes a blur of silver, a giant field of electric foil. I find my feet and grab on to the rail.

Eight dead . . . eight potential souls trapped inside one angry ghost.