Which was exactly how I felt now as I awoke from my nap. My head felt light and swimmy as though I had just been whirling around. Like my equilibrium was desperately trying to regain control. I did not like it.

The first thing I heard was the soft gurgling of tiny waves rolling over a beach and the distant cry of seagulls. I groaned, rubbing my face against the leather of the back of the seat.

I sat up, messaging the kinks out of my neck. Where am I? I wondered, exhausted. Mentally, I retraced my steps… Alright, I’d left for a walk… came back… the front and back doors of the motel room had been lined with salt… The Impala was the only thing open, so I got in the backseat, and I guess I’d fallen asleep.

I shook my head, and for the first time, took note of everything around me. I was still in the car, freezing, but I was not in the motel parking lot. I was at the end of a dead end street, which ended at a beach. The houses were older and looked fairly expensive. I looked around the inside of the car. A digital clock, AM/FM radio and a CD player were in the dash. This wasn’t my car… I didn’t have a CD player, I had a cassette-type player… What the hell was going on?

I looked around, making sure there was absolutely no one around before I slowly and quietly opened the door, praying the car didn’t have an alarm. When no alarm sounded, I sighed in relief and got out, closing the door. I looked at the car I’d just gotten out of. A Chevy Impala emblem was on the black metal just behind the backdoor, and I took a step back, looking at the 2005 model. It wasn’t my ’67, but at least the owner had a good taste in cars. To my right, I noticed a smaller grey car in front of the Impala. I was just able to make out the emblem for the Volkswagon Rabbit in the light given by the streetlamps and the half moon. I scrunched my nose. I wouldn’t be caught dead in that thing. But, to each their own I guess.

I turned again to my right and looked up the street. Suburban Victorian houses lined the tree-lined street, which from where I stood, rose up a long, steady hill. I did an about-face and found myself staring at what appeared to be a large lake, on which the moon reflected silver in the dark water. There was something tranquil about the moon on the water, but wallowing would have to wait until I’d figured out what was going on and where the hell I was.

I looked at the house, which I stood in the driveway of. It was two stories, beige stucco with dark trim around the windows and a front porch which ran the full width of the house. The backyard was at the left side of the house, separated from the beach by a chain-link fence.

I headed up the driveway and up to the front door. I had to find out where I was somehow, and right now, this was the only option I had. I reached for the handle of the screen door. I hesitated, a slight feeling of guilt seeping into me. I didn’t understand it though. Why was I feeling guilty? I did this kind of thing all the time whether the owners were home or not. It kind of went with the job.

Despite the uneasy feeling, I tried the screen door. It was unlocked and opened. Next, I tried the main door. The knob turned and opened. I furrowed my brow. I was sure this was a pretty nice neighbourhood to live in, but didn’t folks know how to lock their doors at night? Of course, that would’ve proven useless anyway, since my always reliable lock picks were in the right pocket of my jacket.

I took a step onto the hardwood floor of the foyer, closing the front door behind me as quietly as humanly possible. In front of me, a single flight of hardwood Oak stairs led the way to the second floor. To my right was what looked like a living room. I poked my head in. The back of a black leather couch greeted me. Behind that, the dim streetlamp reflected off of a television screen. Two leather loveseats sat in front and to the sides of the couch, a glass, iron-frame coffee table sat in the middle. The walls looked to be a deep maroon colour, but I wasn’t sure with the dim light. On the left wall, next to a door which appeared to lead to a bathroom, a black shelving unit housed what had to be over two hundred DVDs. Next to the DVD shelving, two narrow shelving units stood, these housing countless CDs. Between the two CD shelves, stood a silver stereo system with a five-disk CD changer, a tape deck and a record player. Despite the record player, I didn’t see a single record to play on it.

I entered the room completely. On either side of me, two more black shelving units stood against the walls next to the doorway. Pictures sat in both units, most of two girls. They looked to be pictures taken from trips they’d been on together, but I couldn’t be sure in the dim light.

The sound of the screen door opening had me pressing my back against the wall beside one of the shelving units. From where I was, I had a clear view of the front door. The door opened, and I was first met by a rich female voice, shaped by a light French accent.

“I’ll only be a few minutes.”

A moment later, a young woman stepped into the house. Her hair was long, dark and thick, her eyes dark and almost exotic. She was tall, thin, toned and fit. Were this a normal circumstance, I’d be flirting with her in two seconds flat. However, this was not a normal circumstance and I was not in the mood for flirting. I needed to figure out where the heck I was. Taking a breath, I moved away from the wall and stepped into the foyer.

“Excuse me,” I spoke, approaching her. “Could you tell me where I am?”

She didn’t so much as flinch.

I spoke twice more; same thing. I cursed. I was still invisible.

She walked into the kitchen and I followed for lack of anything better to do. She flipped the light on. Soft blue light flooded the room. I glanced up, taking note of the California style lighting. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen California lighting, but the first time I’d seen it blue. It was different.

I took a quick moment to survey the rest of the kitchen. The floor tiles were white as were the countertops and appliances, which the lighting gave a soft hue of blue. The cupboards and breakfast table were cedar and the walls were a very pale blue. On the wall adjacent to the foyer, the cupboards separated for a door-less doorway leading to what looked like a dinning room.

A sigh brought my eyes from the doorway to the woman.

“Lyse.” Her voice was a thick mixture of pity and sympathy. “Vous pauvre fille.”*

Lyse? There was someone else in this house? Well, I guess that would make sense – there were two cars in the driveway. But who was this Lyse, and why did this woman take pity on her? What was wrong with her?

It was then that I followed the woman’s gaze. A half-empty 40 ounce bottle of Captain Morgan’s dark rum and a knocked over shot glass sat on the counter by the sink under the window. I sighed. Great, I was in the house of an alcoholic. Of all the places in the world to end up, it just had to be an alcoholic’s house. This was going to be fun.

The woman gave another sigh and then rushed past me. I heard her head up the stairs. I felt like following her, but thought better of it and decided to stay where I was. I sat down in one of the breakfast table chairs, setting my chin in the palm of my hand. My eyes drifted back to the bottle on the counter. The liquid glowed dark purple in the blue light. What could have happened to this Lyse to make her turn to the bottle for comfort? I mean, everybody’s got their reasons, right? Stress, low self-esteem, a crisis in the family… What was her story?

The sound of creaking stairs pulled me out of my reverie and to the young woman who was now back in the kitchen. The faded blue jeans and brown turtleneck she’d been wearing when she came in had been exchanged for black slacks, a green tank top and a black jacket. She disappeared from the kitchen for a few minutes and came back with a portfolio in her hands. She went over to the counter where a notepad and pen sat. She wrote something down, then reached for her keys.

A pair of barks made both her and I jump. Turning to the doorway, I watched a Miniature Dachshund and a Miniature Schnauzer trot in. They both stopped upon seeing me at the breakfast table. The Dachshund yipped and, with the Schnauzer in tow, walked right over to me. Both dogs sniffed at my feet fervently. My gaze darted between the dogs and the woman.

“Get,” I hissed at the dogs. “Go on.”

Instead of heeding my demand, they barked at me. I guess that’s what they think about that one.

The young woman watched all of this in heavy confusion. She walked over to check out what the dogs were so interested in – not that she was going to find anything.

In her inspection, she bent down, setting her hand on the chair right where my thigh was. I could’ve sworn my heart missed about four or five beats, and shivers cascaded violently down my spine. It was like something out of a movie. This woman’s hand had literally gone through my thigh, and she didn’t feel a thing. It almost felt like my thigh had turned to ice; the feeling of flesh passing through flesh was blood-curling. I wanted so badly to move, but that wouldn’t have done anything but scare her, so I stayed put.

“There’s nothing there, boys,” she said and, much to my relief, stood up. She gave the dogs each a scratch behind their ears, then headed for the front door. “See you boys later.” And she left, locking the door behind her.

I hung my head in relief. I looked up after a moment and found two pairs of beady black eyes staring up at me. So, the dogs could see me clear as anything, yet the woman couldn’t. Well, animals do have a sense of the Supernatural much higher than the average human. But, what the heck did these dogs want? I mean, I knew I was a stranger, and I had absolutely nothing against them – I found them rather cute actually – but did they have to stare at me like they were expecting me to do something? Well, I was going to do something – give in to my curiosity – , but that was besides the point.

I got up from the breakfast table and, with the dogs at my heels, headed into the dinning room. A rich mahogany dinning table sat in front of me underneath a fairly large window offering a view of houses from the street behind this one. Adorning the window was rich brown tapestry and white silk sheer curtains. The walls were very neutral – beige, and tied everything together. Hanging from the ceiling in the centre of the room was a wooden medieval style faux candle chandelier. In my curiosity, I found a round light switch. I pushed it and the faux candles gave off dim light, enhancing the browns of the room. I turned the switch back and forth, watching the lights dim and brighten a couple of times before putting it back to its original setting and turning it off.

To my right, against the adjacent wall, a mahogany cabinet housed decorative china plates that matched the colours of room. A few feet left of the china cabinet, an open door led back out to the foyer hallway. To my left was a mahogany door with a large window. A white Venetian blind hung in the door window. Looking through the slats, I was met with a dark but clear view of the beach and moon-reflective water.

I turned away from the door to leave the room. And promptly tripped over the dogs who weren’t even half a foot behind me. With nothing to grab onto, I was headed straight to the floor. When I sat up, I was again being stared at by the dogs. I wasn’t sure whether to curse at them or apologize. What was up with these two anyway? Was I really so interesting that they had to follow me around everywhere I went? I hardly thought so. I was just plain old Dean Winchester. Maybe they didn’t get many visitors?

“Sorry boys,” I apologized quietly, giving the dogs’ ears a quick scratch. I pushed myself to my feet and, with the dogs still at my heels even after me falling over them, left the dinning room.

I stepped back out into the foyer, now behind the staircase. A closed door stood across the hall to my left. Though curious to see the room, I stood in the dark hallway for several long minutes, looking around.

How did I get here? It wasn’t like someone could have carried me… But maybe the right question wasn’t how I got here, but why I was here, why I was in this house. Do I know anyone here? I sure as heck didn’t know the dark haired girl. Well, there is another girl in this house… Maybe I know her?

I started for the stairs. There has to be some reason why I’m here in this house, with these people… I paused, looking up the stairs. Hang on… I prayed last night… I prayed for help. That prayer couldn’t have been answered could it? Does God hear a non-believer’s prayer? Whether He did or not, the thought of help was comforting. With that in mind and the knowledge that someone else was in this house, I ascended the stairs.

I cursed under my breath as the oak stairs creaked beneath my boots, which made enough noise as it was. I finished climbing the stairs and was met by a hallway. At my end, there were two rooms on either side of the hall. The one on my right was closed, while the one on the left opened to what looked like a spare bedroom. I turned around and away from the stairs. A bathroom was on my right, and further down two more rooms. The one on the left, was right where the stair railing met the wall. As I walked down the hall, I saw that bedroom was empty. The door to the other room was closed over; open enough to let a small animal in and out – probably for the two dogs still at my heels.

I gently pushed the door, relived when it didn’t squeak. I stepped in, making sure my boots made as little noise as possible on the dark mahogany wood floors. To my right, at the adjacent wall was a bed, in which was a limp sleeping form beneath a thick homemade quilt.

“…Come back…” came from the lump in the bed.

I fought back a laugh. Sleep-talking? I smiled wistfully. I remembered Sam’s nightmares, his calling Jessica’s name. Even before the nightmares, he’d had a tendency to sleep-talk. It was often annoying, but right now, I’d have given anything to hear it again. I missed him and Dad. I wished I knew where and how Dad was. I wished I knew where I was and what happened to me.

“…Locked me in…”

I rose an eyebrow. What kind of dream was this girl having? Who did she want to come back and who locked her in where? I knew wondering about it was fruitless, but it was something to do as well as a little amusing.

I saw a chair on the left wall next to the window and intended to sit in it. Intended to being the key words there. On my way to the chair, I tripped over something, and fell to the floor with a thud. I cursed silently. Twice in what had to be less than twenty minutes? What was wrong with me? Had the hope of help clouded my ability to literally look before I leaped?

A stirring came from the bed, followed by a high pitched bark. I was on my feet in an instant and finding myself staring at a very angry Cardigan Corgi. Who’d have thought such a small dog could be so protective. But the other two were as content as ever even with me intruding. Maybe this Corgi didn’t like strangers? And I was intruding…

“Shit that was weird…” the lump mumbled.

Sounded weird from my standpoint too… The girl sat up, her shoulder length deep red hair slightly frizzy, and froze, her eyes widening. I could see fear fill her body.

“Who are you?” she asked sharply. Her eyes, which were slightly glazed, scanned the room fervently, searching, before returning to me. “What are you doing here? What do you want?”

It was my turn for my eyes to widen. “You can see me?” Thank God. I took a step forward, reaching to place a hand on the corner of the bed. Until the Corgi snarled and bit at me, narrowly missing my hand.

“Don’t come any closer!” the girl demanded.

I had no complaints there. “Okay. But you can see me? You can actually see me?”

“Yes, I can see you. You’re standing right there. Now, get out of my house.” Fear gripped her voice.

I cringed inwardly, fighting back a curse. Why did women have to scare so damn easily?

I had no idea how I was going to explain everything; this wasn’t something the average person would believe. Even I was having a hard time believing it.

“I can’t,” I replied.

“Then, I’m calling–”

“No,” I cut her off. “Calling the police won’t do anything for you.”

I saw her tense, her eyes darting to the side window and back to me several times. I knew what she was doing, and I didn’t blame her. I’d want to escape too if I were in her place.

“You want money?” she asked quickly. “I’ve got $700 in the top drawer of my dresser.”

Dammit. Why did everybody always have to jump to conclusions? This was not going the way I wanted it to. I sighed. “Look, I don’t want your money.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I just want you to listen. I’m not here to hurt you; I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Then, why are you here?” she demanded.

Good question. “That’s the difficult part. I don’t know why I’m here.”

“Excuse me? You’re in my house and you don’t know why?”

I cursed under my breath. This was not going well. “I’m in here because I need help.”

Concern was the next emotion to cross her face – a level only an older sibling could convey. Was she a big sister? I felt like asking, but birth order in her family would have to wait. I had more important things to worry about.

“Help with what?” she asked.

Where do I begin? “Where I am, why I’m here, how I got here…”

“Why and how you got here?” she repeated.

Did she have to repeat everything I said? I sighed. “Hear me out?”

She looked as confused as ever now, but she nodded. “Alright.”

I proceeded to tell her about the motel, my encounter with Sam – or lack thereof –, the salt lined doorways, falling asleep in my Impala and waking up in hers. As I explained everything to her, I could see the confusion being joined by disbelief. I sighed. “You don’t believe me.”

“I don’t know what to believe,” she said. “I’m still trying to get over the fact that you’re standing here in my bedroom.”

I still felt guilty about that. “I know and I apologize, but I need help, and you’re the only one who can see me.”

“What? What do you mean I’m the only one who can see you?” she asked. “You’re standing there clear as anything.”

“To you,” I cut in. “Your friend came home a while ago; she and I were in the kitchen and she didn’t see me at all. Sam couldn’t see me, and he’s my brother. It’s like I’m a Spirit or something, and you’re the only one–”

“What?” she cut in, even more disbelief in her face.

“A Spirit,” I replied, “A Ghost.”

“A Ghost?” she repeated. The fear and confusion in her face slowly became a look of realization. “Oh, I get it… Okay, no more rum before bed.”

Rum? Who said anything about rum? Dammit.

“Listen,” I spoke again. “It’s not the rum. I’m telling you the truth–”

“I’m still drunk,” she continued. It sounded more like she was reasoning with herself, sorting through everything. She pointed to me. “You’re not really here… You’re just a figment of my imagination.”

“I am really here,” I shot back, my voice rising. “I’m standing right here.” I stomped my foot for effect.

“I’m dreaming.” Her reasoning continued. She lay her head back down on the pillow.

I bit back a curse as my stress level heightened even more and a dull headache began to throb. Frustrated didn’t even begin to cover how I felt right now. Just when I thought progress had been made…

“You’re not dream–”

“Oh,” she looked up at me from where she lay. “When you go, leave the door unlocked. Casper and his Uncles are planning to stop by for brunch.”

She did not just do that! “No! You don’t understand–”

“G’night.”

She scorned the Corgi for snarling at nothing, then closed her eyes, and didn’t stir again. The dog quieted down, but kept it’s anger filled eyes fixed on me.

Fuck! I thought about waking her, but the angry dog and fatigue warned me against it. So, I did the only thing I could do. I left the bedroom and headed back downstairs.

I was greeted once again by the Schnauzer and the Dachshund, who followed me into the living room. I lay down on the couch and stared at the ceiling.

I heard a pair of whines a minute later. I sat part way up. The dogs were standing on the floor at the other end of the couch, looking at me with pleading eyes.

I sighed, glancing between them and the end of the couch. “Alright,” I relented, and set one foot down onto the floor. The two jumped up almost immediately, curling up against my other leg still on the couch.

I lay back down, my eyes on the ceiling, anxious and angry. Come daylight, I was going to prove to her that I was really here, and not just a figment of her drunken imagination. I was going to prove to her, that I was telling the truth, and I really did need her help. Desperately needed her help.

* ‘Vous pauvre fille’ is the French translation of ‘you poor girl’.


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