He had no proof, so how could he blame them for doubting? His mother, with her lighthearted air, considered it the effect of him having watched too many horror movies. Dad only grunted from behind his newspaper and the morning mocha his dutiful wife made for him each morning and his cousin gave him a dubious look before refocusing on the 6.7 inch screen depicting some nonsense on YouTube. Granddad and his twelve-year-old brother were the only ones who appeared interested in what he'd said.

"It was only a shadow?" his grandfather mused, running his worn fingers over the light grey stubble on his chin.

Little Tomas perked up, tapping a pencil against his palm.

"Was it a girl or a boy ghost?"

He earned a frown, while Grandad let out a soft chuckle.

"Dude, how would anyone know if it was a girl or guy? And what makes you think it was a ghost?"

Tomas shook his head.

"Firstly, dunderhead, anyone can tell the difference between a girl or boy shadow." He shot a cautious glance at their mother before forming fists and putting them up in front of his chest while batting his lashes, causing Grandad to bark with laughter.

"We guys don't have those, now do we?"

"Have what?" both ladies asked in an innocent tone and expression. Grandad waved them off.

"Just having a hearty chat with my boys, that's all."

Mom smiled sweetly before turning back to her waffles, while their pretty cousin frowned at a receiving text message.

Tomas leans in almost conspiratorially. "And secondly, doofus, it has to be a ghost—it's the only plausible explanation! You say an old guy died in it some years back, right?" His eyes took on a glossy sheen. "Maybe he's trapped in the place and trying to scare you out of it."

Their mom came over, snatching her husband's paper as she passed.

"Alright, my precious men, time to start your day," she said, clearing the table. "Come on, chop-chop! Beatrice and Tomas, school. Husband and oldest son, work. And Daddy," she kissed the old man affectionately on the temple, "that writer's block isn't going to unblock itself. Get to your book."

"Yes, Mom," everyone echoed, making her giggle like a delighted school girl.

Outside, Tomas tossed his favorite baseball to his brother as he climbed into their dad's sedan.

"Let me sleep over at yours tonight, Jake. I wanna see the shadow too!"

"No way, man. I don't need any mysterious beings snatching my brother in the middle of the night and carrying him to the afterlife." He gave him a cordial salute. "Your safer here with Grandad."

His father gave him a venomous look.

"And Dad," he added with a laugh. The man scoffed and drove off.

Days passed, and Jake's shadow guest hadn't visited his home. After a two weeks, he wondered if he really imagined everything. Tomas remained unconvinced, and pestered him each day for details, including gender. He frequently dismissed him. His grandfather, finding inspiration in his grandson's ghost, found ideas for the book he was working on, but still listened intently for further development in the mysterious shadow case.

"Nothing yet?" his grandad questioned some days later. The family had just finished dinner, and all wandered to their respective places: the back porch for Dad and his paperwork. Cousin Bea sprawled out on the sofa with her phone in her face while Tomas watched TV and Mom sang along to Kelly Clarkson and Celine Dion while scrubbing dishes. Jake and his grandfather remained at the dinner table.

"Nope, nothing." He chuckled. "To tell the truth, I think I'm kind of relieved. It's not every day one sees a shadow walking about their apartment as if it owns the place."

The old man looked up from his notes. "Did it frighten you?"

"Well, come on, wouldn't it freak you out to see a figure wandering about your personal space and you knew very well you hadn't extended an invitation?"

His grandfather nodded. "I can see your point." A comfortable silence ensued until the wild scraping of a chair being pulled from the table shattered it.

"I've been thinking," Tomas began throwing himself into the seat with the carelessness of a kid his age. "What if this ghost is trying to send you a message?"

Jake crossed his arms and arched a brow.

"Message?"

Tomas dragged his hands down his face, letting out an exasperated groan. "Come on Jake, man, keep up. You know not everything's what it seems? Instead of pretending you're not interested, take some advice from an expert, okay? I've read tons of books on ghosts and haunted houses and stuff, so I know what I'm talking about."

The men exchanged looks, struggling to keep from smiling. Tomas was too serious.

"Alright," Jake said with a straight face. "What have you got?"

~

The night crept in more gloomily than usual and with agonizing effort, Jake tried shaking the feeling that comes when intuition tells you someone's watching but you can't see them. He wondered how Tomas could be so sure the ghost would appear that night, but to save face, he humored the boy and prepared everything as instructed, meaning to face the unwelcomed guest.

At exactly 1:00 AM, his phone vibrated, and he peeked between his blinds. He envied the midnight star who hadn't a care in the world as it gazed sleepily on suckers like him, who were afraid of ghosts. Maybe his mom was right: too many horror movies. He yawned, ready to shut his eyes for the night, when the hair on his neck suddenly stood on end. He started just as a figure in the doorway darted down the narrow hall.

Jake's heart rate doubled and for a minute, he stood frozen. Recovering himself and with forced calm, he grabbed a bat from behind the door and slowly stepped into the hall.

There was no sound but the humming of the refrigerator and the distant traffic outside. The living room was empty but in the kitchen, a nearly empty glass of apple juice and a small plate of crackers stood on the middle counter. The fridge hung open, disorganized and chaotically ransacked. He took a quick look around and noted the window was both closed and latched. But the juice and crackers...? Remembering Tomas' advice, he set the bat down and reached for some grapes. He refilled the glass of juice and added more crackers to the plate, then settled down to wait.

"I know you're there," he said to the empty room after an hour. "I know you're watching me from some dark corner, but it's okay... you can come out."

A familiar chill ran up his arms before a painfully thin creature with damp, greasy hair and muddy brown eyes appeared. His hands and feet were abnormally large like those of a man, but with a babyishness to them. His skin, gray and taught against his bones, every rib clearly outlined on his body, gave him the look of the walking dead. He seemed more a corpse than a living child, but his scrawny chest rose and fell and his eyes were very much alive.

He moved with an ape-like awkwardness, as though movement pained him; his very feet and hands, he struggled to lift, and Jake got the impression they weighed like anchors on his toothpick frame. The boy tilted his head to one side as he examined the young man and moved towards the counter. His withering gaze was cold and empty, and yet amused and curious.

Incapable of making words, Jake stared at the deplorable figure in a mixture of repulsion, horror, and pity. It returned his look a moment, then, to his terror and surprise, gave him an almost toothless smile like that of a baby—there were missing front teeth on both gums and the little that remained were those of a baby! The creature's man-sized hands crushed the crackers and added it to his glass until it made a paste and with his fingers he ate the mush as if it were his first and last meal.

Jake swallowed the lump in his throat.

"You... you want more?"

He shook his head with a lopsided grin, then retreated into the shadows.

"Wait,... wait! What are you?"

The boy hissed over his shoulder.

"I not tell you. You was nice to me so I not do bad to you. But if you stay, bad happen. Yes, yes, bad happen. Go way from here, or bad happen to you." He paused then appraised Jake with something between scorn and grief. 

"I change mind. I tell you something, man with stick, I was like you... once. But I do bad and they punish me."

"Who punished you?"

The creature hissed again. "Never mind, I change mind and not talk. Go from here or suffer!"

~

"... And he just disappeared into the shadows. If there ever was an actual living Gollum, it was that...  thing! I sat there staring at the corner of the living room until the sun lit up the house. There was no trace of him." 

"Man, how I wish I was there!" Tomas said with a dramatic sigh. The three males had gathered on the patio.

"Well, one thing's for certain, you were right."

Tomas frowned.

"About what?"

"He wanted to warn me, I think. Told me to get out before something bad happened."

"Don't push your luck, man," Tomas said. "I say get out as fast as you can, and please, don't be stupid. Only fools ignore ghosts' warnings."

Their grandfather stared into his steaming mug with creased brows.

"Grandad?"

The old man nodded absently. "Yes, I have a bad feeling about it and suggest you move out of your apartment today. Come stay with us until you get a new place."

There was no telling what might have happened to Jake had he spent another night in his apartment. The following morning, he learned a mysterious fire broke out, burning the place to ash. As a journalist, he sought an interesting story and busily circled the scene like a vulture. His good friend Bobby Brown raised the yellow tape for him to pass.

"Could have been a breaker trip too, but..." he ran a hand through his trimmed beard, his trained police eye slowly surveying the scene. "I don't know."

"We found something, Sir." They hurried over to the group and stared at a blackened mound of earth.

"What the hell...?"

Jake leaned forward.

"Are those... bones?"

His friend turned to one of his men.

"Get a specialist down here immediately."

~

"Well?" Tomas said sitting on the edge of his seat. "What happened next?"

"What do you mean 'What's next?'?—that's it. They were somebody's old bones that had been there for some fifteen to twenty years and are hardly relevant to the case—end of story."

The boy pouted and crossed his arms.

"I'm dissatisfied, Grandad."

"Me too, buddy."

That night, Jake pondered what he didn't share with his brother and grandfather: that the bones of the hands and feet found buried beneath his old apartment were those of an adult male while the remaining bones appeared to be those of a nine to eleven-year-old child.