The spoon sailed past the translucent thing, clattering across the rotting floorboards. She screamed again, throwing her hands over her face in case it went for her eyes. Horror movies surely did a number on her.

"Nice pipes, miss," the sheet said, cutting off her shriek in the middle. A short gasp flitted past her lips, her scream dying in her throat. It talked. To her. A sheet was talking to her. A sheet...which looked like a cartoon ghost floating around an abandoned house. The cobwebs should have told her enough. "I must admit—I'm quite surprised to have company."

She heard of people going insane after a messy break up. This must be it. Now, she was seeing and hearing things in her lonesome. What a ridiculous hallucination though. Was this her mind's best? How about a handsome billionaire who only had eyes for her?

Then, what the ghost said clicked. Dara shielded her body by instinct, arms hugging herself. Tight. Ghost or no ghost, it was eerily inappropriate to watch a girl be herself inside a cabin. "Did you peek?"

"No!" the sheet said a little too quickly. Before her, it shimmered against the setting sunlight peeking through the cabin's frosted windows. Slowly, it took a form closer to that of a person—two arms and legs, a round head, and the beginnings of a shirt and trousers. Was that kind of superpower? Super-ghost? Dara had lost it. Truly.

The ghost scoffed. It could have crossed its arms over its ectoplasmic chest too if it could. "I may be dead, but I haven't lost my manners."

Dara frowned, but her stance eased. If this thing could talk like a normal person, perhaps, it could be reasoned with. Maybe she'd be able to enjoy a night alone and ghost-free. "Am I supposed to be comforted by that?" she snapped. "I'm talking to a ghost."

"Welcome to Pearly Lake Cabin," the ghost replied, bobbing its head. It gestured to the air around them. "The place where victims of unrequited love go. Most of the time, we don't show ourselves, but...well, we're here."

Oh, great. Now, Dara couldn't erase from her mind the knowledge that there were more. Ignorance was bliss for as long as it lasted. "Who are you?" she prodded instead, her voice evening out into a modulated timbre. Just like her forced retreat, she'd get through this insanity the best she could—with fashion. "I believe introductions are due."

"You first," the ghost answered, hovering back towards the spot opposite Dara's chair on the dining table. Was that why there was only one seat? That was...creepy, to say the least. "Guests get first chances."

"Dara." She decided against extending her hand towards the ghost. It would probably just pass by them. "You?"

The ghost dimmed a little. Was it because of the sunset? Did it have a time limit or something? "About that..." It started before pausing. "I actually don't know—my name, that is. One of the things the dead don't get to take to the other side."

She opened her mouth to utter her condolences, but the ghost wasn't done. "In speaking of the other side," it continued. "I have to remember my name in order to move on. I don't know. Death mechanics. Messed up, right?"

If Dara was supposed to laugh at that, the cue flew overhead. "What made you show yourself to me, then?" she asked. "Do I look like easy prey? Are you going to have a laugh with your mates later tonight about how I screamed?"

The ghost recoiled, the translucent sheet of its body making the cupboards behind it swirl like a mirage. "You sure could use some trust in people," it said. "I showed myself to you because you intrigued me. It's not everyday someone like you walks inside this dilapidated cabin."

So, it agreed. This cabin needed a major rehaul. Or maybe a good demolishing. And it just complimented her. What a nice ghost.

Not.

But...it seemed simple enough. The ghost—no name. Dara—here with time to kill before bedtime. Boom. Plan concocted. The faster she solved this problem, the sooner she could sleep and forget any of this ever happened. "Okay, fine." She mussed her messy bun—the one she made of her hair as she scrubbed her face clean. "Let's help you remember your name, shall we?"

The ghost could have blinked if it had eyes to begin with. It settled to inclining its head to the side. "Why would you do that?"

A sigh filtered out of Dara's lips. She sank back into the chair, resting her chin on her palm. "Let's face it—I want you out of my hair as soon as possible," she said. "I paid for a lonely retreat. I wasn't going to spend all three days with a bubbly ghost."

"Oh," came the smart reply.

Dara twined her fingers together like how she used to do whenever she wanted to extract gossip from her girl friends. "So," she said, her tone pared down to a calculated edge to get the person onboard with what she was about to say. "What did you do to earn your title of 'unrequited love victim'?"

It was a ghost. Being offended should be the last thing on its list. Instead, it bobbed for a few seconds before answering, "There was this girl from my town," it said after a long beat. "We practically grew up together, and...well, I admired her and her strong will. She even went against her gramma and pursued her dream career in her dream college."

The ghost chuckled, the sound morphing into a confusing ring in Dara's ears. Hearing a ghost laugh or talk for that matter was something she would never get used to in a long while. "Getting there means she has to move out and everything." The ghost went on. "I didn't tell her I like her because she was dead-set on reaching her goals. If there is anyone who can get everything she wants, it's her. And I didn't want to give her one more thing to worry about back home by confessing."

"So, you let it fly by," Dara concluded. "The next thing you know, it's too late."

Ah, the never-ending struggle of first loves and growing up. The ghost has had its chance. Should have grabbed it by the ear and never let go. "You can say that, yeah," the ghost answered. The sun had fully set, plunging the entire lake and the cabin's interior into an eerie dimness. Dara stood up to flick the cabin lights on.

On her way back to her seat, she passed by the ghost and took a closer look. A curve of a nose and the frayed tips of the hair started forming. It was like watching a fetus grow. Well, a talking fetus. She could only take the analogy that far.

The ghost chuckled to itself as if remembering something ironic. "She got a boyfriend in the city, and I've heard of the man. What can I do against that?"

"You can try some confidence, bro." Dara crossed her legs, making her chair creak. "I'm sure she would have listened to you if only you told her. You're not going to hold her back. Long-distance works, and you're not in university forever."

"Guess I realized that too late," the ghost replied. "Makes the list of my growing regrets."

Dara waved a hand in the air. "Everyone never runs out of 'em," she said. For some reason, talking to the ghost made her miss her hometown. It just reflected that vibe—of rustling trees, frigid autumn air, and warm summer nights. How were her friends there? Were they still friends? How about that boy from two houses down the block? She didn't get any news on what happened to him.

She jerked her chin towards the ghost. "What was your favorite memory with her?"

"How is that going to make me remember my name?" The ghost scratched its murky head. Good question, because Dara didn't know the answer either. She was no ghost therapist. She couldn't even heal her own broken heart.

She shrugged. "Just humor me," she said. "I swear, talking about your problems will help."

The ghost was silent for a few seconds. Dara lost track of time, but if the sun had set, they might as well be in this conversation for a good half an hour. "There are a lot of memories with her, having played with her since we were toddlers," the ghost said after a moment. "But that day on the prairie bests everything."

"Do tell," Dara said.

"Well, we were out in the field, pulling grass and eating dirt—you know, children things, but she went and found a snake's nest," the ghost recounted.

She snorted. "What, she reached in and pulled out a fucking mother snake?"

The ghost whirled to her, its glistening sheen gathering on a single spot like wiggling jelly against the light. "How did you know?"

"Wait..." Dara knitted her eyebrows. "You mean..."

The boy in the meadow. She had a vague recollection about him, and the ghost's story brought some of it out. It couldn't be. "And what about the last day you saw each other," she blurted. Just to make sure she had the right intuition. She was rarely wrong, and never before had she fervently wished to be wrong now. "Do you remember?"

The ghost's head bobbed again. "It was a summer day, I think," it said, the tone going deeper as it got lost in its residual memories. "They were finishing loading her things into the car, and she stepped into the road as I was passing by with my bike. She gave me a holler—too cheerful at that—and I stopped by their family car."

Dara raised her eyebrows so up there they reached her hairline. "And...?"

"And she hugged me and thanked me for the years of friendship," the ghost said. "Then, we both had tears in our eyes. I told her she's going to kill it in the city. And she told me..."

"That she'd come back for you," Dara finished.

It happened the same way she remembered it. Of course, she knew that boy had a crush on her for the longest time. She waited for him to confess forever and turned down most of the guys in high school just for him. Everyone knew her to be the ultimate heart breaker for the record of boys she rejected just to give him a chance. He never did. And during their last meeting, she threw her arms around him, almost not wanting to let go.

I'll come back, she said to the boy from her past. I'll come back for you.

And she never did.