"Fish face?"

Jazz nodded, smiling wryly. Cassidy sighed again and slumped in his chair. He might have known.

"Why can't Ethan keep his mouth shut?"

"Because we actually give a shit about you, that's why, Fucker."

He smiled, though it was half hearted. He'd walked out of his house to escape from Amy and the weird goings on. Meeting his sister was a pleasant surprise. Her knowing was distinctly unpleasant. She would tell him to stop being a numpty, something he would do if he could. Amy was making it difficult.

"Well, he didn't need to. I'm fine."

Thankfully, seeing as he could have had a broken leg or spine and been lying at the bottom of his stairs, undiscovered for days. Or worse.

"You think you're seeing messages on your mirror. You're not fine at all."

He didn't think he was. He knew he was. How would anyone believe that, though? In real life, it didn't happen. It couldn't be happening, even though it was.

"He's got it wrong. I was just messing with him."

"Or you were telling him what you believed to be happening, and now realise how it sounds so are trying to backtrack."

Cassidy felt like telling her he hadn't only just realised how it sounded. He knew from the start. That didn't prevent it from actually happening, though. Its impossibility wasn't doing anything to change the fact it was clearly possible. Except it wasn't. But it was.

He was getting a headache, something his walk was meant to help avoid.

"Just leave it," he told her. "I was mistaken. Imagining it."

"Since when did you have an imagination? And, if you did, you wouldn't come up with this. I know you don't believe in ghosts and all that crap."

Crap? So, she didn't believe in ghosts either. Well, Amy, dead though she was, had admitted they didn't exist. So, what did that make her? It wasn't a conversation he wanted with Jazz. She was too blunt, not always intentionally, and could come across as judgemental. He didn't need that from his sister. Ethan had seemed to accept what he'd been told and was going to see for himself. Jazz called a spade a spade and a fool a fool. Cass would have preferred it if she didn't think of him as the latter.

"No, I don't. They don't exist."

"Well, how do you explain it?"

"I don't know," he said. "I can't. But it's real."

Jazz took a long, slow mouthful of her lager. She kept her eyes on her brother, making him feel uncomfortable. She could do that. Her gaze was as effective as her tone.

"Maybe we're both wrong and the supernatural does exist," she said after swallowing and putting her glass back on the table.

"No. I disagree. They don't. I don't believe in it."

"Well, something is happening to you. If it ain't ghosts, then what is it?"

"I thought there was an intruder, at first."

"An intruder? What have you got worth nicking?"

"Nothing, I suppose, but they wouldn't know till they broke in and checked."

"They'd be disappointed, then."

"Thanks for the optimism, sis. It's not anyway."

"Not what?"

"An intruder. I've checked everywhere. I even rang Elise."

"I bet that went down well," Jazz said, rolling her eyes.

"Oh, you're not wrong there. She was her usual helpful self. And it's definitely not her."

"Who is it then?"

"Well, she says she's called Amy."

"Amy? You're moving on nicely. Get rid of the dragon and get with the ghost!"

Jazz laughed. Cassidy didn't.

"There's no such things as ghosts. And Elise isn't a dragon."

"She breathes fire every time she talks, and you get burned. She's a dragon. You don't need to defend her."

The defence of his ex-girlfriend was automatic. If someone else said out loud what he was feeling, it somehow made it worse. More insulting. Plus, he didn't want to be reminded he'd been with someone who fitted that description. Jazz was right, though. He didn't need to defend her. She wouldn't do the same for him, not that that mattered. It was in his nature, so would probably continue to stand up for Elise occasionally.

"Well, it's not her. It's no one. I've got a couple of creaky stairs and haven't heard anyone on them. The front and back doors have been locked. And..."

He paused. He was going to say, 'and I fell down them earlier and didn't hit the floor.' He'd keep that to himself.

"And?"

"And... I've seen the messages write themselves."

"What, like a little hand comes out and scribbles love letters to you?"

Cassidy sneered. Jazz didn't have to be such a bitch about things. Not everything was a joke. Not every response had to be a jibe. His sister saw his expression and put her hand on top of his.

"Sorry, bro. It's force of habit. Just tell me about it. Maybe I can help."

Unless she was or knew of an exorcist, he doubted it. Speaking to her, as it had done with Ethan, did give him a sense of release, however. At least he'd achieved that, for all the good it did. Some of the weight had been shifted, but he still had an elusive ghost-but-not-ghost that wrote him 'little love letters' and pushed him down the stairs.

"There's not much to tell," he told her. "Someone is writing messages to me on my bedroom mirror. I can't figure out who or how."

"Is it, like, a smart mirror or something?"

"It's not a smart mirror. It's a stupid fucking mirror I wish I'd never seen. It was shoved at the back of a wardrobe left there when I moved in. I brought it out to use, and now this."

"I bet you wished you'd have just bought one."

"Not helpful, Snotty."

Jazz smiled at the use of her nickname and could see Cassidy was using it to lighten the mood. If he was doing that, he was stressed. Otherwise, it'd be light enough already. She decided to be less like herself and more like her brother's sister.

"Where do you live now, anyway?" she asked. "You haven't given me your new address."

"I live on Maidville. You know it?"

"Street, View or Way? There's all three, remember?"

"Oh yeah. Where's Maidville View? I don't recognise that one."

"It's Cleethorpes. So, I guess you're not living down there."

"No, it's Way. Maidville Way."

"Ah. Nice area, isn't it? Or it used to be."

"Still is. Or was, till I moved in."

"Gone right downhill now, eh?"

"Pretty much."

Jazz frowned and paused in the sip she was taking of her drink. She put it back down slowly.

"Maidville Way...?" she asked tentatively.

"Yes, why?"

"What number?"

"62. Why, you know someone who lives down there?"

"No, but I used to, years ago."

"Oh? What number?"

"62. Same as you."

"Huh. What are the chances? Do you know if they met any ghosts?"

"Not unless she became one herself."

"What the fuck? What's that supposed to mean?"

"I went to school with her. Amy Hamilton."

"I remember her. Didn't you fall out with her or something?"

"Yeah. We were best mates, but you know what teenage girls are like. They can be bitchy to each other. I took the piss out of her glasses or hair, or something. I don't really remember, which I guess is sad, thinking about it. I didn't really mean it, but she took offence. Didn't speak to me for ages, then the... the connection was broken. We drifted apart."

"What happened to her?" Cassidy asked. He vaguely remembered the girl. A hazy recollection of someone pretty, with bright red hair.

"I don't know. I don't think they ever found out. She died. Murdered. Found in a ditch, wrapped up in plastic. Really gruesome, I think."

"Shit, that's bad. I didn't know. Why didn't I know that?"

"Cos you were a selfish prick back then. Only bothered about what was happening in your own life!"

"What? Was I? Shit!"

"No, not really. I'm joking. You were the youngest, so I think Mum and Dad wanted to protect you from it all. And we weren't friends anymore, me and Amy, so I wasn't as affected as I suppose I could have been. Or should have been."

"That's a shame that you fell out."

"Do you remember having a crush on her?"

Cass blushed. He didn't remember any such thing. Jazz did have some attractive friends, and he had, as a pre and post pubescent boy, been caught staring on multiple occasions. He really couldn't recall much about Amy, however. Was that the Amy speaking to him now? She said she was dead. She'd lived in the same house. How could it not be?

But, also, how could it be?

He shook his head. It was all so much to take in. Did this discovery made things better or worse? There was a lead, but there was also a connection, albeit tenuous. He didn't want to know her, or of her, especially if she was murdered. He'd feel a responsibility to her, then. It would make it harder to re-pack up his belongings and jump ship. So what if he'd be in breach of his rental agreement and would lose his security deposit? He'd have to deal with that.

Now, Jazz had tied him to the house. Would he have actually left? He couldn't say. Perhaps, if things progressed much further, he wouldn't have had a choice. He could see his escape disintegrating before him.

Looking at his sister, he could see the sadness in her eyes. She was always so pragmatic. Things rarely affected her. Unearthing the death – or murder – of an old friend had clearly touched her. Cassidy felt bad for his sister, more than he did for the murder victim. It was his turn to take her hand.

"You OK, sis?"

Jazz nodded, swallowing back her unexpected emotion. It had been years. A lifetime or more. Time, and she, had moved on.

"Course I am, Fucker. I always am."

She sniffed back the last remnants of sadness and smiled.

"You got a ghost, then?" she asked.

"Well, no, I haven't, actually."

"Erm... You sure about that? Dead girl and strange messages. It's as much a ghost as your ex is a dragon, I'm telling you."

"I thought you didn't believe."

"I don't. Even with all that, I still don't. But unless you've got a better explanation, you've gotta go with that for now."

Cass thought about her comment. It made sense. Sure, Amy couldn't be a ghost, by her own admittance, but she could be nothing else, either.

"Do you want to come and meet her?" he asked his sister.

"You gotta be fucking kidding me. You've got no chance."

https://youtu.be/m_ZRWZv14SA