Cassidy didn't say anything.

He was surprised at the apology. Those words being there incensed him more than if they'd been absent. 'Sorry.' Really? Did that make it all better?

Sorry I pushed you.

Sorry you almost died.

Sorry I'm speaking to you through a mirror, which should be impossible.

Well, that's all right then, isn't it?

No. No, it was definitely not all right. He'd wanted her to answer his questions. Now, he'd make sure she did! How one could do that to a supposed dead person was something he'd have to find out, but he'd do it!

The letters moved in the now familiar scattering of ants.

Cassidy

I'm sorry.

OK. Make it personal. Direct it at him. The message could only be for him, so the use of his name wasn't required. It was used, then, for effect. He gave the ants a moment to see if they'd change to anything else. They didn't. She was waiting.

He wondered if the dead could hold their breath.

"For what?" he asked.

I'm sorry.

"You said that already. I asked what for."

For not stopping you.

For...? Huh? What hadn't she stopped? Cassidy was confused. He hadn't expected that answer, thinking she'd lie, instead try to tell him his fall was an accident. She didn't mean to. She didn't let him hit the ground, so had potentially saved his life. He should be grateful!

"I don't understand," he said. "Not stopping what? You pushed me. I could have been seriously hurt. Maybe even dead! What's up? You want some company?"

Yes.

What the actual fuck? So, she admitted it! She'd tried to kill him so she would have someone to share her mirror? Wow! Well, she could forget it. If he had have died, he'd go and haunt someone who deserved it, such as Elise, rather than hanging around with the person (the dead were still people, right?) who'd murdered him!

At least he was finally getting somewhere with her. Her remorse was making her talkative, something he could use to find out more about the mysterious Amy.

"So, I was right. You tried to kill me! I should get a fucking exorcist!"

No!

"Well, an exorcist would give me some peace!"

They wouldn't. Don't work.

Not a ghost.

But no. Not that.

Not a ghost. No, she'd said that. Ghosts don't exist. Well, what the hell was she then?

"Not that? Then what?"

Cassidy had started pacing back and forth in front of the wardrobe. His teeth were clenched as tightly as his fists.

I want company.

I didn't try to kill you.

I wouldn't.

His pacing ceased, and he stood back in front of the mirror.

Oh. She wasn't admitting anything, apart from the fact she was... what... lonely? But if that was the case, what happened with the stairs? That must have been her!

"I don't get you. I fell. That was you."

Yes.

No.

"Make your fucking mind up! You did, or you didn't. You can't have it both ways!"

At first, the lipstick ants didn't move. Had she disappeared again? Had he gone too far? Shit. He couldn't cope with all this crap.

Then:

It was me, but I didn't push you.

I saved you.

Oh, yeah. She made him levitate so he didn't slam into the floor. Well, thanks.

"Explain." he said flatly. "I have no idea what you're on about. Try making some sense."

He was being harsh, he knew, and it risked her leaving again, but he was struggling to hold back. He wasn't prepared to wait anymore. If he didn't get an explanation, there were certain measures he could take. Drastic ones, but he'd have a 'smashing' time.

I tried to stop you going down

The mirror's surface was full, with the text being larger than usual, as if she was shouting at him, or trying to emphasise the message. He hoped it was the latter, because there's be trouble if not. The ants paused for him to read the message before moving again.

stairs.

I kept you in place.

So, it hadn't been his imagination. He had been trying, unsuccessfully, to move down. She had prevented him!

"Right? I thought I was going crazy!"

Sorry.

Stop saying sorry, please! Just get on with it! Cass kept the thought to himself. She was still talking, but he'd already learned just how temperamental Amy was. She could be gone at any minute, and he knew he needed to calm down, or he'd piss her off as much as she had him. Then he might never get the answers he needed.

"It's fine. Just, please, tell me."

The step was going to break.

You would have fallen.

Died.

She knew about seven? How? Had she sabotaged it and then got cold, non-existent feet?

"How do you know all that?"

I'm dead. I know.

"Did you see it happen or something? Like a premonition? Are you psychic?"

No. I just knew.

I tried to stop you going downstairs.

You were too strong.

I'm still growing.

I couldn't hold on.

You fell. I stopped you.

Cassidy felt foolish. He didn't doubt she was telling the truth. Even though she was just lipstick on glass, the words somehow held weight. She wasn't lying, unless she was just convincing, and he was being naïve. It was a possibility, but he didn't think so. Step seven had, indeed, broken when he put his weight on it. With the box in his hands, he couldn't properly see where he was going, so would have been unprepared for the resultant stagger. There'd be no chance of grabbing anything to hold on to. He would have fallen awkwardly and, possibly, fatally. Besides, if she had meant to kill him, why stop? Why hold him in place above the floor?

When Amy had said she wanted company, she didn't mean in the afterlife. She meant generally. She was a lonely... spirit? Was that different to ghost? Seven years, she'd said. Seven years since she had died. No wonder she sought some company.

Cassidy's foolishness turned to guilt. He'd been so quick to judge. The unknown was immediately bad. Evil. Hollywood had tainted his image of what happened when you took your final breath. You either followed the light or lingered here, unable to move on. You possessed nuns or children.

You didn't wait in old mirrors for someone to fall down the stairs so you could save them and be the subject of their indignation.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Thank you."

The words swirled around in a scattered whirlwind that gave the impression of joy. Cass smiled. Was he warming to her, and was it too quickly? He should keep his guard up. Her explanation had been convincing. She wasn't off the hook yet, though!

Will you stay?

Would he...?

"Stay?"

Don't leave.

Right then? At all? The house?

"Leave? What do you mean?"

Don't go. You're the third since then.

"Third? Since what? When?"

She was being vague. He couldn't tell if it was deliberate or because of the limitations of the medium through which they had to speak. He was feeling calmer, so was willing to be patient. For now, at least.

Since I died. Third to live here.

First to talk to me.

He felt for her, then. Based on the conversation with his sister, Amy had been murdered, though that was something she'd yet to touch upon. Two other residents, whether families or individuals, had completely ignored her. That must have been so disheartening.

"I won't leave. Not yet, anyway."

Not yet?

"Well, I'm talking to a ghost. It depends if you're going to possess me in my sleep."

No! I wouldn't!

"I'm joking," Cassidy said, smirking. "Besides, you're not a ghost, right?"

It wasn't lost on him that Amy hadn't denied the ability to possess. She'd just told him she wouldn't. Couldn't was entirely different.

Haha

Written on glass as it was, the message sounded hollow. Cassidy imagined Amy laughing, however, and the word was then full bodied and sincere.

He was wondering about something else she'd said.

"What did you mean, you're still growing?"

Strength comes from interaction.

The more we talk, the stronger I am.

Cass swallowed and a hard lump crawled down his throat. Was she somehow draining the life force from him? How strong did she need to get, and what would happen when she reached that limit?

"Stronger?"

Hard to explain.

First conversations, I was weak.

Couldn't talk for long.

Because no one saw me.

"Saw you? I could see you?"

No. I mean

Not see. Hear. Read.

Notice.

"So... when you're speaking to someone, me, you able to do it more?"

Yes.

I'm still weak, but better.

Cassidy felt more at ease. Less threatened. He could, he believed, stop jumping at everything she said, expecting it to mean a risk of some sort. There were no precedents for speaking to the dead. Hollywood and Stephen King had their imaginations. This wasn't a script or first draft.

"OK," he said.

He could accept that. He could even help her. Against his better judgement, he was enjoying talking to her.

Thank you.

"You're welcome." He meant it.

He waited for Amy to say something else, but the words didn't change. Was she waiting for him to speak? He wasn't sure where to take the conversation next. There were so many questions, he couldn't choose one to start with. When the message hadn't altered after a few more minutes, he thought she had left. Perhaps she had exhausted herself.

I died on Valentine's Day.

https://youtu.be/fmiu7ykXJHU