Luna left the window open again inviting an obnoxiously frigid breeze into their shared guest room. Lane couldn't sleep. He was of course fully aware of the many things he could have done to get himself to sleep; get up, close the window, maybe even find a way to turn on Uncle Dan's ancient heater. It wasn't like the house was an original colonial or anything. But, when they first arrived in Washington nearly a month ago, it felt like their uncle had gone out of his way to make everything in his home older than it had to be. "Retro-style," is what he called it.

So, it happened that when Luna would sneak out of their guest room around Midnight for the last few weeks, the "Retro-style" window panes wouldn't be able to close all the way once they were opened. Not without a great deal of force and effort. Owls hooted. Late summer breezes whispered through the dense trees. Branches scraped against one another in an eerie nocturnal symphony. Lane was torn between doing what little he had to in order to get some rest, and breaking his perfectly comfy position in the old twin bed covered in a thick down feather comforter.

That's when Lane heard the scream.

He immediately sprang out of bed, reached for his navy blue vest, ball cap, and black aluminum Maglite. He slid his bare feet into the scuffed Timberland Boots and bounded toward the window. Lane waited. The night symphony had resumed. Leaves danced upon the wind. Branches scratched together and forest creatures moved unseen through the brush. That scream wasn't Luna's.

Luna did not scream.

He and his adopted sister had only been together for three years. They'd gotten into more than their fair share of mischief for barely being thirteen. Fights, conspiracies, and a dozen rather supernatural situations. As harrowing as the predicaments they found themselves in, Luna never screamed. A squeal of delight perhaps? To scream in fear was something Lane had yet to hear escape his sister's lips.

Having scanned the woods behind their uncle's unnecessarily rustic house, Lane eventually saw a single light on in the second story bedroom a few houses up the road. They weren't too deep into the woods; barely at the base of mountains. Uncle Dan had managed to purchase a rustic ranch home across the street from Mount St. Helens' National Volcanic Monument. At first read it sounds like a busy tourist spot. It wasn't. At least not busy from the perspective of Lane who'd spent most of his life in downtown Santa Fe, New Mexico beside a freeway regularly flowing with traffic. In this town, if you could even call it that, the silence weighed heavy.

Screams echoed for miles.

After a few minutes of staring at the light across the road, Lane awkwardly maneuvered his gangly limbs out through the window and onto the grass outside. The light was still on. Thoughts of calling the sheriffs were immediately dismissed. Lane had learned time and again that law enforcement, while not entirely unhelpful, were usually more of a hindrance. Despite whatever danger may lie in wait, Lane and Luna worked more efficiently when they dealt with a mystery directly rather than wait for questionably-helpful-officials to arrive.

Lane had walked nearly a quarter mile up the empty road when he realized that Luna was not by his side. Three years may not be a long time, but in the spring of his youth, Lane considered himself radically fortunate to have a sister like Luna. She simply had no fear. Or, at least none that they'd encountered so far. Her confidence was contagious, and she often admired his ingenuity. Being reliant on Lane wouldn't be giving her the credit she was due. Individually, they could manage just fine. Together? They were an unstoppable force and immovable object that worked in tandem, overcoming obstacles no ordinary pair of siblings could. When the frightened scream broke the still of the night once more, Lane felt the absence of Luna's fearlessness and the courage it fostered.

Lane stood there, frozen in the middle of the street across from the house with the second story light on. His eyes had adjusted enough to the dark. No street lamps lit his path. Only a bright waxing crescent moon and trillions of stars blinked down at him from above. It was a young girl who'd screamed judging by the pitch and timbre. There was terror laced in that scream that made Lane's skin crawl. Someone needed help, and by the looks of things only a thirteen year old armed with a flashlight was going to answer that call.

Taking a deep breath, he sprinted around the side of the house. Luna's methods were usually more direct. She would have burst through the front door without knocking. Lane however solved a puzzle by finding the edges first. Making a complete lap around the house, panting for breath, he could see no immediate evidence of anything that could have forced an entry into the building. Now came the moment of truth.

Stepping up to the front patio, wood creaking, bending under foot, Lane balled up his fist and knocked on the door, "Miss, it sounds like you're in distress, is everything okay?" Still waiting for his final bout with puberty to deepen his voice, Lane's attempt to come across as authoritative and masculine was comical at best. He probably would die from embarrassment if whatever was inside didn't kill him first. Then, suddenly, there was motion in the house. Footsteps running down the stairs. Lane stepped back, flashlight held like a club above his head ready to strike.

The door flew open.

Lane held his impulse to close his eyes and start swinging. Instead, he was captivated by a girl of unspeakable beauty. She was the kind of lovely that caused Lane's jaw to lock in place, words to vanish from his mind and lose all sense of meaning. Pale bare feet under powerful legs ran past him. Pearl white arms dotted with freckles pumped up and down while she propelled herself forward off the deck. Ample breasts were loosely concealed under a long black shirt with Chris Jericho's face on it. Her flowing, curly auburn hair shimmered under the moon and starlight. Those eyes: sapphire oceans he could blissfully drown in, stared back at Lane.

Her rose petal lips parted to say, "IT'S IN THERE!"

Lane blinked away his infatuation and came back to reality. There was a girl. She was in trouble. He had a job to do. Jogging after her, Lane asked in the manliest voice he could conjure, "What's in there, miss?"

The girl had come to a sudden stop on the opposite side of the street. She was breathing heavily, doubled over. With the back of one hand, she wiped away the tears that had been streaming down her cheeks. Once she caught her breath, she quickly looked Lane up and down, "Who are you? What are you doing out here?"

Lane cleared his throat and dropped the macho act; it ended up just hurting his throat and sounding objectively silly. "I'm Lane. Lane Woods," He stated plainly, "I heard a scream from my uncle's house, down the road there. Are you okay?"

"Why aren't you wearing pants?" The girl asked, pointing.

Slightly more self conscious, Lane tried to gloss over his choice of wardrobe, "It sounded like an emergency. They're boxer shorts. Shorts are like pants but, um, shorter?" Her perfect rose lips flashed a small smile. Lane blustered, "I didn't have time, okay? I ran over because you were screaming. Are you hurt? Is someone hurting you?"

The girl shook her head, red curls swayed as she did so; "There's..." She trailed off, biting her lower lip, "I'm fine. It's nothing. Thanks."

Lane raised an eyebrow, "No one screams like that over nothing." She looked down, embarrassed. Lane offered a sincere smile, "I know you don't know me from Adam, but helping people is what I do. It's okay. Is it your parents? Did someone hurt you?" Glancing up to the house, Lane watched as the light in the upstairs room suddenly flickered and shorted out.

The girl gasped and shivered.

"It's a ghost," came a familiar, jovial voice behind Lane.

Turning on his heels, Lane let out a sigh of relief. Luna casually strolled up to the two teenagers walking across the grass lawn with a satisfied smile. Her dark, cropped pixie cut made her look about a few years older than she was. Luna's sea-foam green eyes searched over the girl who had run screaming out of the house at the end of the lane.

"It is a ghost, isn't it?" Luna asked softly.

There was a pregnant pause that hung in the air over the girl. So many questions in Lane's mind waited to spill out into the frosty early morning air. Reluctantly, the wild red headed girl replied, wrapping her arms around herself like a cocoon, nodding.

"Yes," She whispered.

When confronted with the supernatural, skepticism was usually the default position for most individuals. For Lane and Luna, it was more a matter of narrowing down exactly how supernatural the situation was in comparison to all the other weird shit they'd encountered over the years. Digging into his pocket, Lane withdrew the palm sized spiral notebook that he kept for recording such instances. Thumbing over the tabs, Lane flipped open the section labeled, 'Spooks and Spectral Phenomenon.'

"Ghost," Lane repeated to himself while uncapping his pen, "If you don't mind, can we ask you a few questions to narrow down exactly what kind of ghost we're dealing with?"

Luna stood beside Lane and elbowed him in the ribs, whispering, "Get her name first, Ursa Major." She stuck her tongue out playfully at her clueless brother.

"Who are you two?" The red headed girl asked again, bordering on breaking down into angry tears. Couldn't blame her. This time of night, alone, possible ghost; Lane should have developed a better bedside manner for this sort of work.

"I'm sorry, I know this must be difficult, terrifying for you. Everything is going to be okay. I promise. I'm Lane and this is my twin Luna. We literally deal with stuff like this all the time," Lane said, taking a cautious step forward.

"All the damn time," Luna added impatiently, "So are we talking multiple voices, one voice, no voice and just knocking on stuff? What?"

Lane shot his sister a stern look. She held up both her hands in temporary surrender.

"What's your name?" Lane asked the redhead girl. Her hair was a shade brighter than his own. He tried to keep his eyes on hers, but the rise and fall of her chest was distracting even for the most well meaning thirteen year old.

"Jordan," She sniffed, "Jordan Breathnach."

"Breathnach," Lane repeated mulling the origin over in his mind, "Celtic for, 'those who have Welsh ancestry,' right?"

"I guess?" Jordan answered, still a little breathless and bewildered.

"It probably is," Luna added, "My brother's a wealth of obscure information." She rolled her eyes at Lane and continued her interrogation, "May we continue, please? Have you recently had a close relative pass away?" Luna paced back and forth behind Lane. Her delicate fingers plucked imaginary violin strings in the air while her brain was busy turning over the possibilities.

"You two are twins?" Jordan asked.

Luna beamed, "Yup. We share a birthday and everything."

Jordan looked back and forth between the two who couldn't look more unalike. For one, the girl was black. Specifically, she was of Nigerian and Iranian descent, a not too common combination of parentage, but one that created an unparalleled beauty. Her sharp facial features and athletic build presented a radiant, androgynous fashion model atypical for a budding teenager to possess. Lane on the other hand, was a typical awkward American ginger; unkempt hair hidden under his hat, gangly limbs, and possibly the makings of a square jaw. He wasn't unhandsome, but if puberty hit some people like an eighteen wheeler speeding down a highway, this boy was a VW Bus politely waiting to change lanes.

"We share a birthday, but Luna is adopted," Lane admitted gently, more so for Luna's sake than Jordan's curiosity. Adoption still held bitter memories even after their three years of living under the same roof.

"We also have the same eyes," Luna added, batting her long dark lashes, "But enough about us. You're hosting a ghost, yes? Up there, where you were screaming?" Luna gestured demurely with a finger to the second floor bedroom.

Jordan nodded, drew a deep breath and recalled the events of the last month; "You were right about the knocking. For the last few weeks, almost every night, I'd wake up to hear something pounding on my window. The first night, I was... I couldn't bring myself to get out from under the covers. Recently, the knocking wouldn't stop. It just got louder, more violent. It shook my dresser. Nearly knocked it over..."

Lane placed a gentle hand on Jordan's shoulder. She didn't recoil, but looked up, startled. With a reassuring smile, he asked, "If you don't mind, we'd like to investigate. May we have a look?" Jordan looked up to the bedroom window once more and shivered. Lane added, "We'll be right there with you, okay?"

---

With a fair amount of reservation of inviting two stranger's into her home, Jordan allowed Luna and Lane inside. Luna bounded up the stairs seemingly without a care. Lane remained by Jordan's side. The wooden steps were carpeted. No stereotypical creeks as they journeyed up to the second floor. Even so, silently creeping through a possibly haunted house in the dark after midnight was plenty unnerving.

Lane whispered, "Your parents aren't home?"

"They drove down to Portland to visit my grandma. She's in hospice. Hasn't been doing well since my grandpa passed," Jordan answered in a low whisper. Lane wrote down the facts in his journal, only occasionally glancing up to catch a glimpse of Jordan's lips.

There was something about those rose petal lips that overwhelmed his thought process; what would it be like to kiss a girl like that? Kissing was not an activity Lane was tangibly familiar with. That was Luna's department. Boys, girls, non-binary people of every flavor were always on his sister's radar and she'd often kiss and tell him all about the experience ad nauseam. It sounded like something he'd want to try, but Lane had next to no idea how to go about it. Just as well, he thought, I've got a job to do. Someone needs my help, not a kiss.

Luna stopped outside the bedroom, waiting for her brother and Jordan to catch up; "This the room?" she asked, gesturing with her head.

Jordan nodded.

Cautiously, Luna tapped a foot on the royal blue carpet on the other side of the door. Nothing. She stuck her hand into the room as if testing the waters. Lane noticed all the hair on Luna's arm suddenly stand up on end like she'd grabbed hold of a Van de Graff Generator. High concentration of static electricity. That wasn't uncommon. There was definitely some kind of presence in the room.

Lane flipped on his Maglite and swept the room. Jordan gasped at the sight. It looked as though a small tornado had ravaged everything from the bed, the closet, and the contents of the dresser that had been pushed up against the window. In addition to the disaster spread over the floor, several smaller objects hung in the air; floating without a tether. Shirts, a small porcelain figurine, and a hairbrush were all suspended, orbiting the pile in the center of the room.

Instead of screaming, Jordan reached out and grabbed hold of Lane's hand. If he weren't so fixated on studying the room he would have noticed an impossibly beautiful girl had impulsively wove her fingers through his. Instead, he took a step forward after Luna. He was compelled to solve this mystery, but Jordan pulled Lane back.

"Don't go in," Jordan pleaded in a hushed voice.

Lane suddenly became aware of being attached to Jordan, touching her soft, snow white skin; "Oh, I'm..." Lane stammered. He forgot how to... word? Speak! He forgot how to do that thing with his mouth. Staring into Jordan's brilliant blue eyes, he also failed to notice her expression change from frightened to weirded out.

Then came a flick on the back of Lane's head.

Luna.

His sister spoke in a sing-song tone, "Come now / lover-boy / we've got a job to do."

Lane squeezed Jordan's hand and slipped out of her grasp. Luna was right. Keep focused on the task ahead. There was a haunted room an arms length away that needed to be dealt with.

Luna strode forward, her eyes searching the floating objects and scanning the mess that had been piled up in the center of the room, "I'm not seeing any significant build up of ectoplasm. Whatever it is either didn't use a lot of energy to move these objects, or they weren't being manipulated for a long enough period of time. Kind of placed here... Haphazardly...No...?"

Luna bent down and pushed through the pile gingerly with a pencil.

Lane started on the edges. He moved slowly, counter clockwise around the room. The open closet, the bed that was stripped of its sheets, and finally the wall and window that overlooked the street. Lane stooped down to pick up the lamp that had been knocked on the floor. There was a little slime running off the side of the lampshade. Ectoplasm; a sort of coagulant or mucus side effect produced by some spirits pushing through their plane of reality into ours. It's gross.

However, Lane did stumble upon a clue.

"Perhaps whatever it is, is searching for something?" Luna suggested.

Lane stepped back from the dresser, "I'd say that's a fair hypothesis. Jordan, your grandfather passed recently?"

Jordan remained outside her bedroom door; "Yeah. Almost a year ago."

"Is there any special occasion coming up for him? A birthday, or an anniversary?" Lane probed, tracing a finger along the silver frame of the mirror attached to the dresser. It was ice cold. He considered the scene of the crime. The series of events leading up to this night. The Knocking. Someone or something was trying to get Jordan's attention. There was something missing to bring the borders of this puzzle together.

"Yeah," Jordan said, a finger pressed against her temple while she recalled, "My grand-folks anniversary is tomorrow. It would have been seventy years together since-"

A loud KNOCK rattled the room.

Luna stepped back as the pile of random objects suddenly leapt up and fell back down onto the bedroom carpet.

Lane smiled, "Jordan, what's your grandfather's name?"

Luna had already backed out of the room to stand beside Jordan.

Hesitantly, shaking, Jordan whispered, "Patrick."

Again there was a violent knocking that shook the whole bedroom. Jordan nearly fell over if it weren't for Luna holding her steady. The banging didn't cease as the temperature in the room dropped forty degrees. Lane could easily see his breath. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a Black Sharpie Marker and thumbed through his notebook.

"Lane, get out of there!" Jordan screamed over the deafening thuds.

"It's okay," Lane shouted back, "What you thought was someone banging on the outside of your window is actually coming from the other side of your mirror."

"What the hell are you talking about?" The girl with the wild red hair cried.

Luna gave Jordan a reassuring pat on the shoulder and leaned in; "Watch this."

Lane began scribbling something onto the surface of the mirror, runes, glyphs, some kind of language Jordan had never seen before. As he wrote the inscription, he used one hand to write and the other hand to steady himself as the room continued to quake. Flipping to another page in his notebook, Lane recited something Jordan couldn't quite hear.

When he'd finished, Lane turned to Jordan, "Patrick, your granddaughter is here and wants to help you find what was lost. Can you help us? Show us what was lost."

As the surface of the mirror continued to frost over, gradually something began to take shape. It was as if an invisible finger were writing in the glass. Jordan was horrified and morbidly curious. She couldn't look away as the shape of a watch was drawn into the frost covered mirror.

Lane shouted over the banging to Jordan, "Did your grandfather leave a watch or bracelet maybe?" Looking down at her left hand, Lane noticed Jordan was covering the small golden watch on her wrist with her right hand. He smiled. The missing piece had been found.

As if nothing paranormal at all were happening, Lane beamed as he paced and explained; "For whatever reason, silver mirrors are notoriously tricky for spirits. If a vengeful spirit were haunting you, using one in a pinch could trap 'em. On the other hand, if a lost soul is simply finishing things up here on earth and accidentally catches their reflection, well..." Lane gestured to the mirror that continued to vibrate and beat itself against the wall.

"Seems like your grandfather was trying to find his old watch, a gift given to him by your grandma on an anniversary I reckon? He'd spent a lot of energy trying to get your attention, but clear communication ain't a ghost's strong suit," Lane turned back to the mirror and withdrew a tiny orange BIC lighter from his pocket. He flicked on the flame and held it close to the mirror.

"This next part could get a little intense. Would you mind taking off the watch?" Lane asked politely, "We're gonna help your grandpa pass over."

Before Jordan could protest, Lane touched the flame to the mirror's surface. The writing on the glass suddenly glowed neon orange, bright, blinding light emanating out into the room. Then, in a flash, everything was covered in daylight.

Silence. Heavy quiet fell like an anvil. A minute later, the unnatural quiet was broken...

"Hello, Pumpkin. Sorry to rattle you," Spoke a raspy, gentle voice from the bedroom.

Everything was so bright, Jordan had to shield her eyes, "Grandpa?"

"Please tell your Gran that I miss her, and I'll be waiting for her, counting down the days," The voice was so close, it was practically in front of Jordan's face. She could barely see through the tears pouring down her face. The outline of the face she'd grown up with was just starting to come into focus, and the tears fell even harder.

Without any further prompting, Jordan held out the watch, "I miss you so much, Pop-pop," she choked out.

An impossibly warm hand brushed against hers, "I miss you too. I'm always here for you, Jordan. Be good."

As quickly as the daylight had burst into Jordan's bedroom, the darkness of the early morning returned. The gold watch had vanished. Buried under an emotional avalanche, Jordan collapsed under the weight of it all. Her grandfather's voice. His hand. She'd been so numb when he'd passed almost a year ago, to see him again...

Luna knelt beside Jordan, "You're going to be okay now."

"What did you do..." Jordan started, but was still too terrified to admit what had happened, actually happened. It couldn't have? Could it?

Lane gingerly stepped over the clutter of Jordan's room to kneel beside her, "It was real. I know, the first time can be a little traumatic."

Jordan tried to shake off the tears with a laugh as she nodded. It was all so much and these two weirdos were just sitting here with her like it was an everyday occurrence.

Lane gave Jordan some space, a moment to breathe. Turning to his sister, he asked, "Hey, how did you know about the..." Lane gestured to the room where the ghost of Jordan's Grandpa had just appeared.

"I listen," Luna whispered back with a smile. Lane gestured for elaboration. Luna complied; "So, you know that cute blonde that lives on the other side of the 503 by Prairie General Store. No. Of course you don't. Anyway, she told me like two weeks ago about mysterious sounds, knocking, etcetera, all scary like there was some kind of haunting. So, I've been going on Midnight walks with Charlotte. For research." She added the last bit with a wink.

Lane raised a half smile, "To research the ghost, or the girl?"

Luna shrugged, "I can multitask."

With a satisfied sigh, Luna stood up and stretched, "Well, our work is done here."

Jordan sniffed, "What? That's it. You're just going to leave?"

Luna looked back into the room, "Yup. That's it. Ghost is gone. We won't even charge you for this one. First exorcism is on us. Although..." Giving Lane a sly look, she added, "I suppose it's only courteous if someone helps you clean up. Lane, you mind giving Jordan a hand. I got a busy day tomorrow or else I'd stay-"

"Wait a minute," Lane protested, but Luna gave him a swift sisterly punch in the arm, "Help. Her. Clean. Up. Get me?" He didn't, but Lane nevertheless stood up and began to tidy up the disaster pile in the bedroom. Luna shook her head and chuckled at Jordan, "That there is the nicest, dumbest-smart person you'll ever meet. You two have a goodnight."

Wiping her eyes, Jordan looked up at Luna, but she'd already skipped halfway down the stairs. Soon, the energetic girl was gone. Lane however, was still organizing the mess her room had become. This strange boy was actually making her bed, without complaint after having encountered a ghost-- Her grandfather, from beyond the grave.

"Lane," Jordan whispered, "You don't have to do that."

"Oh," Lane said, turning on his heels. "I'm sorry, I know people have a certain way of doing things, sheets, making the bed, and I'm just-- Shouldn't have invited myself in your room and touched your--" He glanced down at her chest again, winced, and shot his eyes back up at the ceiling, "I'll just, see myself out. Thank you for-- You know? Have a goodnight."

Lane made it to the doorframe, eyes still locked on the ceiling. Then the left wall. Then the front door down the stairs. He'd failed to notice Jordan hadn't moved. They both stood there quietly in the doorframe.

"Do you wanna stay?" She asked.

"I-- I don't wanna intrude, but I'm happy to help clean up," Lane stammered.

Hesitantly, Jordan reached out, touching Lane's hand. Not holding, simply touching her fingertips to the boy's; "Would you stay," Lane finally managed to glance in her direction. Eyes locked on hers, "Please?"

Lane nodded.