This Kind of Ghost

Tyler and Kristin went into the hospital and three new lives came out. Two ghosts were left in the postpartum suite, then eventually went home too.

The ghosts were invisible to Tyler and Kristin at first, drifting through the pack-n-play and baby gate unnoticed—but they grew in opacity over time. Kristin noticed her ghost on the sofa, flipping through an old travel guide. Tyler heard his playing a song he’d written on his now-stowed guitar. They started nodding to their ghosts in passing.

One Friday evening, after putting the toddler to bed, Tyler and Kristin saw the ghosts drinking wine at the kitchen table. They joined them for a glass, talking and laughing, but Tyler and Kristin—whose alarm clock rang on weekend mornings too—turned in early.

One Saturday evening—when Tyler thought the boy was old enough to understand—he pointed out his ghost putting on cool clothes he used to wear. “Look!” exclaimed father to son, who replied, “Uh huh,” even though children cannot see this kind of ghost.

Ingrid Anders is a freelance writer residing in Northern Virginia. Her most recent works have appeared in Odyssa Magazine, Coldnoon, and Brilliant Flash Fiction. She hosts the Short Story Reading Group for Writers and the Short Fiction Writing Workshop at the Washington DC Public Library. Visit her at http://www.ingridanders.com.