A group of ten pages fold backwards under the spine at a sharp angle. The cellophane protecting the book’s cover catches no reflections in the darkest corner of the room where I’ve shrunken to shadow. Ghosts stay clear of shadows, seek rays of sunshine that dance in from the east.

Sometimes, they turn to me and speak. It’s not always intelligible. A gurgle behind pale lips, the stuttering vibration of unused vocal cords. Foam rises from throats, bubbles of blood drip from the corners of gapping mouths.

But on moonless nights like this one, the ghost in my room sticks to the window, hopelessly pining for light that will not come till daybreak. 

I feel the shiver, chills can be relentless but still I’ve neglected to bring the blanket with me—like it’s my first time. It’s rare to get so consumed in a book that the undead catch me off guard. I’d thought I’d grown adept at sensing a presence, keeping my guard up. I mentally cross the author off the list. Too good, an attention thief. There’s some regret for judging and the manner in which I let the hardback hit the floor when the ghost popped up above the pages. I try to remember who talked me into reading for entertainment so I don’t take their advice again.

The long habit of clenching my teeth to stop them from chattering kicks in as I wonder what I will see in the face of this ghost when she finally turns to me. They always do.

My roommate, Amanda, is out, as usual, but I might be the only girl in the dorm who truly wishes their  roommate would stay in. Amanda keeps the ghosts at bay. When she comes in late, finding me asleep in the corner, she never teases. Under her care, I wake as a chrysalis in a down comforter, a pillow between my head and the cold, brick wall. If she’s out all night, I peel my cheek from the bumpy surface covered in alternate layers of dirt and off-white paint, neck stiff. I never transform into a butterfly that gets to escape all this.

What can I do? It is too terrifying to be on the bed right next to the window, too close to sleep at all.

No. There is no way. Plus I am a facts and evidence person, and in spite of having seen my first ghost when I was seven, I keep grounded in academia, science, statistics. Last month my data module suggested spirits don’t notice me if certain conditions are met.

 1. I have company. 

2. I pretend like they aren’t there and don’t react to them (harder done than said). 

And 3. The lights are out. 

This last one I figured out as a kid, but the first two were breakthroughs, things I have more control over than daylight or my roommate’s schedules. 

Being in public actually carries its own risks. Ghosts might not see me seeing them in a public place, but it depends. The pub, for one, is in a converted old factory. The energy pulses from the leaded glass windows, from the walls. And where energy pulses, ghosts flock. My first visit to that bar you’de have found me shaking on all fours in the bathroom where they descended on me, talking in their disembodied ways. 

The thing about ghosts is there are more ways to attract them then there are to hide from them. I went to college to study them all.