I’m drained. I mope to my bedside and slide off my clothes. There are some things I can do that I never knew about. Gifts beyond my understanding. I toss my dirty jeans over an arm on the velvet chair next to the widow and pull on some sweatpants.

The moonlight outside my second story quarters reveals a pastoral landscape. My Honor’s English teacher would be proud. Very Steinbeckian. Times like this one paint a picture of a more elegant estate. One where love and peace could have flourished.

I shuffle to my bed and crawl under its cold lifeless covers. The moonlight’s too much for my eyes. I flop on my other side and come face to face with a figure under my covers next to me. A thin arm drifts closer to my wrist under the sheet.

“Wh-who are you?”

Mint and honey? Comforting aromas, no doubt.

“What do you want from me?”

A flirtatious giggle.

I pull the sheet closer to my mouth. “Evelyn? Is that you?”

The sheet falls to the mattress in a gentle fluff as her form disappears. She hums a light melody around the foot of my bed. In an instant, both sheets and my covers fly off me and wind up on the floor at the foot of my bed.

“Not funny.”

I inch toward the foot of the bed, holding my eyes back from peering over the edge. God, I hope you aren’t sick and rotting down there. The bed’s edge draws closer. One hand, then the other. Nothing but floorboards and a pile of bedding. Her giggles trail off through my doorway as its door closes on its own.