Peter opened his eyes, but the world didn't feel real.
There was no pain. No sound, not at first—just a strange stillness, like everything had been dipped in cotton. He stood in the middle of the street, blinking at the amber light of dusk.
A small crowd had gathered a dozen feet away. Flashing red and blue lights pulsed silently from an ambulance parked askew near the curb. A woman covered her mouth. Someone pointed. Others just stared.
Peter turned his head slowly.
His body was lying on the pavement.
A paramedic knelt beside him, checking for a pulse. A man in a tan jacket—the driver, maybe—was pacing in circles, yelling something Peter couldn't quite hear. The voices were muffled, like he was watching from underwater.
Peter took a step back, and his foot made no sound.
Another step.
Still nothing.
He looked down at his hands. They looked normal. No blood, no bruises, no injuries. He touched his chest. Solid. Breathing, even. Or at least it felt that way.
But then why was he watching himself die?
Panic should've come next, but it didn't. Instead, a quiet acceptance began to settle into his bones. There was a strange relief in it. No more meetings. No more spreadsheets. No more pretending.
He expected fear, but it didn't come.
He expected tears, but none rose.
Mostly, he felt... done.
For the first time in a long time, Peter felt light.
The sirens grew louder again, gradually, like someone was turning up the volume. He watched as they loaded his body into the back of the ambulance. A paramedic shut the door, muttering something to the driver. The crowd started to disperse, slowly, unsure of what to do now that the main event had passed.
Peter stood in the middle of it all, invisible and alone.
And then—
A flicker.
Someone was looking up.
Across the street, half in shadow, stood a woman in a yellow dress. She had red hair and bright blue shoes. Her arms were crossed, expression unreadable. But her eyes—
They were locked on his.
Peter took a step toward her, stunned.
She turned. Walked away.
Without thinking, Peter followed.
He moved like wind across water. His steps made no sound. The further he followed, the more distant the world around him became—less detailed, like scenery seen through rain-streaked glass.
The woman in yellow didn't look back.
She turned corners with ease, weaving through alleys and side streets like she'd memorized every inch of the city. Peter wasn't sure if he was floating or walking, but he kept pace without effort.
People passed her, oblivious. A cyclist nearly clipped her elbow, but she didn't flinch. It was like she didn't quite exist in the same rhythm as the rest of them.
Peter opened his mouth to call out, straining, willing the air to move—but no sound came. Just a whisper of breath. He wasn't even sure she could hear it.
Eventually, she reached a narrow storefront with a faded sign: Whispers Bookshop.
Without hesitation, she opened the door and stepped inside. A tiny bell above the door jingled. Peter reached for the handle, bracing for resistance—but his hand passed straight through it.
He winced. Right. Of course.
He braced himself and leaned in toward the door. His head passed right through.
He shook his head. This is so weird, he thought.
He stepped inside.
The scent of old paper and lavender greeted him. It was warm, quiet. Wooden shelves lined the walls. A single desk stood near the back, where the woman now sat, flipping through a worn paperback. She didn't look up.
An older woman—plump, cheerful, and wrapped in a cardigan—was just grabbing her purse.
"Thanks, honey," the older woman said. "You're a blessing."
"Go get your nails done, Gladys," the redhead replied.
Gladys chuckled and waved as she exited, door chiming once more.
Peter drifted closer, unsure. He didn't want to float through anything, not that he had much choice.
The girl flipped a page. "You gonna keep staring, or are you going to ask your ghost questions like they always do?"
Peter froze. "You... can see me?"
She sighed and finally looked up. Her eyes were sharp. "Would I be talking to you if I couldn't?"
His mouth opened. Closed. "Right. That makes sense."
"Of course it does." She stood slowly, placing the book down. "Now then, Casper. Sit if you like. Just don't drift into any shelves. It creeps out the paperbacks."
Peter blinked. "My name's not Casper."
He hesitated, then added, "It's Peter."
June gave a noncommittal shrug. "Sure it is. Casper suits you better."
He didn't respond. He glanced around, floating near an old reading chair but not daring to try and sit. She didn't seem to expect him to.
She studied him for a long second, then shrugged. "First few hours are the weirdest. You'll feel like you're here—but not. And no, you can't touch anything. Not unless you're having some kind of emotional breakdown. Even then, best case, someone hears a whisper."
Peter frowned. "How do you know all this?"
She arched a brow. "Let's just say you're not the first ghost I've met. Not even the tenth."
Peter swallowed. Or tried to. The reflex was still there, even if his body wasn't.
"I'm June," she said, finally. "Welcome to the afterlife, Casper."
A second voice chimed in from behind the shelves. "I'm the first!"
Peter turned just in time to see a young girl—no older than ten—float through a bookcase like it wasn't even there. She wore jean overalls over a pink shirt, her freckled face lit with mischief and a crooked smile. Her hair matched June's: fiery red, wild and bouncing.
She twirled once midair and giggled. "Hi, Peter. I'm Lily."
June sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Lily, boundaries."
"What?" Lily said, grinning. "You were being all dramatic. I had to make an entrance."
Peter blinked, trying to piece it together. "Is she... your sister?"
June didn't answer right away. Lily floated beside her and looked up with a soft expression that didn't quite match the giggles from a moment ago.
"She's family," June finally said.
Lily drifted closer to Peter, her grin softening. "We're twins," she said, almost in a whisper, as if it were a precious secret.
Peter looked between them, blinking. Now that she mentioned it, the resemblance was undeniable—same red hair, same sharp eyes, though Lily's were lighter, filled with a mischief
June carefully kept guarded.
But Lily looked so young. Too young. Peter tilted his head. "How long... have you been—?"
Lily grinned. "Dead? Oh, ages. Since we were ten. I got hit by a car too. Weird coincidence, huh?"
Peter's eyes widened.
Lily, undeterred, swooped in a tight circle around Peter, inspecting him with a wide-eyed curiosity.
"He's so clear!" she said with a gasp. "Like he's still alive."
Peter blinked, startled by her words. As he looked at her more closely, he noticed it—her form was slightly faded at the edges, like a watercolor left in the rain. He could see the outline of bookshelves faintly through her shoulders. She was smiling brightly, but he could see just past her.
Peter turned slowly back to June. "So what happens now?"
June tilted her head. "Usually? Ghosts hang around because of unfinished business. Loose ends.
Regrets that weigh too heavy to let them move on."
Peter furrowed his brow. "So... there's something I need to fix?"
"Maybe," June said, her tone careful. "Or maybe you just haven't figured out what it is yet. Some ghosts move on quickly. Others... not so much."
Lily spun lazily in the air. "Some stick around forever. That's when they start going loopy."
June's eyes flicked to her sister, then back to Peter. "Most of them fade with time. The longer they stay, the less of themselves they keep."
Peter glanced at Lily again, his thoughts drifting. That sounded ominous—what did she mean by loopy?
June's voice cut through his spiraling thoughts. "What do you regret, Casper?"
He blinked, caught off guard. "What?"
She leaned back against the counter. "You heard me. If you're stuck here, there's a reason.
Something you didn't let go of. Something that kept you tethered."
Peter looked down at his hands, still familiar. "I don't know. I didn't have some dramatic life. No broken family, no deep heartbreak. My parents are still together. They loved me. I loved them.
We weren't perfect, but we were good. I just... I wasn't happy."
He paused for a moment, as if the words themselves surprised him.
"I had a job. One of those gray cubicle deals. Filing reports, answering emails. I'm not even sure what the company did. I showed up, hit the same buttons every day, and left. Over and over. I kept telling myself that I'd quit next year. Do something real. Maybe travel. Maybe write. I used to sketch, you know? Back in high school."
Lily hovered quietly beside him, oddly laying horizontally in mid-air like she was resting at the end of a bed, her head tilted, eyes wide with curiosity.
"I thought I had time. I kept waiting for the fear to go away. Waiting for the right moment. But life just kept moving, and I... didn't."
He let out a soft breath that wasn't really breath. "I existed. But I didn't do anything with the time I had."
There was a silence.
Lily floated closer, and with a knowing look said, "Maybe that's your unfinished business." Peter glanced at her. "What is?"
She gave a small shrug. "Maybe you regret not living when you were alive."
June didn't speak right away. Her gaze softened just a little.
"That's more common than you'd think," she said quietly.
Peter didn't know what to say. He looked down again at his ghostly hands, trying to imagine what it would've felt like to hold something—anything—with real purpose.
A beat passed.
Then Lily piped up, floating upright with a sudden spark of energy. "Sooo... that means we're going to the fair, right?"
Peter blinked. "The fair?"
Lily nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! June always takes me when I'm sad. It's not like I can ride anything, but it's fun to pretend. Plus, funnel cakes."
June gave her sister a long look. "You can't eat funnel cakes."
"You can hover over them dramatically and imagine the smell," Lily said with a grin. "That's half the joy."
Peter gave a small laugh—his first since waking up dead. "You're serious?"
Lily floated backward toward the door, arms wide like she was guiding an invisible chariot. "I'm always serious about fake carnival food."
June shook her head, muttering, "I regret ever letting her haunt Yelp."
Peter tilted his head. "Wait, are we... actually going?"
June gave him a sidelong look, reluctant but not entirely disinterested. "You said you never lived. Might as well start now."