SPENCER'S POV
"W-wh… what are you…?" I stammered, my eyes darting between the road and the mirror. "How did you get in my car?"
She said nothing, just continued to stare, slowly licking her ice cream.
I shook my head, convinced I was hallucinating. I turned my head to look in the back seat. It was empty. A sigh of relief escaped me. Just my imagination.
I looked forward again and grinned. "Keep it together, Spencer."
"I said, keep your eyes on the road," a voice stated calmly from the passenger seat.
I screamed and swerved. She was now sitting beside me.
She gestured sharply with her eyes. "Road. Now."
I snapped my gaze forward and my heart leaped into my throat. A massive, roaring ammo tank was right in front of me, its turret turning my way.
"Go down!" I yelled, ducking as I heard the shriek of gunfire. I wrenched the steering wheel, my car skidding violently to the left, barely missing the tank and heading straight for the woods.
I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for the impact.
It never came.
I opened my eyes. The road was clear. My windshield was intact. No tank. No gunfire. And the passenger seat was empty.
"I need a doctor," I whispered, my hands trembling. "My Halloween is turning into a nightmare."
I finally reached my remote mansion, parked haphazardly, and stormed inside. As I ran up the grand staircase, I heard it again: the clanking of metal treads. I looked back.
The ammo tank was in my hallway, crushing the marble floor, its barrel aimed at me.
"Holy shit!" I took off, sprinting to my room. I burst inside, slammed the door shut, and locked it, leaning against it as I panted.
The sound of gunshots erupted from the other side. I turned around slowly, expecting to see my door splintering.
But I wasn't in my room.
I was in the middle of a war zone. Dust and smoke choked the air. Explosions deafened me. Military jets screamed overhead, and soldiers ran past me, firing rifles.
I was trapped in the middle of a deafening battle.
I dove behind a crumbling barrier, my heart trying to beat its way out of my chest. A jet swooped down, guns blazing, heading right for me.
I ran, scrambling over the barrier—and tripped, landing hard on something soft.
Silence.
Dead, utter silence.
I cracked open an eye. I was lying on my own expensive, king-sized bed, in the middle of my pristine bedroom. I was in my boxers.
"What the…" I scrambled to my feet, heart hammering.
"Good night," a voice said.
My head snapped towards the full-length mirror. There she was, the military girl, casually running her fingers through her pigtail and watching me.
"Jeez!" I yelped.
Suddenly, an ammo tank materialized in the air above me, plummeting directly towards my face. I screamed and threw my arms up—
—and it was gone. Nothing happened. I was just a guy in his boxers, flinching at nothing.
She smiled, a faint, ghostly thing. "Sweet dreams, Spencer."
---
The following day…
I walked out of the psychiatrist's office, his words ringing in my ears: "High-stress-induced hallucinations." He'd given me a prescription for anxiety meds. It was all in my head. It had to be.
My phone rang. Megan.
"Spencer! How are you? You just left last night! I called you so many times!"
"I'm fine,dear. I'm just coming out of the hospital."
"The hospital?Oh my god, send me your location!"
"No,no, don't worry. I'll handle it. Keep yourself safe, alright? Love you."
"Love you too,"she said, still sounding worried.
I ended the call and opened my car door. My phone rang again immediately. Allen.
"Hey Allen, I left the party because I—"
"Meet me now,"he cut me off, his voice grim. "I'll send a location. You're in trouble."
Twenty minutes later, I sat in a quiet cafe booth, watching a video on Allen's phone. It was the security footage from the bar. My eyes widened in horror.
The video showed only me and the bartender. There was no military girl. It looked like I was talking to myself, then I mockingly saluted, the bartender laughed, and then he just… died.
"I… I wasn't there alone," I stammered, my blood running cold. "A lady in a military uniform was there! She was right there!"
"Spencer," Allen said, lowering his voice. "Everyone thinks you killed that bartender. Continental security is looking for you. I bought this clip from the manager. It looks like you were having some kind of… episode."
"The lady is a ghost, Allen! I'm telling you!"
Allen burst into laughter."Seriously, Spencer? Ghosts? Have you seen a doctor? You must be hallucinating."
"I have! But this is real! I accidentally kissed a ghost, and now she's haunting me with military equipment!"
"Well," Allen said, still smirking. "If you're so sure you're not hallucinating, then when you see that ghost again, kill it. Or I'll help you kill it myself."
"You can't kill what's already dead!" I shot back, exasperated.
"Just get rid of this mess before the police close in on you," he said, getting up to leave.
I sat there, my head in my hands. I was haunted, wanted for murder, and my only ally was a ghost who gave me PTSD-style hallucinations. I looked through the cafe window towards my car.
She was there. Sitting on the hood of my Bentley, legs crossed, staring right at me. She smiled softly and crooked a finger, gesturing for me to come over.