The man in the Home Depot scratched his head. "What um...what type you looking for?"
Mal flinched. "Type?"
The man shrugged. "You know...double loop? Jack? Binder?"
"Just a chain!" half-shouted Mal. "The cheapest kind you have."
"Aisle 12."
"You shouldn't yell like that," said the boy in the white sheet. "It's mean."
"Well," snarled Mal, "you wanted a chain..."
"I need a chain," said the boy, swishing his sheet back and forth. "They didn't give me one when I died."
"D'you consider maybe that's because ghost's don't really need chains?"
"Course they do," sniffed the boy quietly. "It's how they do haunting."
They found a rack of hanging chains. "Here you go," said Mal.
The boy draped a length of steel chain around his shoulders. "Heavy." He shimmied a bit. "Not very clangy either."
"How clangy does it need to be?"
"Really clangy."
"Are you hungry?" asked Mal slyly.
"Ghosts don't get hungry," said the boy, slightly annoyed. Mal was certain she could hear the low, urgent growl of a little boy's stomach, but she left it alone.
"I think you just need to wear a lot of chains to get the right sound," said the boy at last.
"How many chains d'you think you can wear?"
"As many as I need to," said the boy. "I'm a ghost."
"Right." They bought seven different lengths and style of chain. (Chains were more expensive than Mal had presumed.) The boy wore two. Mal carried the rest.
He'd been there in the morning - the boy in the sheet. Standing outside Mal's door.
"I'm a ghost," he'd said. And though he wouldn't admit it, Mal was pretty certain it was her nephew Fin.
I'm in a hell of a lot of trouble if that's not Fin she realized sometime later in the day.
"How'd you die?" Mal had asked.
"In my sleep," said the boy.
"Did it hurt?"
"I was asleep."
"Are you sad?"
"Are you?"
"So what do you do now?"
"Ghost stuff."
Mal had texted her sister right away.
FIN'S HERE. BROUGHT HIS OWN BEDSHEETS, TOO. VERY THOUGHTFUL GUEST
Sheila hadn't responded right away. The pause lasted long enough to make Mal nervous. She almost called, then
sorry. thing with will. got a little heated. can you watch f? ill grab him ths afternn
"How's your mom?" asked Mal, as they settled into her plum-colored Honda Civic.
The boy shrugged. His chains barely made a sound.
"Your dad?"
An even smaller shrug.
"You're sure you're not hungry? I kinda want ice cream."
"It's still morning," said the boy.
"I'm an adult, and you're a ghost," said Mal. "We can do whatever we want."
"Okay."
They drove. It was summer. The sun came up early and hot.
"So how'd you die?" asked Mal.
"I told you. In my sleep," snapped the boy.
"But how?" pressed Mal. "You don't just die in your sleep. You have a heart attack. Or a stroke. Or total organ failure, or something. Sleep doesn't kill you."
"I don't know."
"They don't tell you after you die?"
"They don't tell you anything," said the boy lowly.
"Is it good to be dead?"
This made the boy pause. He turned from the window towards his aunt. "Do you think so?"
Mal shook her head. "Don't know. I'm not dead. And I've never talked to a dead person before. I was hoping you might have some insight."
"It's good that I'm dead," said the boy.
Mal felt a wicked constriction in her chest. She struggled to keep her voice even. "That so?"
"Yeah."
"Just you?"
The boy said nothing.
"Why's it good?"
"Just better," said the boy.
"For you?"
The boy said nothing.
"For someone else?"
"I think so."
"Well, not for me," said Mal. "Those chains were expensive."
"Not you," said the boy softly.
"Who?"
The boy said nothing.
"So," said Mal after a moment of quiet. "Are you my personal ghoul or will you be haunting anyone else? Kids at school? Your mom and dad perhaps?"
"Not Mom and Dad..."
"Okay." They parked outside the Dairy Queen. "You sure ghosts don't eat? Not even ice cream?"
"I don't think so."
"Have you tried?"
"No."
"Well, indulge my scientific side, then," said Mal. "If I recall correctly, you were a peanut butter cup Blizzard man in life."
The head behind the sheet nodded. Mal slipped out of the car and into the restaurant. She called Sheila. There was no answer. She bought herself a sundae and the Blizzard for Fin.
Back in the air conditioned car, Mal handed over the cup of candy and ice cream. "I'm glad you're here," she said. "I'd prefer that you weren't dead. But I'm glad that you're here."
"Yeah," said the boy, holding up the Blizzard. "Um. Can you look the other way? I don't want..."
"First meal as a spirit," said Mal, nodding as she turned towards her window. "I understand completely. I don't like eating barbecue in the same room as anyone else."
She listened silently to the scrape and slurp of her nephew tearing through the frozen dessert, discretely looking down at her phone, which refused to ring or beep.
"Done." The sheet was down again. The cup was empty.
"Haunt the park?"
"Okay."
Mal started up the car. "Hey, can the dead ever come back? Back to life, I mean?"
"I don't know," said the boy. "How would they?"
"Maybe if they really, really wanted to, they could go back?"
"Why would they want to?"
Mal realized it was a challenge. She smiled. "Oh, I can think of lots of reasons. Lots and lots. But it's probably better if I just show you."
The day was hot and long and Mal had a full tank of gas. They went off to seek their reasons, both of them.