I Returned as a Ghost After Ten Years Chapter 1

Ten years after my death, I saw Knox again.

He still had that same reckless, untamed aura. With full tattoo sleeves and a lazy, arrogant slouch, he walked like a guy showing up to collect a gambling debt.

I deliberately floated right into his personal space, blowing air into his face and waving my hands in front of his eyes. I even phased straight through his chest and out his back. It didn't matter. He couldn't see me anyway.

Suddenly, his footsteps faltered.

I thought he had actually felt something, but he just stopped, pulled out a cigarette, and squinted into the distance as he lit it.

Then, looking absolutely nowhere, he casually remarked, "Hazel, your dress is dirty."

I froze, instinctively looking down. I was wearing the white dress I was buried in, and it was perfectly clean.

Before I could even process what was happening, he added, "Idiot. You don't even know how to clean yourself up before coming out to see me."

Wait!

Could he see me?

Hearing his words, I frantically inspected myself again. There was nothing there. I was spotless.

I was convinced he could see me until he suddenly squatted down and began wiping the grime off my tombstone with his sleeve.

"Stupid girl. You don't even know your clothes are dirty after you're dead."

Hey, make up your mind.

What do you mean, I don't know my clothes are dirty? I am a very hygienic ghost, thank you very much.

I stood beside him, taking advantage of his blindness to throw phantom punches and kicks at his shoulders.

Take that, you bastard. You didn't expect this, did you? I could never beat you in a fight when I was alive, but now that I'm dead, I'm throwing heavy hands.

We used to wrestle and play-fight all the time back in the day. Every single match ended with him effortlessly pinning me to the mattress. My consecutive losses only fueled my rebellious spirit. Where there is oppression, there is resistance.

Even if I died before I ever actually won a round against him.

Knox couldn't feel my ghostly assault. Still squatting on the grass, he reached into a plastic bag and pulled out a carton of strawberry milk, my absolute favorite.

He was wearing a faded hair tie on his wrist. It was mine from years ago. There were dark, heavy bags under his eyes, yet he still managed that signature wicked smirk.

"Hazel, little kids need to drink more milk. I'm not pouring you liquor today. I brought you the strawberry stuff."

Hey, what is that supposed to mean? Are you insulting my alcohol tolerance?

Furious, I draped myself over his back and let my long ghost hair fall directly over his eyes.

Consider yourself lucky, Knox. I am giving you the premium paranormal blackout experience, free of charge. You're welcome.

Knox suddenly raised a hand and brushed his own dark bangs out of his eyes, nearly giving me a heart attack.

For a second, I thought he had actually felt my hair.

I don't know what memory suddenly crossed his mind, but the warmth in his eyes vanished instantly. A suffocating wave of pure depression radiated from his body.

Beneath that heavy sorrow, there was a bitter trace of guilt.

He lowered his head and whispered, "Hazel, I'm sorry."

Huh? Sorry? Sorry for what?

"I shouldn't have picked a fight with you that day."

Oh, please. Couples fight all the time. I waved my hand dismissively, even though he couldn't see it.

"If I hadn't fought with you, would you still be alive?"

As he spoke, the rims of his eyes turned a violent shade of red. His entire posture collapsed into misery.

I patted his broad shoulder, trying to soothe him. "Come on, Knox. You're thirty-two years old, why are we bringing up ancient history? Let the past stay in the past."

But he couldn't hear me. He remained trapped in his own suffocating guilt.

Honestly, I had never seen him look this broken before.

From the day I met him, he had always been wildly arrogant, untethered, and constantly wearing a lazy smirk. All his friends used to say he was the anchor of the group, completely unshakeable.

Yet here he was, looking exactly like a puppy that had been abandoned in the rain.

Seeing him like this, the sympathy I thought had died along with my physical body started to overflow.

"Good boy. Mommy is still here. I might be dead, but my soul is hanging around."

I reached out to stroke his thick dark hair, softening my voice.

He suddenly looked up, his gaze piercing directly into the spot where I was floating.

"Hazel, you're definitely laughing at me right now."

My eyes went wide.

"Bullshit, I am mothering you."