“Ashley seems real to you,” Renee said, watching my face. “Like a ghost, not a nightmare.” “I wouldn’t undersell her—she definitely feels like a nightmare—but, yes, it’s a ghost. It’s every ghost story you’ve ever heard or imagined. The difference is…” “What?” she prodded when I fell silent. “I don’t know what she wants,” I said. “To hurt me or to help me. Usually, that’s clear in a ghost story, right? But I think that might not be her choice to make.” I hadn’t articulated this before, but once the words were out there, I found myself nodding as if someone else had posited the idea.
