Are You Checking That Out or Am I?

It would be so great, at this point in the story, if I could tell you the figure I saw before me was Rachel.

Her. Clear as day. Translucent, maybe. Glowing, even. Pointing me toward some hidden truth. Mouthing words I could almost understand. Sending me off on a desperate, romantic treasure hunt to find her or avenge her death. That’s how it works in the movies, right?

That would be so great.

So great I wouldn’t even bother telling you the rest of this story. I’d be too busy following ghost clues like a sleep-deprived detective with a caffeine problem. Kicking in doors. Dodging authority. Ignoring all good judgment until I had her back in my arms.

But that’s not what I saw.

What I saw… wasn’t even a person.

It was a shape. A distortion. Like heat rising off asphalt in the middle of July—only thicker. Wrong. It hovered at the end of the stacks, where the children’s section opened into bright colors and low shelves. It had no face. No limbs. No outline I could hold onto.

If I wore glasses, I might’ve thought it was something on the lens.

Except it moved. Slow at first. Drifting.Then stopped. Like it had noticed me.

I didn’t move. Not right away. Because something else did.

A book slid halfway out of the shelf beside me.

I stared at it.

It stopped.

A second passed. Maybe two.

Then it slipped the rest of the way out and dropped to the floor with a soft slap.

I looked around.

No one reacted.

A kid at a table nearby turned a page in his book. Another was chewing on the end of a pencil like it owed him money. The world kept spinning.

I bent down slowly and picked up the book.

The cover read Farm Animals. Two chickens and a goat.

Why is this familiar?

I held it in my hands, staring at the cover like it might explain itself.

Behind me—

A second book shifted. Not fell. Shifted. Like someone had run a finger along the spine and nudged it forward.

I turned.

Nothing.

Just shelves. Just books.

Just that… thing.

Still there. Still watching.

I swallowed.

“Okay,” I muttered under my breath. “This is new.”

The air felt… tight. Like before a storm. Pressure building behind my eyes, in my ears. A low hum I couldn’t hear so much as feel, like standing too close to a speaker at a concert.

The shape pulsed.

And the books around me shivered.

Not dramatically. Not all at once.

Just enough.

A ripple.

One book tipped. Then another. Then a third slid free and hit the floor harder this time.

I flinched.

Still—no one reacted.

No one.

That’s when it hit me. This wasn’t happening to the room. It was happening to me.

“Rachel?” I said.

I didn’t mean to say it.

I avoided saying her name in public. Never in public. Not anywhere people could hear. It felt like opening a door I’d nailed shut.

The moment the word left my mouth—

Everything snapped.

Books flew.

Not all of them. Not a tornado. Nothing Hollywood.

But enough.

Three—four—five books ripped free from the shelf like they’d been yanked. One spun in the air before slamming into the endcap. Another hit the floor hard enough to echo.

The table behind me rattled.

A chair scraped.

I ducked, hands coming up instinctively like I could block whatever came next.

The pressure roared.

Not a sound.

A force.

A freight train with no tracks and no direction—just speed and weight and nowhere to go but through me.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

“Okay—okay—okay—”

It hit.

Not physically. But completely. Like being swallowed whole by a feeling too big for your body.

Hope. Not soft. Not gentle.

Violent.

Loud.

Overwhelming.

It surged through me so hard I staggered back into the table. The edge caught me in the hip. Pain flashed, distant and unimportant compared to what was tearing through my chest.

I grabbed at the table to steady myself.

The books stopped moving. The pressure vanished. Silence dropped over everything like a curtain.

I opened my eyes.

The shelves were still.

The books that had fallen were just… books on the floor.

The shape—

Gone.

I sucked in a breath like I’d been underwater.

“What the hell…?”

I looked around again.

Same kids. Same quiet. Same world.

Except now the kids were taking me in with frightened eyes.

They hadn’t seen the books move. They had only seen me stumble and throw my hands over my head.

There were books scattered across the floor like I’d just had a very public breakdown.

I turned slowly toward the end of the stacks.

Nothing there.

Just a display.

Stuffed animals. Bright covers. A poster telling me to “Hang in There” like it knew something I didn’t.

I crouched and grabbed the nearest book, more to have something to do with my hands than out of any real interest.

It was the same one—the book with two chickens and a goat on the cover. It felt so familiar.

I flipped it open.

A cow stared back at me. Mid-moo. Living its best life.

I turned the page.

Barn. Field. Wide-open land.

And just like that—

My brain shifted.

Shingle Point Road.

The farmhouse.

Rachel’s car had been found three years ago beside an old farmhouse just outside town.

Charles—Chuck to his closest friends—had said the owners called it in.

Right?

That’s what he said.

So why did that feel… wrong?

Why did it feel like a hole I’d never looked into?

Three years and I’d never followed up.

Never asked who they were. Never gone back. Never questioned it.

How does that happen?

How do you lose your wife and just… skip a step?

“Rachel,” I said again. Quieter this time.

Behind me—

“Bodhi?”

I jumped.

Actually, jumped. Feet off the ground, dignity left somewhere behind me.

I came down wrong, bumped the table, and this time the books falling made perfect, normal, gravity-approved sense.

They hit the floor in a messy pile.

I stared at them. At least these I understood.

“I’m sorry,” Ms. Chatterstone said, hands covering her mouth. Eyes wide.

“It’s okay,” I lied, pressing a hand to my chest like I could calm my heart by force.

Was she here the whole time?

Did she see—

No. She couldn’t have. She didn’t react to the shelves.

Only to me.

That was worse.

“Let me help you.”

“No, I got it.”

We both bent down.

We both knocked heads.

We both said, “Ow.”

Somewhere, a romantic comedy got its wings.

I gathered the books, stacking them a little too carefully. Aligning edges. Squaring corners. Giving my hands something precise to do so my brain didn’t spiral back to what had just happened.

She was watching me.

Not subtly. Not aggressively. Just… studying.

Like she was trying to decide something.

“Ms. Chatterstone.”

“Jeanie,” she said softly.

Right.

Jeanie.

She stepped closer. Hand on my shoulder.

Too close. Too familiar.

I gently removed her hand.

“You startled me.”

“I’m sorry.” She smiled. “I saw you come back here. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine.”

I wasn’t fine.

I was anything but fine.

But “fine” doesn’t invite follow-up questions.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

Behind her, a book on the shelf shifted. Just a little.

I froze.

She didn’t notice.

“Yeah,” I said quickly. “I’m good.”

The book stilled.

I forced myself to look at her, not the shelf.

Focus. Normal.

Be normal.

“I don’t want to keep you from your class.”

“It’s recess,” she said. “I asked someone else to take my kiddos out.”

Of course she did.

She stepped into my path when I tried to move past her. Hand on my chest this time.

I stopped.

People always do that. Hand on the chest like they’re checking if you’re real.

“I was wondering…” she started.

Here it comes.

“If you ever wanted to get dinner? Or coffee? We could talk about your writing.”

We could. We wouldn’t.

“Jeanie…”

Her expression tightened. “It’s those girls, isn’t it?”

“What girls?”

“The ones living above your garage.”

“Sam and Jessica?”

“Oh, good. You know their names.”

Somewhere behind me—

A book fell.

Not loud. But enough.

Jeanie didn’t turn. She just kept looking at me.

“Are you sleeping with them?”

There it is.

I opened my mouth to respond—

Something tugged on my shirt.

“What?” I snapped, turning too fast, too sharp.

Two kids stared up at me.

Kaley and Ryan.

Wide-eyed.

Like they’d just walked in on something they weren’t supposed to see.

Which was a fair assessment of the situation. I was involved and I didn’t want to see it.

Behind me, another book slid off the shelf.

I clenched my jaw.

“Children,” Jeanie said, snapping into teacher mode. “What are you doing here?”

“I had a question,” Kaley said.

Of course she did.

Perfect timing.

“Go to recess,” Jeanie said.

“It’s okay,” I cut in, maybe a little too quickly. “What’s your question?”

Because I needed this.

I needed normal.

I needed anything that wasn’t—

The shelf rattled. Just once.

I ignored it.

Kaley didn’t.

Her eyes flicked past me.

Then back.

Processing.

Smart kid.

“Where is your wife?” she asked.

The question landed harder than it should have. Not because of the words. Because of everything else.

Behind me, a book slid off the shelf.

I didn’t turn. I didn’t react. I couldn’t.

“That’s… a really personal question, Kaley.”

“Kaley, that is very impolite,” Jeanie snapped, grateful for something she could control.

Kaley didn’t even look at her.

“Is she dead?”

Another book fell. Louder this time.

Jeanie flinched.

Finally.

“Kaley!” She grabbed her arm. “What is the matter with you?”

Kaley twisted, pointing at her brother.

“They’re his questions.”

Ryan froze like a deer in headlights.

Jeanie turned. “Ryan… is that true?”

He nodded slowly.

The air shifted. Not a breeze. Not movement. Pressure.

I felt it build behind my eyes again.

Not now.

Please, not now.

“Ryan,” I said, forcing my voice down, smoothing it out. “Why are you asking these questions?”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He held it like it might bite him.

Jeanie took it and unfolded it. Her eyes raced across the words. Then stopped. Then widened with concern.

“Should you have been arrested…?” she read quietly. “Isn’t it time to confess…?”

She looked up at him.

“What is this?”

Behind her—

Three books shifted at once.

A soft, sliding chorus.

I clenched my jaw so hard it hurt.

Don’t look. Don’t react.

Don’t give this away.

“I didn’t write them,” Ryan said quickly. “A lady did.”

Of course she did.

I dropped to one knee in front of him. Not gently. Not aggressively.

But fast enough that Jeanie noticed.

“Which lady?” I asked.

“She gave me five dollars.”

That tracked. Of course it did.

“She give you any money?” I asked Kaley.

She shook her head. Then nodded.

Honest kid. Respect.

“Ryan,” I said, leaning in just a little. “Did you know her?”

He shook his head.

Behind me—

A book lifted.

Not fell.

Lifted.

Hovered for half a second—

Then snapped back into the shelf.

I sucked in a breath.

Too sharp.

Jeanie’s eyes flicked to me.

Concern. Not understanding.

“Bodhi…?” she said quietly.

“I’m fine,” I snapped.

Too fast. Too loud.

Ryan shrank back.

Good job. Nailed it.

“Did she work here?” I pressed. “Was she a teacher? A parent?”

Ryan shrugged.

Kaley kicked him in the shin. “Tell him.”

“I am,” he said, defensive now. “She talked weird.”

My heart stuttered.

“How weird?”

Ryan frowned, thinking. “Like… like she already knew stuff.”

Cold.

That landed cold.

“What stuff?” I asked.

“She knew my name,” he said. “Before I told it.”

Behind me—

The shelf rattled.

Hard.

This time Jeanie turned.

“Did you hear that?” she asked.

I didn’t answer.

I couldn’t.

Because every nerve in my body was screaming the same thing:

This is connected.

“Where did she give you this?” I asked, my voice tighter now.

“In the cafeteria,” Ryan said. “Before school.”

Jeanie’s expression changed.

“Was she wearing a visitor’s badge?”

Ryan shook his head.

“Billy and Enrique were there too,” Kaley added helpfully.

“She gave them a dollar not to say anything,” Ryan said, a hint of pride sneaking in.

Five for him. One for silence.

Efficient. Calculated. Not random.

“Then what?” I asked.

“She told you’d be here today, and…,” he said.

“And you should ask me these questions.”

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “I was gonna ask when everyone was sitting on the floor but I got chicken.”

Behind me—

The farm animal book slid off the table.

Hit the floor. Opened. Pages fanned.

I stared at it.

Couldn’t help it this time.

A page settled.

Barn. Field. One grinning goat jumping off a hay bale.

My chest tightened.

The farmhouse. Shingle Point Road.

It slammed into place so hard it made me dizzy.

“Was she a reporter?” I asked, but the question felt thin now. Weak. Wrong.

Ryan shrugged.

I reached out—grabbed his shoulders. Not hard. But firm enough that he froze.

“I need you to think,” I said.

And there it was.

The edge.

Jeanie saw it.

Her hand came down on my shoulder.

“Mr. Lewis,” she said carefully. “Let’s let Ryan go.”

I didn’t let go. Not right away.

Because this mattered. Because this was something. Because for the first time in three years—

This didn’t feel like nothing.

“Do you think she’s still here?” I asked. “Is she waiting outside? Did she—”

“Bodhi.”

Jeanie’s voice cut sharper now.

I looked up.

Really looked.

Saw Ryan’s face. Saw the fear. Saw Kaley watching everything like it was a show she’d retell to a therapist years from now.

Saw myself.

And how this looked.

I let go.

Too late.

Damage done.

Ryan stumbled back into Jeanie’s leg.

“Am I in trouble?” he asked.

“No,” she said quickly, pulling him close. “Not at all.”

Her eyes flicked to me. Not angry.

Not exactly.

But different.

Measured. Careful.

Like she was reassessing something she thought she knew.

“I think we’re done here,” she said.

I nodded.

I didn't trust my voice.

She took their hands and led them away.

Kaley looked back once. Not scared but curious.

Ryan didn’t look back at all.

______________________________________________________________________

The library felt smaller after they left.

Or maybe I just felt small.

I stood there for a second too long, staring at the space where Ryan had been, like the answers might still be hanging in the air if I looked hard enough.

They weren’t.

Just books. Just shelves.

Just the quiet hum of a place pretending nothing had happened. Whatever had been there was gone.

I turned toward the front desk.

Nancy, the librarian, was doing a nonconvincing impression of someone who hadn’t heard a single word of the last five minutes.

Her hands moved too fast. Checking books that didn’t need checking. Avoiding eye contact like it was part of her job description.

I dropped my copy on the counter.

“Got a pen, Nance?”

She slid the cup toward me without looking up.

Hands shaking.

That’s new.

I watched her for a second. Tried to line that up with reality.

Did I look like that from the outside?

Like something had just… happened to me?

Or like I’d caused it?

“Should I sign this as Bodhi Lewis,” I said, “or creepy guy who almost made a kid cry?”

A half-smile flickered across her face.

Didn’t stick.

“Whatever you want,” she said quietly.

Yeah, that tracked.

I signed it.

Set it down.

She didn’t touch it. Didn’t even look at it.

I let the silence stretch just long enough to feel uncomfortable, then longer than that.

“Have a nice day,” I said.

“You too.”

Too fast.

Too high.

I nodded.

Left.

The hallway felt longer than it should have.

Too bright. Too empty. Every sound echoed just a little too much.

A locker door slammed somewhere in the distance.

I flinched.

Good. We’re doing great.

I kept walking. Faster than normal. Not running. But not not running either.

Ryan had pointed toward the back.

Cafeteria.

Parking lot.

Exit.

I pushed through the side door and stepped into the sunlight.

And stopped.

Because the world outside was… fine.

Normal.

Cars sitting where cars sit. Wind doing what wind does. Nothing moving unless it was supposed to.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

“Okay,” I said under my breath. “Okay.”

I took a step. Something in my chest pulled. Not pain.

Not exactly.

More like—

Direction.

I stopped again and looked toward the far edge of the lot. To the tree line beyond it. Beyond that tree line was a road.

Shingle Point.

I frowned.

“No,” I muttered.

That wasn’t where I was going. I didn’t even have a reason to go out there.Not really.

Just a thought.

Just—

The pull tightened.

Subtle.

But there.

Like a string tied somewhere behind my ribs, giving the smallest tug. My jaw set.

“That’s stupid,” I said out loud.

A car alarm chirped. Sharp. Close.

I turned.

Nothing. No lights flashing. No movement.

Just silence settling back in like it had never been disturbed.

I took another step toward my car. The pull eased. Just a little.

I stopped.

It came back. Stronger this time. Not painful. But insistent.

Like standing on the edge of remembering something important.

Farm.

The word slipped in quiet.

Uninvited.

I exhaled hard through my nose.

“Enough.”

I started walking again. This time I didn’t stop. Didn’t look back. Didn’t give it space to grow.

But the feeling didn’t go away. It followed. Sat just behind my thoughts.

Waiting.

By the time I got in the car, my hands were steady. Mostly.

I started the engine. Let it idle. Stared straight ahead.

Farm.

The word again. Louder now. Clearer.

I gripped the steering wheel.

“No.”

I had a house. I had work. I had a life that did not include chasing ghosts down back roads because of a feeling.

“I should take Sasha out there.”

The words hung in the car.

Ridiculous.

Except—

Not.

Sasha barked at empty rooms. Growled at corners. Tracked things I couldn’t see.

If there was something—

Anything—

Out there…

She’d know.

I tightened my grip on the wheel.

Not today. But soon.