The next afternoon as Barb was removing bags of groceries from the trunk of her car, she noticed him for the first time. A young boy not much older than ten, staring at her from her backyard. He was dressed in a dark suit, like one wore to a funeral and he had a black eye as if he had been an abused child. Barb thought he looked sad, lost, but she refused to acknowledge him and concentrated on her parcels. She told herself to ignore him, and he would go away. But this spirit was stubborn. He wanted to be noticed by Barb. She glanced up from what she was doing. He was still there. She was determined not to let the ghost win. She closed her eyes. “You’re not real,” she whispered. “You’re not real.” She opened her eyes and he was gone. She let out a sigh of relief, and carried her bags into the house.