I was ten when my granny died and I realized two things: one, some who walk among us are dead and two, only I, at least in my town, could see them.

It started on a Tuesday in the summer. I had been enjoying my summer break from school. Granny and I were driving home from the the store when it started raining really hard. Granny never liked driving in the rain, she told me how much she didn't like it every single time.

I don't remember much except we reached that turn Granny always said people always drove too fast on. I saw a big pair of headlights, glowing like a monster's eyes.

Then it all went dark.

I woke up on the grass, cold and soaked from the rain. The car was upside down. I couldn't see well but, I still could see Granny. She was still in the car, hanging upside down in her seat. Her beautiful silver hair that was usually tied up into a bun was undone. That's what I remember. Her hair, so messy and wild. I'd never seen her like that before.

I tried to scream but no sound came out. I was so scared I just started to run.

I didn't stop running until I was standing in front of my house. There was a police car in the drive way and two officers were just walking down from our porch. Mommy was on her knees in the doorway. She was crying so hard. I'd never seen her cry like that.

I thought about hugging her but I was scared to find out what made her cry like that. So instead, I just went to my room. I threw myself onto my bed and sobbed until I fell asleep.

When I woke up, that's when I saw her.

Granny was sitting at the end of my bed. Her hair was tied up and perfect again. She was smiling, just like I remembered her always looking.

I wiped the tears and snot off my face and sat up. "Granny!" I cried, "I thought you were gone. I was so scared. I saw you. You looked...." "There, there, sweet pea," she cooed softly. "No one else can see me, but I wasn't quite ready to leave you yet."

Every day after that, Granny would visit me. She taught me that seeing spirits isn't scary. They're just people who aren't quite ready to leave yet. She'd take me on walks around the neighborhood like we used to, but now I could see people I couldn't before.

Granny would tell me about them.

"That is Mr. Robertson," she said pointing out an older gentleman sitting on his front porch. "He isn't ready to leave his wife. I think he's waiting for her."

We passed the school yard and Granny told me about Miss Eileen. "She used to be a teacher here before you were born. She's still trying to help the kids."

One day I saw a lady kneeling by a garden. "That's Mrs. Tildwell," Granny said. "She tended that garden for twenty years. She's worried no one will water her tulips."

Granny explained it all. Some people move on to the next life easily, but others aren't quite ready yet. Heck, she said some of 'em don't even know they're dead.

At night, after our walks, I'd go in my room and think about all the things she told me. I couldn't believe some people didn't even know they were dead. How could they not know?

Mommy would come into my room sometimes and sit where Granny usually sits. "She can't be gone" she'd cry. I tried to make her feel better but nothing I said or did seemed to help.

"Granny," I said one day, "Mommy really misses you. I try to talk to her but she just keeps crying. I don't know how to help her."

"I know," Granny replied, patting my head. "Sometimes it takes the living time to move on, too."

On the fifth morning after the accident, Granny came into my room like always but this time something was different. She looked worried.

“It’s time,” she said. “Your mama left early today. But there’s somewhere you and I need to go.”

I didn’t ask where. I just followed.

The town seemed quiet, no one was outside like normal. She took my hand and led me into the cemetery.

That's when I saw the crowd. There were so many people. All of my friends from school, my neighbors, even my teacher. Everyone looked so sad. Mommy stood in the front wearing a black dress, crying into her handkerchief.

And then I saw the photo. My fourth-grade school picture from last year.

“I don’t understand,” I whispered.

“You weren’t meant to stay,” Granny replied softly, placing her hand on my shoulder. “I'm only here to help you let go.”

"But Mommy..." I pleaded. "She's too sad. We can't leave her all alone."

"I know, sweet pea. She'll always love you and miss you, but in time she'll heal. Now we need to go on."

I shook my head. “No. I wanna wait for her. At least till she starts to feel better."

Granny knelt down beside me, face to face. “Are you sure? The next place will be wonderful and we'll be together. Your mama will join us when it's her time. "

"I'm sure, " I replied confidently.

That was forty-seven years ago. Mommy never did fully heal. But she got better, like Granny said.

Still, I waited.

But today, I get to take her hand the way Granny took mine and we'll move on.

Together.

Excerpts taken from Star Trek: The Next Generation S5E14 "Conundrum"

In a small apartment an old man relaxed in his recliner with a blanket draped across his lap, eyes gazing listlessly out of the window, when he heard a knock. He turned to face the door as a young man cautiously entered, smiling.

"What are you doing in my room?" the old man asked, brow furrowed.

The young man held up a plastic DVD case. "It's Sunday. And on Sundays, we watch Star Trek."

The old man nodded. "That's right. We do. I guess I forgot what day of the week it was."

"We're on Season Five. Episode Fourteen. Conundrum. This one's fun," the young man said, crossing the room to the television. He pulled a folding chair from the wall, settled in beside the old man, and pressed play.

Data: Intriguing. You have devised a completely unanticipated response to a classic attack. You will checkmate my king in seven moves.

The old man scoffed. "No way Deanna beats Data. He's an android."

"You always say that," the young man chuckled.

"Because it’s true. The day that happens is the day I forget my own name."

Riker: The rules on this ship do not change just because Ro Laren decides they do.

A slight smile crossed the old man's face. "My father was like that. Rules were rules."

"Oh yeah?" the young man asked. "You haven't talked about him much. "

"He was tough. Fair, mostly. But tough. We butted heads when I was young. Looking back that was mostly my fault. I always thought I knew more than I did. The curse of youth."

Riker: I don't know who any of you are.

Picard: Nor do I. I don't... I don't even remember who I am.

The old man’s expression sobered. "Have I ever told you I served in the Navy? Can't image forgetting my crewmates. That's a fate worse than death."

The young man nodded. "You've mentioned it. Sounds like you served with a lot of great men."

"Some of the finest I've ever known. They shaped who I am today."

"Oh, here's the intro!" The young man interrupted.

Space: the final frontier. These are the voyages of the starship Enterprise...

"Never gets old," the old man murmured.

"It sure doesn't. I love Star Trek. My grandfather got me into it. We used to sit down and watch it together just like this."

"Smart man," the old man nodded. “I usually don’t watch much television, but Trek gives me hope for the future. I worry about where the world’s headed for you youngins. You thank him for introducing you to it.”

"I'll make sure to do that"

Riker to Picard: It looks like you're the leader.

Worf: Perhaps we should not jump to conclusions. I am decorated as well.

They both burst into laughter.

"Of course Worf thinks he's in charge," the old man said.

"Hey, he's got the presence," the young man replied. "Just not the diplomacy."

The old man chuckled. "You're right there, son. He sure does have presence. "

Dr. Crusher: I didn't even think. I just picked it up and knew how to use it. At least I have an idea of what I'm doing here.

"Reminds me of my daughter," the old man beamed. "She’s a doctor, and a damn good one. She works at the hospital downtown. Sharp as a tack. Got that from her mother."

"I know," the young man warmly replied. "You talk about her a lot. Sounds like she's doing great."

"She is."

After a pause the young man added, "You know, my mom was a doctor too. She passed a few years ago. Car accident. I miss her."

The old man turned toward him. "I'm sorry to hear that. I'm sure she was a special woman to have raised a young man like you."

"She was."

Ro to Riker: You don't strike me as a man who needs a holodeck to have a good time.

"This scene always cracks me up," the young man laughed. "They can’t stand each other. One memory wipe and now she’s flirting.”

"That’s how it started with my wife," the old man grinned wide. "When we first met we argued like cats and dogs. I think I annoyed her on purpose cause she was so beautiful when she was angry. I didn't need amnesia to turn the tide, though. Just had to wear her down."

The young man laughed. "That's hard to believe."

"Believe it," the old man said with a wink.

Deanna: The bartender is an artificial life-form.

Data: Can I get you something? A beverage?

They both burst out in laughter.

"Data slinging drinks. That’s rich," the old man cackled.

"Wish I had him on my shift, I'd make him do all the work, " the young man laughed.

"You're a bartender? I figured you'd be in school."

"I tried the college thing for a semester. Thought I could be an engineer but... School just isn't my thing. I can make a mean Old Fashioned, though."

"You’ve got potential for more. Don’t waste it behind a bar. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders."

"Thanks," the young man smiled. "That means a lot."

Worf: Captain. I regret my recent behavior. I assumed an attitude of authority that was... unwarranted.

Picard: Mr. Worf, we're all doing the best we can in a difficult situation. Think nothing more of it."

"Apologizing takes guts,” the old man said. “Good for Worf.”

"Yeah, but I agree with Picard" the young man replied. "It's not Worf's fault he couldn't remember. It's not anyone's fault..."

Data: Perhaps my origin is unique. In that case, I am alone.

The old man sighed. "Loneliness isn’t always about being alone. It’s about feeling forgotten. I wish my daughter would come visit. I know she's busy, though..."

"You’re not forgotten," the young man whispered.

Riker: Oh, we were just discussing the situation we're all in.

Ro: Good. Because I have a feeling that I used to be the jealous type.

"I bet that's how it is for you," the old man teased. "All the ladies chasing you."

The young man laughed. "I’m more of a Geordi. I'm hopeless when it comes to women."

"Well, Geordi had heart and so do you. That's not a bad thing. You just need to find the right girl."

Picard: I need some moral context to justify that action. And I don't have it. I'm not content simply to obey orders. I need to know that what I'm doing is right.

The old man leaned back. "Always wanted to be more like Picard. Calm. Decisive. He's a man of strong morals."

"He reminds me of my grandfather," the young man said with a smile. "He's always trying to do what's right."

"Sounds like a good man."

"He is."

The old man looked at him. "You should invite him next time. I’d like to meet the man who got his grandkid to watch Star Trek."

The young man smiled. "I’ll see what I can do."

As the crew's memory was restored and the episode reached its happy end, the old man's head nodded forward drifting off to sleep.

The young man stood, turned off the TV, and slid the DVD back into its case.

As he walked toward the doorway he paused and turned to smile at the peacefully sleeping man.

"See you next Sunday, Grandpa."

My daughter was born with the look of someone who knows she's the only competent person in the room. Serious. Stoic. Always assessing the situation.

I tried singing to soothe her but it never worked. One evening when she was particularly disapproving, an episode of Band of Brothers came on. The sounds of gunfire and chaos calmed her instantly. War was her lullabye.

This became the go-to solution. Whenever my 6lb bundle wrapped in pastels started to give a grizzled scowl, we'd play a war movie and she'd be satisfied.

I began to wonder, was she some 4-star general reborn to finish a mission? I felt sure she'd seen combat in a past life.

So when we were grocery shopping and she gave me that look, brow furrowed and a thousand-yard stare, I knew a mission was inevitable.

That's when it hit me. She'd unleashed chemical warfare.

I stared at her in horror. She locked eyes with me in a no-nonsense stare that said it all. "You have your orders.”

I snapped to attention, the driver to her tank commander. We swerved past civilians like we were dodging landmines. I crashed into the restroom under imaginary fire and found the fold-out changing table. It hung crooked having seen its own unspeakable battles.

I laid my little commanding officer down, one hand keeping her steady, the other prepping a wipe like I was defusing a bomb.

She silently watched me struggle with that same grim expression she’s had since birth that says, “We’ve lost good men out here, Mother. Hold the line.”

I braced for destruction....

Nothing. Pristine. Clean as a freshly pressed uniform.

She smiled. A smug grin knowing her first psy-op was a success.

And that's when it happened. Her FIRST laugh! She wiggled victoriously as it bubbled out of her, delighted that her new recruit fell for the oldest trick in the book.

In that moment, I realized: My daughter isn't just serious. She's serious about winning.

God help us all.

Every small town has a dive bar where the drinks come cheap and the air tastes of regret. This was one of them. The first thing people noticed walking into the cramped space with its darkened windows was the stickiness. The floors, the cigarette-laced air, even its reputation seemed to cling to you. Neon signs gently lit the faces of a handful of usual suspects trying to escape their struggles for a moment. The jukebox filled the space with old songs of heartbreak.

But tonight would be different. At precisely 10:00 p.m., the door creaked open and the soft blue-lit faces of the remaining few turned as She walked in.

They didn’t know her name. They never would. But they’d remember Her... And so would He.

Her auburn hair curled loosely around delicate shoulders, framed by a light blue dress that hugged Her waist and fell just below Her knees. She was too polished for this place, too clean.

She quietly took the end seat at the bar.

He smiled. “Can I help you?” He asked, drying His hands after washing the last of the glassware.

“Vodka soda, please,” She said softly, Her green eyes scanning the room like She expected someone.

“Coming right up,” He said, already watching Her a bit too closely. “Want me to leave it open?”

“For now,” She replied, Her gaze settling back on the door She had just walked through.

He poured the drink stronger than most would. Then came the questions. Where was She from? What did She do? The usual small talk, served with confidence and charm.

She answered coyly, giving just enough to keep the conversation alive, but maintaining an air of mystery.

An hour passed. By now, He was no longer asking if She wanted another. He just poured as soon as Her glass dropped below a quarter full.

Finally, He asked the question burning in everyone’s mind.

“So what brings you in tonight? Were you meeting someone?”

Her polite smile faded. “I was supposed to be meeting someone. Blind date. My sister set it up. I honestly didn’t want to come, but she insisted. She’s always had terrible taste in men, so I can’t say I’m surprised he didn’t show.”

She turned slightly, Her sigh barely audible.

“Well,” He replied, “his loss is my gain. This next one’s on me.”

He slid another drink across the bar.

She smiled and thanked Him as She lifted the glass to Her lips, Her guard finally slipping just a bit.

The conversation deepened. Every joke He made drew out Her melodic laugh. He filled the air with easy charm, oozing confidence.

As the usual crowd drifted out the room grew still. By midnight, only two remained.

Him and Her.

He stretched and yawned, eyeing the clock.

“Midnight already. Cinderella better run before she turns back into a pumpkin.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You might want to brush up on your fairy tales. Cinderella didn’t turn into a pumpkin. That was the carriage.”

Her tone sharpened just a little. “Did you know that in the original version, one of the stepsisters cut off her toes to try and fit into the slipper?”

She reached into Her purse. “How about a shot for the road? Pour two. My treat.”

He smirked. “Can’t say I’m used to a girl buying me a drink. Usually it’s the other way around.”

“It’s the least I can do,” She replied coolly.

He chuckled and set two shot glasses on the bar.

“Seems you poured mine a little bigger,” She said, eyeing them. “I’ve been drinking all night. Here, trade with me. You probably need it more than I do.”

He gave a slight sigh. “Customer’s always right.”

She lifted Her glass. “To my sister. May she finally learn to have better taste in men.”

They clinked.

He drank.

She didn’t.

He offered with a grin, “Want me to walk you home? Once I lock up?”

She smiled again, slow and aloof. “Sure.”

But He didn’t make it to the till.

He stumbled, hands bracing on the bartop.

“Whoa,” He gasped.

She watched as He fell to His knees. The shot glass rolled off the edge and shattered.

“You don’t remember her, do you?” She asked, Her voice turning icy. “She was drunk. You said you’d walk her home. But you did more than that, didn't you?”

His eyes widened as She stood from Her stool and crossed behind the bar.

He tried to speak but only a rasp escaped.

She leaned down, just enough for Him to see Her eyes.

“My sister couldn’t get out of bed for months. In the end, I guess she found her escape. But I’ll always miss her.”

She didn’t blink as He let out one final, rattling breath.

She stood and sighed.

“It’s too bad she always had terrible taste in men.”

Everyone in town agreed the lake was haunted, but only I knew what was actually buried beneath it.

They tell stories, as small towns do, about fog that rolls in too fast, fishermen who vanish without a trace, and strange lights that ripple beneath the surface as day settles into dusk. Some say it's the dead, restless and waterlogged, trying to find their way back. Others whisper about an ancient curse, woven through the forest and steeped into the water.

But I know better.

The rumors began in the summer of 2006. People started disappearing. Hikers, campers, boaters. All were last seen near the lake. The park service blamed the usual. Steep cliffs, frigid waters, wild animals. The other rangers believed the explanations we gave to the families, or at least they wanted to believe them.

But they didn’t know what I buried fifty feet down beneath the layers of glacial silt in that dark lake.

I’ve worked this park longer than any of them. No one asks where I'm from, why I have no family or why I prefer solitude. They also don’t question why I haven’t aged a day since I first took the job. I think it’s easier for them not to ask.

They just think of me as the quiet one. Watchful. And they’re right. I watch everything. Families laughing while enjoying their picnics, teenagers giggling over cheap beer they not so subtly try to hide, retired couples soaking in the calm of nature. I’ve grown to love those sights.

I’ve grown to love you.

When I first arrived, I didn’t know what love was. I was a scout, the first of many. My vessel tore open the night sky and crashed into the lake like a comet. I was meant to be the beginning of something sinister.

But I got stranded. The ship sank. The signal failed. And in the stillness that followed, I watched your kind. I lived among you. I learned.

I believed the disappearances were necessary at first. I was collecting data, gathering biological samples, doing the job I was sent here to do. But they stopped in the winter of 2013 as suddenly as they had started.

I stopped.

Yet still the lake pulses. People see the lights beneath the water and call them cursed or sacred, depending on who you ask. They say the souls of the lost linger below, their glow a plea to return home. But the light is not from beyond the grave. It’s the fractured core of my ship still emitting a faint glow, barely alive. A heartbeat where there shouldn’t be one. I thought it had gone silent. I hoped it had. But last week, I felt a shift. A low hum beneath the earth. A signal received.

They are coming.

This time it will not be a lone scout. It will not be quiet. It will be swift. Absolute. You believe your lake is haunted. And it is, but not by ghosts. It’s haunted by me, and by what I've brought.

I came here to end you. Now I’m the only one trying to save you.