Close Encounters - Part 1

My name is Franklin, and I was just twelve-years-old on the day I died. That was a few days ago. Since then, I’ve been doomed to wander the halls of my old house. It was so sad to see my family processing the grief. And I couldn’t do anything about it.

People came and went. Family. Friends. Comforting my parents. Our next door neighbor, Jennifer, showed up with flowers, and they invited her in for tea. She was in her early twenties. She used to babysit me. As I got older, I developed a mad crush on her.

Jennifer had an amazing body. I floated silently behind her as she moved through the house, studying her incredible hourglass figure swaying as she walked. I could stare at her for longer than she would ever have allowed me when I was alive.

Jennifer sat down at the kitchen table with my parents, offering words of comfort and sharing stories of my mischievous adventures when she used to babysit me. I hovered nearby, straining to listen to every word she said about me.

As she spoke, I stared at her cleavage. I knew I shouldn't be fixated on such things, especially in my current state, but the allure was too powerful to resist. Jennifer laughed at a funny memory, leaning forward slightly, and I could almost reach out and touch the delicate curve of her neck.

Jennifer excused herself to go to the restroom, and I hovered close behind, studying the contours of her form as she climbed the stairs. 

It was just the two of us in the bathroom. I felt like such a perv, but what did it matter anymore? I could feel myself drawn to her reflection in the mirror. Jennifer stood in front of the sink, brushing her long hair. I watched as her slender fingers moved gracefully, envying the dexterity I no longer had.

It looked like her eyes met mine in the reflection, and I flinched. But I knew she couldn’t see me.

I playfully placed my face over hers in the reflection, trying to get a look at her from her own perspective.

But then I realized I couldn’t move away no matter how hard I tugged. It was as if my face was stuck to Jennifer’s –my own features mapping to hers. I realized I could feel the softness of her hair brushing against my cheek.

I was possessing her!

This wasn't the eerie possession I'd heard about in stories. It was almost pleasant. I felt my heart beating. I could feel the blood pulsing in my veins, and I could taste the tea she had shared with my parents.

Then it was over. Like wearing prescription glasses for the first time.

I had become Jennifer.