Jason

I slept badly, sure.

I'd wake up in the night convinced I could hear footsteps in the hallway, or whispering at the edge of hearing.

But I'd turn on the light and the apartment would be exactly as it had been.

Just a messy living room.

Just a hallway.

Just a closed bedroom door across from mine where Matt snored.

Then, one night, about a year after the trip, I got home late.

Matt was out, his door open and dark.

I was alone in the apartment.

It was one of those winter nights where the air is so dry your skin feels like paper.

I dropped my backpack by the couch, kicked off my shoes and stood in the kitchen, drinking water straight from the tap.

From outside the front door in my mother's voice I heard, ''Jay, honey, you home?''

My heart did that weird lurch it always does when I hear her voice unexpectedly.

I swallowed my mouthful of water and wiped my face.

"'Yeah, Mom?'

I started to say, turning toward the door.

Then I remembered that my parents had moved out of state months ago.

They were a thousand miles away.

There was no possible way she was standing in the dim, flickering hallway outside our apartment.

The voice came again, closer, right on the other side of the door.