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He tried again. Lower, closer to the root.

Focus, he told himself.

His hands went through the stem and into the dirt.

He stood up and looked toward the porch steps where a fox had curled up in a patch of morning sun with its tail over its paws.

“I’ll deal with the weed later,” the ghost told the fox.

The fox didn’t move as the ghost sat next to it.

“I’ve almost got the technique down,” the ghost said.

The fox was, by any objective measure, a terrible companion. It couldn’t hear him — or if it could, it had never shown any sign of caring. It came and went on its own schedule, slept where it liked, and acknowledged the ghost’s existence only in the sense that it sometimes sat close enough to suggest tolerance.

But the ghost still liked talking to it.

“I’ve been thinking about the shutters,” he told it. “You know the ones on the east side? They might come off with the next storm.”

The fox licked its paw.

“Not that I can do anything about the shutters. But someone should know.”

The fox looked at him with its amber eyes and blinked once, slowly, in a way that could mean anything or nothing.

“Thank you for your concern,” the ghost said.

He looked out at the garden and the drive and the road beyond. The light was good this morning. Some mornings it came through the trees at an angle that made the whole property look like something out of a painting. A ruin meant for admiration.

Other mornings it just looked like a house nobody wanted.

The fox uncurled, stretched, and stood. Its ears rotated toward the road.

“What?” the ghost asked.

The fox trotted down the porch steps, crossed the drive, and disappeared into the overgrowth by the fence.

“Lovely talking to you,” the ghost called after it.

He listened. What had the fox heard?

An engine. Something heavy was approaching.

The ghost stood.

It could be anyone. A lot of people owned trucks in this area. The ghost heard them drive by all the time. The sound didn’t have to mean anything.

The truck slowed.

It turned onto the gravel drive.

And it was towing a trailer.

Oh no.

Oh hell, no.

Through the truck’s windshield, the ghost saw someone he recognized.