Lauren and Scruffy soon found themselves on a deserted cobblestone street. The restaurants and “old-tyme” taverns on either side of them had long since closed and the drunken tourists who frequented the area were passed out in their hotel rooms by now. Even the ghost hunters had already packed up their gear and headed home. The streets belonged to no one at this hour… except for the dead.

Lauren continually assessed her damage as she walked. Her body’s white glow had grown slightly more pale in the past hour as tiny clouds of ectoplasm continued to issue from her calf wound.

Am I disappearing? she wondered. Am I dying all over again? Is this what it means to pass on?

She needed to find help. But what help? There were no other ghosts around aside from herself and whatever the hell Scruffy was supposed to be. Perhaps a guardian angel, she wondered. Lauren had a feeling the spirit creature was never alive to begin with, just like Gambit. More than anything, she wanted to just lie down in the road and wake up tomorrow as a normal (well mostly normal) living 18-year-old girl.

Scruffy squeaked and Lauren felt another presence in front of her. A voice, soft and melodic, called out:

“Qu’est ce que tu fais là, spec?”

Lauren stopped, looked up. She’d been staring at the ground so long, she hadn’t even realized she had passed through a tall stone wall and entered an ancient and unkempt cemetery. Moldy coquina headstones and moss-draped crypts lay packed into a small acre of land, shielded beneath the sprawling branches of old oak trees.

But that’s just what the living would see.

To Lauren’s eyes, there were dozens of other ghosts wandering the grave sites, having conversations and examining fresh flowers, pictures and other offerings left near their headstones. It was like a village across space and time. The spirits were all different ages. Some children. Most elderly. None were dressed in modern attire. Lauren saw a group of sixteenth century Spanish missionaries chatting with 1920s real estate moguls, while a knight in shining armor walked by.

“Qu’est ce que tu fais là?” Lauren finally noticed a middle-aged woman beside her. She appeared to be a French Huguenot from the fifteenth century. Lauren was familiar with the manner of dress from illustrations in her history book. She had recently done a report on Florida’s colonial past. She did not, however, understand a single word of French. The Huguenot woman stared daggers at Lauren. “Spec,” she said, practically spitting the word out of her mouth.

Scruffy hissed back at the woman and Lauren put a hand on the animal spirit to calm it. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand,” she said. Lauren started to back out of the cemetery, when another ghost approached her, causing Scruffy to cry out in surprise.

This ghost was a 30-something man in a pin-striped suit. He had slicked-back hair and the smarmy smile of a used-car salesman. He looked like someone from the early 20th century. An American. Someone who would speak English. “Nice espie,” the man remarked, looking at Scruffy.

“Espie?” Lauren asked. “What’s--”

“The real question is, whatta ya doing here, little lady,” Pinstripe suit said. “That’s what old Mrs. Laudonniere is asking.” He nodded to the Huguenot woman, who now spoke to Pinstripe in French.

Pinstripe turned back to Lauren to relay the new information. “She says you have no haunting rights here on account of ya not having a headstone or mausoleum in your name and you clearly can’t afford a space so old with whatever wisps you have on you.”

Haunting rights? Wisps? Lauren was growing more confused by the second.

Pinstripe clearly noticed the perplexed look on her face. “Sorry, she’s a little cranky. Happens when you’ve stuck around here for four hundred and fifty years-- Oh!” He’d suddenly noticed the wound on Lauren’s calf. “You’re hurt.”

“Y-yes. I am. I....” Lauren’s voice trailed off as she noticed Mrs. Laudonniere talking to Pinstripe again. The Huguenot woman removed a long, slender piece of filament from within the multi-layered folds of her dress and put it up to her face like it a phone.

Pinstripe moved it away, speaking calmly back to the woman in French. When he saw the puzzled look on Lauren’s face, he started to explain: “My apologies. She wanted to call the Soul Corps on you, but I told her that’s not necessary.” Then, “You’re clearly new here, aren’t you?”

Lauren just nodded. So many questions ran through her mind she felt faint.

“What’s your name, darling?” Pinstripe asked.

“L-Lauren.”

“Well, Lauren. It looks like you need help.”

“Y-Yes,” Lauren stammered.

Mr. Pinstripe reached into his suit and pulled out a crystalline business card. “Go see this man. He’ll get ya straightened out. Fix that divot in your leg.”

Lauren took the card. The words Guillermo Mendoza, clairvoyant extraordinaire floated across its surface. Guillermo? The name sounded familiar, but Lauren couldn’t quite place it. Was he a teacher of mine, she wondered. “Who is this?”

“You don’t know the Ghost Man?” Pinstripe asked.

And that’s when it clicked in Lauren’s mind. The Ghost Man was a local celebrity, known for being a spirit medium and tour guide. His walk through San Sebastian each night at 8PM was supposedly the most popular (and, at $50 a ticket, overpriced) ghost tour in the nation. It had become so popular, in fact, that the Discovery Channel, TLC and National Geographic all approached him about doing a reality series, but he turned each deal down. Lauren figured it was because the Ghost Man was actually a fraud who didn’t want reality TV exposing all his tricks. She’d never been on the tour, but many of her friends had bought tickets and told her about it afterwards. They all said Guillermo used hidden speakers, fog machines and even holograms to make people believe they were seeing real spirits. But now... “So he’s the real deal?” Lauren asked.

Pinstripe nodded.

The business card had an address for Guillermo’s shop, The Blue Lantern, on it. It was close by, in the most touristy and overpriced part of the historic district, full of antique shops, museums and quaint bed and breakfast inns dating back to the 1700s. “Come on, Scruff,” Lauren said as they left the cemetery. The animal spirit nestled on her shoulder.

--

Lauren’s body grew more sluggish by the second. She felt an intense desire to sleep, but kept limping onward anyway. “Almost there,” she muttered. “Almost there.” Scruffy purred in her ear in an attempt to soothe her nerves, but the still the pain throbbed.

By the time they had reached the Blue Lantern, the sky was starting to turn pink with the dawn’s early light. They stood across from the large, castle-like building complete with turreted towers, stone walls and tiny windows. Blue light shined from gas lamps next to the front door, which had a closed sign on it.

“We’re.... here,” Lauren said slowly. She was so tired she literally fell face first into the sidewalk. Scruffy chirped loudly, trying to rouse her, but Lauren wouldn’t budge. Her ghostly form sank into the ground as the sun peeked over the horizon and birds chirped in the cold morning air.

--

Bark, bark, bark, bark,…

“What?” Lauren woke with a jolt, sitting up.

A dog barked at her, a bulldog, squat, cantankerous, alive. Its owner dragged it down the sidewalk by its leash. “Quiet Tony. Come on boy. What’re barking at? There’s nothing there.” They continued on amidst the throng of passing tourists.

That dog was barking at me, Lauren thought. A living dog. Wait, am I…? For a moment, she forgot what had happened the previous night. But the depressing reality came flooding back the moment she saw her ghostly form. Her glow was dimmer in the daylight, making her appear more translucent. And her calf was still spewing energy. Her wound had grown so large Lauren wondered if she could still walk. I’m falling apart, she thought.

Lauren looked around. It was already evening the next day, the sky orange pink. She was sitting at the edge of Cadiz and Kings Row, a bustling, pedestrian-only street. Unlike last night, now it was full of sightseers and shoppers.

Lauren heaved a sob. She felt so broken and alone she just wanted to lie there till her ghostly body dissipated into nothingness and ended her current pain.

But she wasn’t alone for long. Scruffy swooped back down from a nearby tree, landing at her side.

“Hey,” Lauren said, teary eyed. Her tears were white and hot. Unlike those of the living, they just melted back into her face, leaving it dry and smooth. “Where’d you go?” she asked.

The animal spirit crept towards her, clutching what appeared to be a handful of tiny glowing worms in his right front talon.

“What’re those?”

“Scree,” Scruffy said, holding out the worm-like things. The animal spirit popped one into its mouth, chewed and swallowed. His body brightened ever so slightly.

“Food?” Lauren said. Could there actually be spirit food? Well, if there’s spirit pain... She held out her hand and Scruffy dropped the writhing things into her palm. They felt warm and scratchy against her ectoplasmic skin.

“Scree,” Scruffy said.

Lauren brought the worms up to her face. They had no smell.

“Well here goes,” Lauren threw both into her mouth. They tasted like copper, sharp and acidic. “Ech!”

But the worms melted into her body before she could spit them out. Moments later, Lauren let out a loud belch that caused her whole body to ripple. “Ooof. What did you just give me?”

Scruffy just stared at her, eyes wide and hopeful.

Slowly, a warmth spread throughout Lauren’s body. And with it came a sudden and renewed energy, like spectral adrenaline. Lauren’s pain remained, but at least she could stand and limp around. She had enough energy to move.

Lauren got up and Scruffy chirped, climbing onto her shoulder. “Thank you,” she whispered to the spirit as she limped across the street to the Blue Lantern. First find Guillermo, she thought. Get fixed up. Then, hopefully he can help me figure out the whole death and lost memory thing. She stopped. The front door said the shop was closed due to a “Tour in Progress.”

“Oh, come on,” Lauren said. She was reminded of how she always slept in when she was alive, causing her to miss important appointments, even some tests at school. The alarm on her cellphone needed to go off no less than six times each morning for her to rise.

“I gotta find Guillermo, Scruff,” Lauren said. “You happen to know where the tour is right now?” She looked at the animal spirit. Scruffy just cocked his head like a dog, oblivious to the request.

“Humph.” Lauren tried to remember all she had heard about the tour’s different stops. She knew it went by a few old Spanish cemeteries, like the one she was at last night. There was the old drug store, a former military hospital, some bed and breakfasts. No, she thought. I can’t spend whatever energy I have left chasing this man through all of San Sebastian. She wondered if she should just stay put and wait for the tour to end. But who knows when that would be.

Just then Lauren caught a glimpse of a large crowd moving further down the street. They all looked to be tourists. What’s more, they were all carrying weird plastic objects with them. Grey and oblong with blinking lights.

“EMP meters,” Lauren said. She had heard about such devices. They were given out on most San Sebastian ghost tours. The devices would like up when, supposedly, ghosts were near becuase they could detect the spectral energy. “I think that’s them, Scruff.” Lauren set off for the crowd.

San Sebastian used to be such a small city that only saw visitors during the Winter months when Northerners came down to escape the snow for golden Florida beaches. But now with all its newly opened pirate museums and specialty restaurants featured on the Food Network, the town was overrun with tourists year round, many of whom came because they’d heard the ghost stories concerning the town. And yet the ghosts seemed nowhere in sight now. As she moved down the cobblestone and coquina street, Lauren tried her best to avoid passing through any of the living. The sensation made her feel strange, like hot pinpricks on the back of her neck. She noticed the living experienced the same reaction when they came in contact with her, though it was much less pronounced.

Just then, Lauren passed by the Olde Fudge Shoppe, her favorite place to visit on King’s Row. She was surprised she hadn’t noticed it earlier. When she was alive, the smell of warm chocolate filled her lungs from at least a hundred yards away, calling her, tempting her. She smelled nothing now. Perhaps that’s why Lauren saw no other ghosts moving about on the street. They didn’t like coming in contact with the living, seeing so many reminders of living pleasures.

--

Lauren finally caught up with Guillermo’s tour at its last stop. She had limped her way north from downtown all the way to the Matanzas Marsh, a distance of only one mile, but with her injury it took over an hour and a half. It was full nighttime now.

There was a large wooden boardwalk that stood at the edge of the marsh, a seemingly endless expanse of flat wetlands beyond. Standing on the boardwalk was a group of roughly a hundred tourists. All of them stared at one man with rapt attention.

He was tall, broad-shouldered with graying hair and tired eyes. He wore a blue leather jacket with a ghost patch on it and black jeans. The man spoke with an eloquent intensity that reminded her of a TV host. This was Guillermo, the Ghost Man.

Lauren hoped he could really see as she approached the group.

“Now we arrive at the final stop on our tour,” Guillermo said. “See this marshland behind me? It stretches for a hundred square miles. Much of it was soaked in blood centuries ago. In fact, this land is known as the Matanzas or Massacre Marsh. That’s because, back in the 16th century, a large French fortress was attacked here.”

Guillermo walked amidst the crowd as he continued. Many tourists were waving their EMP meters around, checking for ghostly activity. A few lit up as Lauren walked past.

“The French fort was huge,” Guillermo said. “Bigger than three football fields across and made out of coquina, a natural concrete-like substance mined in the area. You see, with the fort and surrounding town, the French had laid claim to Florida. In fact, it’s estimated over two hundred French families called this place home. Some of them were escaping religious persecution in their homeland. Others, like most of Europe, were seeking gold in the quote-unquote New World. But unfortunately for the French, Spain had already laid claim to Florida back in 1513 when Ponce de Leon first arrived. And four hundred years ago, a group of Spanish conquistadors arrived at this very marsh to make sure it stayed that way.”

Lauren was now close enough that Guillermo would surely see her. In fact, he was headed right for her if he continued to walk amongst the crowd.

“Guillermo,” Lauren said. “Can you see me?”

The tour guide stopped a few feet before meeting Lauren. He smiled at her, winked.

Lauren brightened. Her glow turned yellow. It is true. “So you can--”

But Guillermo immediately started walking back the other way, continuing his spiel. Scruffy chirped and flew after the tour guide, but Guillermo snapped his fingers at the animal spirit causing some sort of shock. Scruffy flew back to Lauren, clinging to her, shaking. “Don’t worry,” Lauren said. “I’ll get his attention.” Clearly he can see I’m hurt, she thought. He can just end the tour early.

But Guillermo continued undeterred. “These conquistadors, or warriors, were led by a fearsome and bloodthirsty leader known as Hernando Del Toro. Legend has it Del Toro was a member of the ancient Malborge Sect, a demonic cult that had spread throughout Europe’s wealthy elite. You see, those who believe he was a Malborge say that Del Toro came here to Florida not because Spain had wanted him to take it back from the French. But because he had heard from other Malborge leaders that a portal resided here. A portal to Hell.”

Gasps erupted from the crowd. Children in the crowd clung to their parents. A few teens snickered. All shivered as Lauren passed through them, following Guillermo. Is he going to help me at all?

But the tour guide continued to ignore her. “So Del Toro and his loyal conquistadors, all of whom were also secret Malborge members, attacked the French fort and slaughtered every last settler. Rumor has it many were used as sacrifices. Del Toro had claimed the fort for the Malborge and renamed it the Matanzas Castillo or Massacre Castle after his bloody victory. And for thirteen months, he reigned over this land, enslaving the indigenous population and conducting further sacrifices in an attempt to open that portal to Hell.”

Lauren stepped right in front of Guillermo. Motioned to her wounded led. “Hello! I’m falling apart here,” she said.

Guillermo just walked through her. “Finally,” he told the crowd. “Spain heard about the terrible atrocities Del Toro and his conquistadors were committing. And so they sent for the Order of Rune, a secret society made of European nobles dedicated to stopping evil cults throughout the world. Legend has it, the Order sailed across the Atlantic in black ships and arrived at the marsh during a hurricane. It was during this storm that they fought their way into the Matanzas Castillo and eventually defeated Del Toro and his-- Stop it.” He turned to Lauren.

She had been prodding the tour guide’s shoulder for the last 30 seconds straight, causing it to involuntarily jerk. Guillermo leaned towards her and whispered. “When I’m finished. I promise. You won’t obliterate by then.”

Lauren gave him her best death stare, which was probably more potent now that she was actually dead. I seriously have to wait for him to finish this stupid story?

“Young ghosts,” Guillermo muttered to himself, but loud enough for Lauren to overhear. “They all need the attention right now. No patience.”

“Excuse me,” It was one of the tourists asking Guillermo this, but Lauren felt the same sentiment given his last comment. “Who are you talking to? Is it…?”

“No one. I’m fine. Fine. Sorry. Where was I?” Guillermo asked the tourist.

He looked freaked by Guillermo’s sudden shift in tone. “You were talking to--”

“Ah. Yes. Now I remember,” Guillermo said, cutting the man off. “No one knows exactly what happened to the Matanzas Castillo, though most believe that the hurricane caused it to sink into the marsh. To this day, scientists continue to search for its remains in the muddy banks and brackish waters behind me. But while the fort remains lost, there are still plenty of ghostly sightings out in dark. Most appear to as red flashes of light.”

As Guillermo said this, Lauren noticed a mass of glowing red orbs rise up from the marsh behind him. “What the....?”

One of the tourists took a picture of the marsh with his iPhone, seemingly oblivious to these orbs. But when the tourist checked his photo he saw one appear on the screen. “No way. I got one. I got a picture of one. Look, a red orb.” Dozens of others crowded around him to see the photo.

More tourists starting taking pictures of the marsh beyond the boardwalk. More cameras captured the orbs. A frenzy of excitement.

But to Lauren, there were more than just orbs floating in the darkness now. She saw actual human ghosts juggling the red globs of energy, posing for tourist photos. Some even threw the orbs down to the crowd of humans, causing them to shiver in response.

Most of the ghosts appeared to be recently deceased, but there were a few genuine 16th century conquistadors in the group as well. The older ghosts had dimmer glows. All of them looked rather bored, as if this were something they did every night. It probably is, Lauren thought. “Do you work for Guillermo?” Lauren asked one of the ghosts juggling a red orb. She was dressed in modern attire.

“Mind your own business, spec,” the juggling ghost said, floating away from Lauren.

“Sometimes people feel an unnatural cold surrounding this place because of those who died here,” Guillermo said as more ghosts behind him landed on the boardwalk, spreading out amongst the living. Though the tourists didn’t see them, they still shuddered with fear as the spirits walked by.

“Did you feel that?” a young mom in the crowd asked.

“There’s a cold spot here,” a teen said. All his young friends rushed over to feel it too.

One unruly-looking ghost in modern attire came up behind a young living couple taking a selfie with the marsh in the background. “Hashtag Guillermo the Ghost Man,” the girl said. As she took the photo with her iPhone, the unruly ghost behind them flicked off the camera. The girl immediately checked her selfie. A faint glow appeared in the picture. “Hey, I think I just took a picture of a ghost,” she said excitedly. Lauren glanced at the screen. The iPhone showed an orb behind the couple that was vaguely shaped like a middle finger. Despite her frustration with the night so far, she chuckled.

“And even today the marsh draws in new spirits. Those that are lost... or wounded.” He was speaking to the group, but his eyes stayed on Lauren as he said the last bit. “Who sometimes follow me back to my shop, seeking help.”