My Sister's a Ghost!

Author's Note: Death, cancer, magic, incest, and a touch of Norse traditions.

Ta to ScottishTexan for inspiring a line - from their "That Girl Next Door".

All the stories in my "My Sister's a...!" series are standalone, but have common threads. A suggested reading order is on my profile page, too.

---

There were exactly two things that everyone knew about Grace.

First, that she was a fighter. By which they didn't mean that she was determined and worked hard to achieve their dreams. They meant that they were terrified that she was going to plant her knee-high boots halfway up their ass.

It wasn't that she was a complete psycho, but she did seem to have some sort of divine being hating on her. Grace had always ended up in some truly ridiculous situations.

For instance, one time she had been on her way over to her brother's house for his birthday, with a two tier chocolate cake she'd just baked. However, she was running late and so Grace had decided to duck through the park.

She accidentally ran through the middle of two groups of people that actually were living in a different reality. Fists and knives had come out between them, and they didn't take kindly to the more ordinary citizen daring to witness their violence.

Grace had walked out of the park, calling for an ambulance with the undamaged cake in one hand, and thirteen assholes moaning on the ground behind her.

The second thing that everyone knew about Grace, was that she was a prankster.

For some people it was hilarious, but for most people she just drove them nuts. The kind of things she did weren't the kind of objectively horrible trash that people would film and upload for their fans to laugh at. However, what she did was the kind of thing where you couldn't prove it was her.

One of her favourite tricks was the haunted house. You'd wake up one morning and there'd be one or two things just very slightly out of place to how you remembered it. Weird, but you'd dismiss it.

Then, when you go to sit down for breakfast or whatever, the chair underneath you would suddenly take off flying. Sometimes literally.

Then, whilst you were still rubbing your ass, words would fade in on the wall. Sometimes looking like the wall was bleeding. Sometimes the letters would appear one by one, in exaggerated cursive. Always telling you that you'd been pranked.

Never a signature, but you wouldn't need one.

That being said, once you'd finished freaking out or laughing, and went back to your day, you didn't have to worry about the cleanup. Just as mysteriously as everything appeared, it'd disappear again. Grace always cleaned up after herself.

Used to clean up after herself.

Her brother laid the single rose in front of the urn sitting on his shelf, feeling guilt and anger sloshing around inside his confused head. Even a year on, he felt angry that she hadn't proved as strong a fighter when it came to cancer. He felt guilt and self-hatred at himself for feeling that anger towards her.

Grace had been twenty three when she'd... Lost the fight.

The expected lifespan of women is less than men, in most places in the world. Australia was no exception. Men could expect to live for about five years longer than their female counterparts, at about eight and a half decades.

Six decades more than Grace had managed. She had managed to make it more than a quarter of the way through her life expectancy, but only barely.

Not even halfway through her life, and she was gone.

Grace hadn't told anyone that she was even sick. The first hint that Elliot had picked up on, had been that over a month had passed since his sister had last decided to prank him. He'd asked her if it was because she'd got a boyfriend, and she'd given him the most puzzled look in the world.

He still hadn't worked out what was wrong when he'd got the call from the hospital that she'd passed peacefully in the night, and named him as the family member to deal with everything that entailed.

He'd thought it was a spear-phishing call.

"A year." Elliot whispered, letting go of the rose reluctantly, "It's been a whole year... And I'm still dealing with the crap you left behind. Did you really have to subscribe to every single streaming service? I keep telling them you're... Gone... And they keep apologising, but that doesn't stop them from charging you next month. Doesn't stop them trying to send your debt to collections."

He'd made the decision not to delete her email account, early on. That choice had repeatedly saved his butt. Every time he thought he'd handled everything, a new damn bill would pop up, saying that Grace's card had been declined, and they were unhappy about it.

Which was ridiculous, because he'd actually confirmed with the card companies that if someone tried to charge her card, they would decline it - but they had a protocol or something that gave the reason for declining as the fact that the card owner was dead.

You have to be pretty cold, to charge the dead.

Elliot gave another minute to the silence, and then he walked away from the urn. He headed for the kitchen, flicking on the kettle and pulling a mug down from the cupboard, overhead.

He rubbed his chin tiredly. It might be the anniversary of his sister's death, but the rest of the world didn't really care. His work had given him the day off, but they would just be piling up today's crap for tomorrow. Members of his team were likely to resent that he hadn't been around, as well.

His job wasn't one that was all that difficult, really. He took premade templates, client expectations and write-ups, and put them together to build crap business websites. He was capable of a lot more, but spinning up a template would take a few hours, and bring in a few thousand dollars. More profitable than building something halfway decent, from scratch.

It was boring, but consistent.

Elliot pulled out his phone as he waited for the kettle, and glanced over his emails. As predicted, most of them were work emails and thinly-veiled complaints that he wasn't in the office, helping out.

There was also an unexpected email. One automatically forwarded from his sister's address.

Opening it, he stared in confusion at a postal notification. At first he figured it had to be spam or phishing or something like that. Dead people don't get mail, a year on.

However, it really did link to the actual post office, where it said that they'd received notification from the shipper. Didn't have a prediction for when it would send out, but the address wasn't for his sister's house. It was for his.

No more hints than that, however. No name or address for who was doing the shipping, and no size of the package being sent. It could be anything from an envelope to an elephant.

Had Grace tried to arrange sending him something, after she was gone? He wouldn't put it past her, to try and get one last prank in.

Her ability to time it, was impressive, unless she had someone living who was collaborating. Like a lawyer or friend. Shipping on the day, instead of the arrival, did make him feel like the timing might be a coincidence, though.

Elliot looked up from his phone in annoyance, to glare at the kettle for taking so long. The device however, had apparently already clicked off, and he hadn't noticed it.

"What the...?" Elliot made a frowning face as he poured the hot water into his mug.

His kettle was not quiet. It was a cheap-ass electric kettle, that had cost him less than a ten dollar note. So it was loud, but fast.

The weird bit, was he was still hearing a loud and grumpy whistle from somewhere in the house.

Elliot picked up his hot drink, and idly walked around, cocking an ear and trying to figure out if the noise was inside the house, or was just something really loud somewhere just outside.

The sound changed as he got closer, moving from a whistle to a kind of quiet clunking.

He stared in confusion, holding the mug awkwardly in one hand, and opened the door to his ensuite bathroom. Edging it open slowly and stepping into the room, not knowing what to expect.

The shower was going at full ball, and the clunk was coming from the freezing pipes trying to heat up.

The glass sides of the little shower were just starting to fog up, as Elliot stood and stared in confusion. There was nothing else amiss in his bathroom, but someone had spun the taps on the shower. It wasn't something that could happen all on its own.

He turned it off, scratched the back of his head, and poked around the bathroom a little more. He didn't come up with anything, though. Nothing so much as out of place.

---

Halfway through lunch, as Elliot was actually putting a toasted sandwich into his mouth, he heard the shower firing up, again.

The food fell to the table as he scrambled towards the bathroom, throwing open the door.

There was nobody in the room. There was nowhere for anyone to go, which wouldn't have meant running into him. The window was barely a foot square, and it didn't open. However, the hot tap was spun wide open, and the glass walls of the shower were beginning to slowly fog up.

Elliot stared in absolute confusion, scratching the back of his head.

It wasn't like a tap could turn itself. Dribbling, due to contraction, sure. Or maybe a half turn if his water pressure had somehow tripled. But the thing couldn't completely spin around, three or four times. Not without someone actually doing it.

Elliot stared as he heard the sound of water rubbing on glass, a chill running down his spine. He forgot how to breathe as a line curved around slowly through the fog, as if someone was drawing on the glass from the other side.

The line arced upwards, then downwards, before swiftly turning upwards, and then back down to join into a love heart.

He took a terrified step backwards.

His heart went from fast, to flipping out as the doorbell interrupted his panic.

Elliot stumbled as he moved towards the door, putting a hand onto the wall, and one onto his heart. He could still hear the shower, having left that freaking thing running.

He still wasn't exactly breathing as he opened the door to find a hand delivery. The man in the bright yellow uniform held out a touchpad with pen, that didn't really work, and Elliot signed it with a shaking hand.

The guy handed him a half-crushed box with a dozen `delicate' stickers on it, and then tipped his hat and headed back to the van and pulled away from the curb.

Meanwhile, Elliot kind of just slid down one wall, and tried to remember how to breathe.

---

He dumped the parcel on the table, and went back and turned off the shower. The love heart in the fog had vanished, but that didn't mean that he hadn't seen it.

Unrealistic or not, he knew it had happened.

Impossible, or not.

That done, he went to the table. And immediately had another heart attack, as he found the parcel turned to face him, and opened. It was a box of chocolates, and the lid was thrown back to show them off in all their crushed glory.

"Who the fuck is it!?" Elliot yelled, glaring around, "Not in the mood for this shit, today! Not today! Get your ass out here!"

Dead silence.

Though, considering how riled up he was, he didn't blame them if they decided just to hide out. He wouldn't want to face himself, right now. The pranks were pushing at someone who was already feeling at the end of their tether.

He was still hurting, still thinking about his sister. He could see how someone might think it fun, to replicate her particular brand of chaos. He could see someone thinking it might be cathartic, to duplicate her humour. Except, it was short-sighted and stupid.

His patience was frayed, and his emotions were riding high. He'd lost the girl that he cared about, and he was not over the fact that she hadn't told him anything, before he lost her.

They'd never had a chance to say goodbye.

The chocolate box lid slowly closed.

Elliot's cheek twitched, "Seriously. Who the fuck is it?"

"M-me?"

He squealed like a little girl and sprinted out of the front of the house. He reached the curb before he considered that it might have been a recording.

The voice had been Grace.

It had been nervous, and guilty, and it had been... Her. The woman he had last seen at a funeral, a year ago. That he had taken to a crematorium, and taken home as nothing but ash.

His sister that he had cried over. That he had yelled at, and complained to, almost daily, for the last year.

She... Was... Gone.

It wasn't someone pretending to be her. It had to be a recording, to go along with all the other bullshit crap that someone was pulling on him, today.

He was going to find out whoever was trying to prank him, he was going to take their head, and he was going to put it through a brick wall.

Elliot's jaw set as fear turned to rage, and he stormed back into the house. Where he immediately stopped breathing, and fell to the ground, hard enough to hurt his butt.

The woman sitting on the table, idly swung her crossed legs and smiled at him nervously, before tucking a long brown strand behind one ear. She swallowed, "Uh... Hi."

"The... Fuck is this!?" Elliot screamed, pushing himself upright, before wincing and touching his tailbone. "You died. I saw you -"

"Yeah. Still dead." Grace interrupted him and shrugged, "Cancer totally fucked me. I never had a chance. It was stage four before I found out."

"You were dead before I found out."

She flinched and swallowed again, "Yep. I deserved that. Uh... Okay. Um... Before you think I'm just fucking with you... Try and touch me."

"Mirrors?" Elliot said angrily, passing a hand through her face with what would have been a gentle slap to the face, if she was physical.

Grace shook her head, "This is... Not a prank. I'm still dead. Actually, no one else can see me. Mostly. I've been here... A while. Took a long time to work out how to... Do stuff."

"Like what?"

"Help you see me. Drawing a love heart on the shower. Using your tablet to buy some chocolates. That kind of thing." She shrugged weakly, "It's me. I'm responding to you. Not a recording. Not a projection."

"I... Should find a doctor." Elliot said dubiously.

Grace crossed her arms, "I... I've been trying to prep you for this. Lily said you'd freak. But... I think I'd be handling it worse than you. So... Congrats?"

"I really don't think you're real."

She rolled her eyes, "Noooo shit. Oh, I was the one who kept restarting the streaming stuff. Sorry. Being dead and invisible is boring. I managed to pop up for Lily about a week ago, so that's why I bought the little celebration box. Because I could finally come back, for you."

"Who the fuck is Lily?" Elliot shrugged, feeling dizzy and beginning to get an uncomfortable feeling. The girl in front of him really did feel like Grace, who was... Gone.

His sister shrugged, "Witch. She showed up to exorcise me after I... Kinda refused to die. Kicking Death's ass for trying to touch my soul, apparently set off some kind of alarm for her or something. Took me a few days of running and begging, for her to agree not to outright send my soul to hell."

"Hell's real?"

Grace shrugged, "Maybe? I dunno! The witch was just going to make me move on. I don't know what that means, any more than you do."

"So, can I call the witch?" Elliot rolled his eyes.

His sister bit her lip, "Or, uh, turn around?"

Elliot turned around slowly, expecting to see a bright light and his sister standing there with the tools of the special effects trade. What he was not expecting was a white-haired woman, leaning against the wall with crossed arms and looking seriously pissed off.

He took a half-step backwards, "How the fuck did you get in here?"

"I'm late for my hockey game." The girl replied with irritation. "First, just ask, and I'll dump her soul back in the stream. I don't like this, not one bit. But I'm the boss and the story she gave me... Let's just say I'm sympathetic."

"Hockey, stream, what?" Elliot stared.

The woman walked up to him and tapped his cheek lightly, and then glared at his sister, "She's haunting you. Usually, I'd put her down. No second thoughts. But we had a thing with a zombie a few weeks back, and that was weird as fuck, too. So I want to know if something is fucking with the balance or some shit. So... It's wait and see."

"What?"

She glared at him, "Oh, fuck it. Your sister is a ghost! She's back. If you want the haunting to stop, call me. You'll find my number in your phone. And now, I'm leaving, before Ryker gets all caught up with Wynne. Again."

She strode by him, without a word to Grace, and towards the front door. Not out it - she walked into the wood and disappeared.

Elliot fell into a nearby seat, but he also pulled out his phone. And found a new contact, for someone called Lily. Which was a little disturbing.

He could still see how it might be possible for an elaborate prankster to pull that one off. She might have followed him back into the house. She might have pickpocketed him and added the contact. Mirrors for the disappearing act.

Grace bit her lip, and smiled at him, "Come on, El. Please. It's really me."

"And you're really dead?"

She nodded, "Yeah. Sorry. I did sort of want to tell you... But... What would the point have been? Wreck your day for something neither of us could do shit about? I know! I've seen how much not being able to say goodbye, hurt you. I've been here, a while. But... I didn't see it that way, before."

"If it's really you... Fuck you." Elliot stated flatly.

She winced, "Yup. Deserve that, too."

"If it really is you... I don't want to eat one of those chocolates, do I?" He raised an eyebrow, considering the way she'd announced her presence. Or had been trying to, until he ran away.

Grace went a little paler, and a little more see-through, "Uh... No. No, you do not. Most of them are real! Soft chocolate inside a harder shell. Top of the class, European, shit. But... One of them is... Bad."

"Spicy?"

"I never do spicy. It's... Uh... A brussel sprout. Pre-boiled to bring out that particular flavour." Grace confirmed that it was a trick she'd pulled once before, whilst also confirming that whoever was making the puppet or hologram or whatever, knew Grace.

He'd never seen a deep fake as good as this, not one you could project into the real world and believe it was real, but Elliot just wasn't up for believing in life after death.

He might have spoken to his dead sister, but he didn't expect her to actually hear it. He'd done it to relieve the stress, not because he believed in gods or heaven and hell.

"I can still touch stuff. But it takes... Focus." Grace said slowly, and reached over to him. Elliot shivered as he felt two delicate fingers run across the back of his hand, whilst he could see through the hand doing it. "I'm... Really here, El."

"If this isn't real, I'm going to find whoever is behind this, and introduce them to Blood Eagle. Slowly." Elliot said very seriously.

Grace shrugged, "Sounds fair to me. But... I'm here. I'm not going anywhere, ever again."

He turned his attention back to his half-eaten lunch, and tried to ignore the girl sitting nervously and staring at him.

She kicked her legs back and forth, and sighed heavily, "Here, when you're ready to scream at me."

---

Elliot did his best to ignore the weirdness in his house. After lunch, he caved to his guilt, and grabbed his laptop. Throwing together two of the more urgent builds for his work. Also helped distract him from the ghost in the room.

Whilst he was doing that, the girl in the jeans and hoodie, grabbed his tablet and idly scrolled through some online shopping sites. Every couple of minutes she gave a guilty look in his direction.

Every time he noticed her looking at him, his skin crawled. She really did look, and sound, and act, exactly like his sister.