All my life he had been there, lying on his back in the crawl space under my room. Before I even learned to say mama, I whispered his name through the cracks in the floorboards under my bed.
Charlie, I would say, pointing my finger at the cold blue eyes that stared right through me. Dust had gathered on his face, and I was always afraid he would sneeze and wake father up, but he never did. Even when I took a deep breath and blew so hard that his eyelashes moved, he never blinked, and when the dust had settled he was still staring at me with those X-ray eyes as if something at the back of my head was holding his gaze and would not let go.
Friends are hard to find for someone like me, but a ghost had found me in my room and had laid down under my bed. Ghosts come in all sorts of shapes and mine was a blue-eyed, red-haired boy with freckles, come to make friends with a little girl who is not allowed to leave the house.
He will move one day, I told myself.