A Haunting
written by: Katharina Harzer
She’s here again. I can feel her.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, crackling with the electricity of her presence. I know, when I turn, she’ll be standing there, lips forming a cheeky smile, head tilted to the side, long blonde hair floating in a breeze that doesn’t exist. It’s how I remember her best, from that summer day in the field, when we picked berries for a cake we planned on baking, red staining our fingertips, sweetness on our tongues from popping raspberries into our mouths – only as many as we could do without, of course.
I haven’t seen her in years.
Well–
That’s a lie. I see her all the time. In crowds, at the bus stop, when I feel particularly lonely, to remind me that there was a time when I wasn’t. But that is an illusion; I was never lonelier than I was with her. But one look at her, and that familiar ache returns, that familiar feeling of I miss her, I miss her, I miss her.
I don’t want to turn around. I don’t want to see her.
Yet something tugs at my shoulder, icy cold seeping into my skin, and makes me turn.
And there she is, looking the same as always, frozen in time, in memory. And I feel 16 again, basking in the warmth that was her. She holds her hand out to me, and I immediately take a step toward her, fingers reaching for hers, a moth to a flame. Why did we stop speaking again?
Her smile cracks into something crooked, more mocking, accusing, rather than playful, and the cold spreads from my shoulder to my chest, guilt threatening to suffocate me. I freeze in place. I hear her voice, coated in sugar, blaming me for the end of our friendship, for not reaching out anymore. But I tried. I really fucking tried. It’s not my fault, I think. It isn’t. But when she’s here, it’s hard to remember that, and the loneliness crashes over me. Pity contorts her face, as if to say, “Well, if you still had me…” It’s a knife to the heart. Though what comes pouring out isn’t blood – it’s anger.
I step back, shaking off the cold.
Anger at her for making me think our friendship was good, that things back then were better than they are now. It’s a lie. Our friendship wasn’t good. She wasn’t kind. No. She was manipulative. Came when she needed me, left when she didn’t. Made me feel safe and understood in one moment, unwanted and unlikable in the next. And I waited. Waited for her light to shine on me, to look at me like I was special, and all the others were unimportant.
I don’t want to wait anymore.
I look to my side, see a ghost story, how fitting, and throw it at her head.
“I’m done,” I say out loud.
The cold creeps back in.
“Are you?”
- A Haunting - May 22, 2026
