Merry Christmas from the Afterlife

I can see them when I sneak out from the basement, walk to the front of the house and peek into the windows like a pervert, but I cannot participate in their life. I can hear them occasionally talking about me, but the longer I’m down here, the less I come up in conversation. In another few days, I expect to hear the voice of a man telling Katie he’ll love Harry like he was his own just before he moves his shit into my house.