Contents Of A Wide-Ruled Spiral Notebook

I'm writing this in my dad's car because it's the only place Mom can't get to me, I think. I can see her watching me in the mirrors though. My name is Hunter and I'm 12. I don't know what's going to happen. Whoever reads this, please believe me.

My mom was a really good person. She made the best hash browns and she was a civil engineer. She smiled a lot. She worked from home as much as possible because she loved spending time with me and Dad. Togetherness was important to her, she would say. Mom loved me so much. That's why she protected me at the cost of her life.

In February, we were crossing the street and there was a van that couldn't stop. They said Mom shielded me with her body. I only remember that it was cold and everything hurt. Mom was hugging me. She was warm. I could feel her breath on my neck, and then I couldn't.

I was in the hospital for a few days. Then I went to my first funeral. Mom was wearing a clean gray suit and looked like she was sleeping. Her expression was soft. I kept thinking about how I would never see her smile again. I couldn't stop crying.

Dad has been doing his best since the accident. I've been trying to help around the house. It's hard because sometimes it's a lot of work. Sometimes I feel too tired and sad to do anything. I think Dad has days like that too, but he wouldn't say so. He's a really good dad. Maybe I should have told him that more.

In March I started seeing Mom. Sometimes I would see her in a window. She looked far away, like if I would run down the street I would find her. It seemed like the kind of thing my imagination would do, so I didn't tell anyone. I was just happy to see her again. Over the next few weeks, she got closer and closer until it looked like she was just outside the window, close enough to touch. I saw that she wasn't smiling. I felt weird, like something hard was sinking into my stomach. If this was all in my head, why wouldn't she look happy?

One day I put my hand on the glass. It was cold. Mom put her hand against mine. It was colder.

That night I asked Dad if he had seen Mom. I told him about the windows. He said he hadn't seen her and he went quiet. He looked sad. I think he didn't know what to say. We hugged and said goodnight.

The next morning when I went to brush my teeth, Mom was in the mirror. It was weird to see her so clearly and so close, but I missed her. Wanting a good look at her face, I leaned in close. Her eyelids were droopy and her face was long. It looked like how it feels when you let out a heavy sigh and forget to breathe in again. I think I made that face for a while after the funeral. As I leaned in, the medicine cabinet started to rattle. I saw Mom reach out to me just before the cabinet door swung open. I fell backwards. When I closed the door again she wasn't there.

In April I came home from school one day and Mom was standing in the hallways clear as day. I dropped my backpack and stared at her. She looked so sad. Dad looked down the hall, then at me. "What is it?" he asked. Mom didn't move or blink.

"She's right there," I said. Dad looked down the hall again for a long moment and sighed. He knelt down and turned me to face him.

He told me not to be afraid. I was lucky to see Mom. She must have come back to see me because she missed me as much as I missed her. Mom was standing behind him now. Her head was bent and her arms were folded across her chest like she was holding something precious. I asked Dad if he was sure. They both nodded.

I wanted to believe him. It hurt to be scared of my own mom, seeing that weird sad stare on her face made the hard feeling in my stomach come back. If Dad could have seen her, I don't think he would have said I was lucky. I'm glad he couldn't see.

Mom started to show up all over the place, every day. At school I kept my eyes on my desk so I couldn't see her watching me. At home I stayed close to Dad so I wouldn't be alone with her. I like running errands with Dad now because I don't see her much when I'm in the car. When I do, she stays far away. I thought maybe she didn't like cars because of how she died, so wouldn't come for me in here. I guess I was wrong. She's standing in front of the garage door now. This is the closest I've ever seen her to the car.

Now it's May. Last week, Mom started hanging around Dad. He still can't see her, but I think he can feel her. The weather is getting warmer but he's still wearing heavy sweaters. I started checking on Dad when he's sleeping. Mom's in the doorway when I get out of bed. Mom's down the hallway when I sneak to Dad's room. Mom's standing over Dad while he's asleep under his winter quilt. I don't think there's anything I can do.

Tonight things got bad. When I checked on Dad, Mom was in bed with him. She was hugging him tight and staring at me. They were slowly sinking into the bed. I freaked out. I ran into the room yelling for Dad to wake up. Mom vanished as he sprang out of bed and hugged me. I told him what I saw. Dad didn't believe me. He said it was a dream. I know I'm too old for this, but I asked if I could sleep with him tonight and he said it was okay.

Most days when I try to remember the accident, the details are foggy. Just now though, tonight, I could see and feel it clearly in my dreams. I could hear the van's tires grinding and sliding on the ice. I could feel the cold and the wet when I fell into the slush. Mom's arms around me. Goosebumps. Chills.

The mattress started to creak and bend beneath me like something heavy was pushing down on it. I opened my eyes. Mom was there in the bed where Dad should have been. Her arms were around me.

I wrestled free of her grip and ran. I panicked. I only grabbed my backpack on the way out. I wasn't thinking. I have no phone and no keys. I've been honking the horn, but there might not be anyone close enough to hear.

I don't know what to do. I was wrong about the car being safe. Mom is pressed against the glass now. Her arms are spread open like a hug. Her cheeks are twitching her lonely frown into something else. That is no smile I've ever seen.

I don't know what to do. I don't know what you can do. If you find this, please help. Dad, I love you. Please help me. It's freezing in here. I can feel her breath on my neck.