No Such Thing As Ghosts

There’s no such thing as ghosts, I tell myself as I creep through my dark house, my feet barely touching the wood floor.

There’s no such thing as ghosts, I repeat as I stare at the broken, bloody body at the bottom of the steps with the strangely familiar face.

There’s no such thing as ghosts, I chant as I reach out to my husband as he descends the stairs towards the body, though he doesn’t notice me.

There’s no such thing as ghosts, I cry, as my husband passes through my outreached transparent hand. But then, what am I?