Ghost Not Forgotten

Prologue: Now & Then

Every town has its secrets – the ghost stories, the legends, a tale or two to tell to when any kind of excitement is needed..

And as tiny as it is, boring as it is, and hopelessly simple as it is, Keplar's Grove had something going for it, beyond just being flat and holding cows (not pretty fruit trees like its name suggests. Why old man Keplar thought he ever had a grove I'll never know). And even though we always managed to stay below four hundred residents and dismally behind in the times, we at least had our one shiny legend: the sad - and mysterious! - disappearance of the great Bennet Malene.

It was the perfect tale to spin ghost story after ghost story, rumors and endless theories, one that kept the town in shock, mourning, and – most importantly – intrigue for nearly two decades. If there was anything you needed in Keplar's Grove, it was something to scare away the never-ending boredom, and people grasped for they could get.

Bennet Malene was a legend in his own right. He was Keplar's little darling, and there wasn't a heart he couldn't steal nor a thing he couldn't get away with. He was smart, he was beautiful – tall and built with brown hair bleached blond by the sun, tanned skin, eyes of blue green and a wide, mischievous smile – and he had charm that could wrap anyone around his finger, despite being the most mischievous bastard in the county.

The sheriff only laughed when Bennet stole his cruiser and took it on a joyride. Crusty old Bernie Williams thought it was a hoot when he woke up one morning to find his house had been painted hot pink. Mailboxes were switched – along with cars, cows, or anything that wasn't bolted down – and just about everyone had their yard toilet-papered at least once. But they all just laughed. Because how could you be mad at the beautiful, charming Bennet Malene? The boy could fix any problem with a smile. He could do no wrong. That was just how it was.

And just when no one thought he could top himself, 16-year-old Bennet Malene performed his most devious trick to perfection: he vanished into thin air.

Investigations and searches went without success. Surrounding towns were papered with his missing posters. We even got on the news over it. But nothing came of it.

After a while, a few decided he was dead and buried somewhere in the millions of acres of cow fields, some victim of a random murder spree. Others said he was kidnapped and being held hostage, brainwashed into doing his kidnapper's bidding.

The years went by, moving into decades, without one sighting. Without one phone call or letter. Without one sign he still existed. So he became the ghost of Keplar's Grove. Murmurs filtered through the crowd: they saw him working in Burty Shellman's fields like he used to, or climbing the trees near the crick, or peeking out the window at the diner (where his missing poster was still taped in the corner, yellowed and faded). If anything went missing, if a cow wandered away, if a weird noise was had, it was blamed on the ghost of Bennet Malene, still pranking the good citizens of his town even in death. No one could truly let him die. No one could bear letting him go.

Especially someone in particular.

Back before he became the great missing Bennet Malene, he was like any popular boy: on top of the world and overrun with attention - especially the female kind. Didn't matter if you were nine or ninety-nine, if you were a girl and lived in Keplar's, you had a crush on the wily and beautiful Bennet Malene. Every guy wished they had what Bennet had and every girl wished to have his arm slung over her shoulders. But only one girl got that honor and it was the same girl who had been under his arm since before either of them could remember, the same girl who had been his best friend his entire life.

And that girl was me, Natalie Podger. I was the luckiest girl in Keplar's, the one who had the heart of the famous Bennet Malene, the one he said he would never be without, the one he said he was bound to body and soul, by fate and God and all that other bullshit.

And the one he would inevitably leave behind.

It was me who never got a letter or a call from him explaining where he was. It was me who was left with the broken plans and a broken heart with no idea why.

After sixteen years passed without a word, I had to accept the fact that he was never coming back. He was dead and gone, lost forever, and I'd only see him again by some kind of crazy miracle.

And, after all that time, I had no patience for miracles.