Where to start with... well, I lived, once. And I know that sounds horribly droll, but it's the truth - you don't get here without being over there.

And you don't often come over here if you didn't really live over there, either. When's the last time you met a ghost with a humdrum, totally uneventful life and a bland-as-bread death? It's the strength of those experiences, however wonderful or terrible, that keep us from moving on.

Me? I was young, then. I was also pretty, and I like to think that I was smart, too. And these things took me some distance along the path I wanted to travel in life.

They brought me popularity, boyfriends and scholarships, and then college and stage roles. Maybe they would have brought me fame, a husband and family at some point, too... the usual hopes for a star-struck young lady with some talent.

But I was also fairly foolish in certain respects. I didn't see it, then - not clearly - but it was there. And that was how the girl voted most likely to wind up on Broadway wound up raped and killed under those very trees, over there. Not a day over 20...

Oh, I'm sorry. Did I shock your sensibilities? Did you think I was going to dance around that particular topic?

No, little ghost, I will not. I'm not here to frighten you, today. I'm here to teach you how to frighten. And so I will tell you the truth.

Better yet, I will show it to you. And perhaps it will frighten you, but that will be no fault of my own. Sometimes fear is entirely the fault of the observer, and this will be one of those times.

Now hold still.


There, are we comfortable? Just ignore the hand on your head, little ghost. Listen to my voice and let it lead you down to where we need to go.

Is it always like this? No. I can't really touch the living, after all. What I do with them is more of a direct transaction. This is much more... intimate.

Let me set the scene for you. Imagine you've been at a party all night long, celebrating the final curtain of the production. And it was a good production, too, so there is a great deal of celebrating going on. People are happy, barriers are being dropped, and alcohol is being consumed by any and all.

Now imagine that, after having had more than enough to drink, you're staggering home alone and angry. And this is because the boy you went to the party with decided he'd rather talk to your understudy.

Imagine you saw them doing more than talking, too. Quite a bit more, in fact. They did not see you, but you saw them, and saw just enough to leave the party in tears.

So this makes you angry and hurt. But it also makes you very aroused in a perverse sort of way. It's the idea that if he'd cheat on you, then you're perfectly entitled to cheat on him. And then it takes on a life all its own...

But I see that you're embarrassed, little ghost. You mean to tell me you've never heard the story from that point of view?

Well, the story gets better. This park lies between the auditorium and the house that you're living in. And while you are drunk and angry and amorous, you are also very tired for your journey.

And that is how you meet the man, right on this park bench, here... just where I'm sitting, now.

Oh, I'm sorry - is that bothering you, too? Is seeing this through my eyes beginning to terrify you?

I do so apologize, then. But no, I'm not going to stop. I want you to understand. I want you to understand perfectly.

And if you try to get away from me I'll lobotomize you.