“What’s it like?” I excitedly asked the spectral figure hovering near my bed.

“What?” he responded coyly.

“Duh,” I shot back, my girlish youth slipping out, “The afterlife. Heaven.”

He shrugged, “Not allowed to say.”

“But it’s there,” I pressed.

He made a noncommittal face and gave me a little waving of both hands, palms up, “There. Not there. Why focus on it?”

“Cause it’s everything. It’s the thing.”

“If you say so,” he half sang with a pleasant smile.

I huffed, a little pouty I’ll admit, “If you can’t tell me anything, why are you here?”

“Why are any of us really here?” was his airy answer, not difficult for a noncorporeal being to pull off.

“Are we related?” I checked. He seemed genuinely surprised by that.

“Why would you ask that?”

“Dunno.” I pulled the covers up over my adolescent chest, “Are there ghost pervs?”

“People are people, even dead.”

“It’s a good thing you’re a ghost.”

Surprised again, he asked, “Why?”

“Cause I’d sure kill you.”