If there was one thing popular culture had taught me, it was that most people my age didn't don’t take kindly to strange experiences. I had never had to deal with Robert Johnson, the spectre that who usually knew better, almost scaring the living daylights out of someone. As So, Hudson stood there, eyes burning a hole in the place where Robert Johnson had made his presence known, I didn’t know what to do. So, I slapped him. after a minute, when Hudson failed to react in any way, I did the only thing I could think of. I slapped Hudson McCormackhim.

"Ow." Pain. Now, that was a good sign. At least he was conscious.

"Hudson?" His face was ashen. Fear. "Hudson? Ya still there?"

He managed a weak nod, his neck muscles just about keeping his head upright. "Oh. Good." I was relieved.

Looking anxiously at the spot he was rooted to, Cherryade pooling at his feet, I really hopedcouldn’t help but hope that it wouldn't stain. The last thing I needed was Aunt Cecie berating me for not doing my chores properly. That was problem one. I would start small, and then work my way up.

I planted one hand on his shoulder and shook him, hard. "Hudson? Hudson?"

His eyes slowly turned to me, then swivelled back to that spot in the ceiling. "Yeah?"

"Are you going to faint?"

He swallowed, pupils wide. "I'll try not to."

"Oh. Good." I bit my lip nervously.

"Hudson?"

"Yeah?" colour had come back into his face a little. That was a good sign.

"Are you going to recover?" I wondered if he'd be inclined to move any time soon. I had spilt Cherryade to clean up.

"I'm trying." I believed him. Glancing at the ceiling, where Robert Johnson had made his remarkable entrance, I sighed, retrieving a cloth to soak up the Cherryade.

As the flimsy material soaked up the red liquid, I looked up at Hudson. "Want to sit down?"

Eyes swivelled down to me. "Okay." I led him to the couch, depositing him none to gently.

"Cal?"

"Yeah?"

"Was that-? Is that-? Tell me it's the heat. Tell me I’m going crazy, because I think I’m going crazy."

"You know I can't do that." I was chewing my lip now. "What exactly did you see?"

"A dude. With his head and hat floating in the ceiling. I could see through him, Cal. You don't see through normal people. They don't make 'em transparent."

"Okay, calm down." I wondered whether to break the good news or the bad news first. "It's not the heat."

His laugh was hollow. "I'm not sure if I should be happy I’m not hallucinating, or freaked out, because that...is freaky." He managed a little disbelieved smile. "It's not what I think it is, is it?"

I smiled shakily, my heart beating frantically. This was it, I had to say something. Robert J's very existence relied upon this answer. One wrong move and we'd have priests and rabbi and the whole shebangabop all over the place, all looking to send him away and banish him to the depths of the proper afterlife. I couldn’t let that happen; this was my home as much as it was his, and he was as big of a part of my life as Daddy was.

"Hudson, honey. Why don't you just relax? I’ll take you home."

"What about your dad?"

"He’ll understand. I’ll tell him it was the heat that was getting to you." I gave him a pointed look. He understood.

"Okay."

My dad was cool – I knew he would be. Hudson was not so cool. He was still in the same place I had left him in, in exactly the same position, with exactly the same expression. It was like someone had stopped time.

“Hudson?” I tried hard to be as gentle as possible, as I place my hand on his shoulder, but the action made him jump.

“Don’t do that.” His voice was strained; his eyes still fastened to that place in the ceiling.

“Sorry.” Pause. “Do you want me to take you home?”

At last, a reaction. “Please.” If he wasn’t so pathetic, I would have laughed.

He remained in much the same state as I drove him home, even in the sweltering heat, his clammy skin didn’t profusely sweat like mine did.

“Hudson, you sure you don’t want to open your window?” I was attractively boiling like a lobster in the stifling pick up, and he was relatively cool. Some things just weren’t fair.

“No. Fine. Thanks.” Monosyllables became him.

“Okay then.”

I drove on.

Pulling up outside a beautiful thatched house, I turned to the still recovering Hudson.

"I'll pick you up tomorrow."

I saw him through the door before he left. I half expected him to come out screaming, like almost all the other ghost movies I’d ever watched, but he didn't. It was good that he was made of stronger stuff.

I had a plan in place. It was a good plan, one that balanced the freak-out time and sympathetic recovery time perfectly.

Today would be his recovery period. And tomorrow, rehabilitation would begin.

I awoke to bright lights, birds singing and the baritone holler of my father. “Baby? You going to get up any time soon?” My father was a morning person – and it showed.

He called from the foot of the stairs. “You going to pick up the McCormack boy like you said? He’s supposed to start in half an hour, you know. He gonna have to hitchhike here or what?”

Right. Hudson. “Going.” I croaked as loud as I could, bolting for the bathroom and emerging fully dressed and sans shoes.

Food. “Atta girl.” He mussed my hair as I ran down the stairs and chugged a glass of orange juice and stuffed a piece of toast in my mouth, running out the door.

“Later Daddy.”

“Bye Hun.”

I was early, a fact that had me cursing as I pulled up the McCormack’s driveway and the Mayor herself came out to greet me. “Sorry dah’ling, but Hudson isn’t quite ready yet. He’ll be done in five.”

“That’s fine.” I nodded. , Aafter all, I was early.

“How about you come in for a little something.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t.”

“Please, what kind of a mother would I be if I left you out here all alone?”

I was about to protest – the radio could keep me company, but the smell of the kitchen (pancakes and bacon) made my mouth water and my stomach grumble.

She laughed, opening the car door and indicating for me to follow. “Well then, what are you waiting for?”

I didn’t hesitate, trailing after her and towards the heavenly smells.

The McCormack kitchen was gigantic. Immaculately decorated, with shining granite counter tops and mahogany wood, I felt more than a little out of place.

“Sit, sit.” Mayor McCormack ushered me to the island table, pulling out a bar stool. “Now, what would you like?”

From the other side of the table, Hudson was pushing his mauled pancake around on his plate. As his eyes slowly lifted and made contact with mine, I looked away quickly.

“What have you got?”

She smiled. “Pancakes, bacon and juice sound good?”

My stomach rumbled again. “Perfect.”

She laughed, moving around the kitchen like she was Wonder Woman. Which, I suppose in a way, she was.

Hudson’s eyes were still transfixed on me. “What are you doing here?”

“Why, picking you up.” I hissed in return. “I said I would.”

“Oh.” His eyes darted to his mother, still fixing me a plate. “Is it still there?”

I didn’t take a genius to figure out what he was talking about. “Hell, yes.”

He just looked at me, his eyes only returning to his mutilated food as a plate was plopped in front of me, soon accompanied by a tall glass of juice. “Thanks Mayor McCormack.”

“No problem honey. I’ve just got a few things to deal with at the office. See you tonight, Hudson,” She kissed his forehead, leaving a lipstick mark. “Lovely to see you again, Callie. Hope you enjoy your breakfast.” And with that, she was gone.

Hudson looked at me, his voice flat. “I’m not going.”

I leaned forward on my elbows. “Who says?” I asked between large mouthfuls.

“I do.” He dropped his voice. “There’s a freaking ghost in your house, Cal. , I’m not going anywhere near it.”

“Why, Hudson McCormack, grow some balls! Robert Johnson ain’t gonna do anything to you.” Anyone with two brain cells to rub together would know that Robert Johnson, the very same spectre that who had disappeared (and stayed disappeared) the moment Hudson had appeared, meant no harm.

The minute the name left my lips, I regretted it. Hudson’s face changed, and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed.

“Robert Johnson?” Well, at least I knew his ears were working even if his common sense wasn’t.

“Robert Johnson?” Hudson sought confirmation.

I sighed. “Yes, Robert Johnson.”

It was my turn to be scared as his whole demeanour changed, and a small smile spread on his lips. “Robert Johnson.”