I drove through the woods at night, focused on the lines of the road, the pavement blurring by. Rounding a corner, my eyes caught a brief flash of movement - something scampering onto the road, just enough time to see its form: the fur, the masked face, the eyes reflecting the headlights. 

Nothing could be done. Didn't help that I'd been going on auto pilot; attempting to get from point A to point B, going five to ten miles over the speed limit on curvy roads, trying not to think whether or not I was too buzzed to drive. I only had one or two of those wine cooler things that my friends made fun of me for drinking, but were so much better than beer that I didn't mind the ridicule - relishing the expressions on their faces as they risked bottles from the forsaken beer sampler pack box. 

The word “raccoon” snapped into focus about the same time I heard the dull thump of something making contact with my front bumper, followed by the concerning sensation of my tire hitting a soft squishy bump. 

"Damnit. DAMNIT." I continued to drive, though slower. I glanced into the mirrors. Nothing but night behind. I gave a few choice swears under my breath, before giving a long sigh. Technically I'd done what I was supposed to do. One wasn't supposed to swerve for wildlife in the road. Or something. I had more risk of hitting college students than I did of hitting wildlife on a regular basis. And I had to assume that driving rules around dazed college students wandering into the road were somewhat different. 

At least that hadn't been a college student... Most likely. I chuckled at the thought and adjusted my rear-view mirror.

I caught a brief image – a dark form in the backseat. Eyes reflecting headlights. 

I yelped and jumped in my seat, swerving this time, before steadied myself on the road, then took a deep breath and glanced into the mirror again. The usual clutter of empty cups and receipts. I looked back at the rear-view mirror and adjusted it to view the back seat. Nothing. I took another deep breath to calm myself as I adjusted the mirror back to the rear window. Nothing, nothing. Just my mind still on that brief vivid image of the raccoon. Nothing else. 

The eyes had just been some headlights, someone who'd turned off the road soon after. 

I really needed to clean my car out. 

Entering down, the sickly yellow glow of streetlights was a welcome shift from the darkness of the unlit forest roads. Soon, I pulled into my apartment complex and parked, taking a few deep breaths before exiting the car. 

The glow of my phone's flashlight revealed a smear of blood and viscera with shreds of fur on the car bumper. "Dammit," I murmured under my breath. At least there was no dents or cracks, as far as I could tell. Would check further in the morning. The short drive's excitement followed by that adrenaline crash settled in. Still, one more thing before I crashed - perhaps an image to pair with a pithy statement in the morning how I escaped death, or defeated Ranger Rick. I knelt down and took a picture of the bumper, a flash filling the night. 

A flash of a masked face and glowing eyes mere inches away, framed against the bummer.

"DAMMIT!" I stumbled back, falling onto the pavement, dropping my phone. Fighting back the panic, I scrambled to my feet, grabbed the device, turned the flashlight function back on, swinging it about wildly. Nothing. Nothing at all. It wasn't nearly as dark here, with lights scattered around the apartment complex. If something had been there, I would have seen the shadow of it scamper off. Yet I could have sworn it had been right there. A raccoon. Eyes bright in the flash. Or still bright - reflecting oncoming headlights. 

No. No. No. Where had that damn thought came from? No. I swung my phone around again, checking the other parked cars, trying to spot some moving shadow, some eyes reflecting the light. Something to explain what I'd seen. Nothing moved. I held my breath. The whirr of an A/C unit turning on. A distant siren. Faint barking. Normal night sounds. No raccoon staring at me with eyes reflecting headlights. The thought just couldn't leave me now. I'd seen all the raccoon features both defined and obscured by the bright light: the glisten of the nose, the twitch of the whiskers, frozen in that moment.

Then gone. Followed by that dull thump. 

I closed my eyes. No. I didn't see that. That was what I'd seen when I hit the raccoon. My mind was just fixated on that. I'd never hit an animal in my car and this was some strange reaction caused by guilt. 

I hesitantly opened one eye, almost expecting the raccoon to be there waiting with that raccoon-in-headlights stare again. Nothing. Just a quiet apartment complex at 1 AM. 

"I'm just going to my apartment now and giving up wine coolers forever," I said, my voice wavering. With shaky steps, I walked to my apartment, went inside, locked the door, then went directly to my bedroom. Exhaustion settled as my heart calmed and I crashed from my second rush of adrenaline for the evening. Pants removed, I slipped under my covers and slept. 

The digital clock glowed 3:04. 

I looked at the clock through my bleary vision until the number shifted to 3:05. Why was I looking at my clock at 3:04 AM and now 3:05 AM? Why wasn't I still asleep? An unexpected sound made me freeze. Slowly, I turned towards my open bedroom door, clutching my covers. There was no steady drone of the air conditioner, only dark and silence – then a sound. No. No no no no no. I was staying right here and waiting until morning under the covers. You couldn’t get me to investigate that. I'd had enough scares without investigating stuff. I did not need to know. I needed to turn back over and go to sleep. Or maybe turn back over and look at the clock in terror until the next adrenaline crash put me back to sleep. Or until I woke up. 

I turned back over. And there, a form illuminated in the faint red glow produced by the clock. Eyes bright, as if still reflecting headlights – the raccoon sat on my bedside table. 

I closed my eyes. No. The raccoon was not there. The other times were in my head (besides the first time at least). This was in my head too. I was going to open my eyes back up and the raccoon would be gone again. Or, I could just not open my eyes. Damn, I'd already used that card in not investigating the sound. I needed to at the least investigate something sitting on my bedside table.

I opened my eyes. The raccoon still sat there. "DAMMIT!" I jumped back, scrambling out of the covers, lunging for the light switch, hoping the light would chase away whatever I was seeing. 

It did not. 

The light illuminated the raccoon, still sitting on my bed stand, looking like a normal raccoon, besides the still bright lit eyes and the fact it was a raccoon in my bedroom. 

[i]I'd think that "fuck" would be the more common expletive for humans in your situation. [/i]

I froze. 

[i]Oh. You can hear me, can't you? [/i]

"No. No. I have had just about enough this evening. I can handle dealing with a raccoon haunting me but if you're gonna tell me that the raccoon is gonna start talking to me, that's where I draw the line."

[i]Fine with me. [/i]

The raccoon jumped down to the floor and trundled its way around the bed, stopping to give me a look over before heading down the hallway. 

I looked at the bed, wondering if sleep would be the best cure for a mental break or whether I should check my phone about whether wine coolers could cause vivid hallucinations in some people depending on weird body chemistry or something. Curiosity over the strange situation lured me to follow the raccoon down the hall. There was a faint glow around the creature in the dark, the raccoon's form appearing almost blurred and flickery at the edges. I allowed myself to calm down, at least a little. I kept waiting for the foaming and the eyes to go red at any moment. 

In the kitchen, the raccoon wandered to the fallen trash can. The noise that had awoken me. Questions whirled about in my head as I watched the raccoon ‘pick up’ half of a stale bagel; I say ‘pick up’ because instead of picking it up, the raccoon seemed to pull a ghostly approximation of the bagel with a faint glowy hue and chewed on it. 

"How do you know about fuck?" I asked.

The raccoon looked over at me. 

[i]When two raccoons love each other very much...[/i]

"No! No, that's not what I meant. I don't want to know about raccoon mating habits."

[i]Raccoon mating habits are much crasser than that. [/i]

The raccoon’s damned smirk was nearly audible. "I meant, why do you know about swears? I mean, why am I hearing you? What the fuck is going on?!"

The raccoon looked away from me, as if in thought. It being a raccoon, I didn't really know for sure. Could a raccoon look thoughtful or did the black mask around the eyes obscure such things? 

[i]Being dead has been enlightening. If not for the pain of dying and the being dead, I might consider this fun. One moment; being contained by instincts from point A to point B, finding food, avoiding danger, the buzz of information in every single waking moment, attempting to live a minute more. The next moment, being released from all those pressures, knowledge rushing into the space that instincts clogged up, the universe opening up, deciding to explore that knowledge for a bit longer, or to go into the great whiteness and relax for much longer. [/i]

"Okay."

[i]Some of that knowledge included something called "cocktail shrimp" which sounded amazing, so decided to explore the universe, and grabbed onto your thread. Do you have cocktail shrimp? [/i]

"My thread?"

[i]A thread of guilt. Quite shiny. Easy to follow. About the cocktail shrimp...?[/i]

"I don't have any cocktail shrimp and more importantly, I can't deal with this being haunted-by-a-ghost-raccoon thing. My life is stressful and complicated enough without this on top of everything." 

[i]You're guilty so you're stuck with me. And now that I'm here and you see me and heard my tale, you feel even more guilty. (What sort of jerk just hits someone with their car and just drives off anyway?) So I'm fine with sticking around. Where can this cocktail shrimp be found? [/i]

The raccoon casually scampered over to the fridge and climbed inside. By climbing right through the door. 

I opened the fridge door, finding the raccoon's snout inside a box of leftover Chinese food. He lifted his head, maw filled with spectral noodles. 

"How are you doing that? Food doesn't have a spirit. What the heck are you eating?"

[i]I dunno. I just haunt here. [/i]

"I don’t accept any of this. Now, how do I rest your spirit? Or, I dunno, get rid of that guilt thread or whatever you were talking about?"

[i]Cocktail shrimp.[/i]

I knelt down and gave the raccoon a long stare. He continued to eat the spiritual leftovers of lo mein. He could almost be mistaken for a normal raccoon raiding my fridge, besides the fact that he floated, fridge shelves went through his body, and his eyes continued to have that unsettling reflecting-headlights effect. 

He? I realized that the voice had sounded rather gruff, though chittery. Masculine in a way. God, why was I considering the gender of a ghost raccoon. Giving him another look did confirm he seemed to be male. 

Finally, the raccoon responded. [i]Fine. I'll tell you. If you really want me to go. [/i]

"Good." 

[i]Cocktail shrimp will still be needed. [/i]

"I figured." 


That's how, an hour later, I found myself following a ghost raccoon along a dark forest road, wearing backpack with a full cocktail shrimp platter wedged inside, a shovel on my shoulder, and a flashlight in my hand. The forest seemed strangely quiet. Perhaps a slight rustling of leaves. I hadn't seen any cars since I'd exited my own at a pull off a half-mile up the road – which I took as a good thing. I didn't want anyone to question what the hell was I doing out here. Hell, even I didn't want to question that.

"Are we there yet?" 

[i]Yes.[/i]

"Where is-oh." The beam of my flashlight illuminated the gray-black fur of the raccoon's body on the road, half its body smashed against the payment, blood gleaming in the light. I turned away, taking a deep breath. 

[i]The crows or coyotes haven't come yet. Surprising.[/i] 

"Why am I here? You're a damned raccoon. You're just messing with me, aren't you? You don't need me to do this." 

I looked back to him. The ghost raccoon trotted over next to his own carcass and looked over with those headlight-lit eyes. 

"Fine."

I took the shovel, a flimsy plastic snow shovel thing, and trying not to think about it too much, pushed it under the roadkill. I needed to scrape to properly get it all off the pavement. I wanted to throw up. 

The ghost version of the raccoon gave a quick nod, then headed into the forest. Holding the weight of the raccoon's body with the shovel, I couldn't take the flashlight back out; having to tread slowly through the underbrush, following after the lightly glowing form of the raccoon and depending on the moon and the hints of almost morning on the horizon for light. I decided I’d seek therapy in the morning, even if the raccoon stopped haunting me. This extensive of a hallucination required follow-up.

I entered a clearing. The raccoon sat at the base of a massive oak tree, turned away, looking upwards. 

[i]Set my body down here.[/i] He gestured with a paw to the base of the tree at the middle of the clearing.  [i]Place the tray of cocktail shrimp here. [/i]

I awkwardly dropped the raccoon's body next to the tree, huffing. "If you don't mind me saying, you're a heavy bugger." 

[i]Was. I don't mind. Pickings were good here. Only had to wander into town on occasion. Liked the alley behind Tony's Pizza in particular. Stale bread sticks are nice. [/i]

Silence settled in. I shuffled on my feet. I looked back to where we'd came. "Is this all? Are we all good now? Really sorry about this. I really didn't mean to..."

[i]No need to be sorry. These things happen. Knowledge is nice. I'm sorry. [/i]

"Oh. No need to be sorry, you were just in the wrong place in the wrong time. No damage to the car even. Now you can just rest and whatever."

[i]No. Not sorry about that. Sorry about this. [/i]

The raccoon turned on me with that headlight-lit gaze and jumped straight into my chest, a sudden rush of cold shot through me. I gasped and grasped at my chest, my vision blurred before going completely white.  

I came to on the ground, finding myself looking into the unsettling milky eyes of the dead raccoon. I jumped back, rolling across the leaves. 

Nothing felt right. 

"Sorry. That must be unsettling." That voice – why did that voice sound familiar? Familiar and yet unfamiliar at the same time. Something about it raised my hackles. 

Hackles? Who the heck thinks about raising their hackles? I felt too warm and too cold and too itchy. I scratched at my ear with my foot. That felt better, satisfying. The night of the forest seemed brighter than before, the details clearer, but everything also seemed bigger, more looming. Dangerous. A man stood nearby, messy brown hair, wearing jeans, baggy sweatshirt, and a sly grin. No. No. No. 

I opened my mouth to voice this. A strange sound came out. I tried again. Another strange sound, similar to the first.

[i]W-What’s going on?[/i]

"You were right. I didn't need you to do this. To rest at least. I could have headed to that great crawfish boil in the sky anytime I wanted. Would have been much easier. Much more relaxing. But that thread of guilt caught my attention, that shiny to be pursued." 

I stared as my own body knelt in front of me, continuing to give that strange sly raccoon grin with my face. 

I looked down at myself. The strange raccoon hand-like paws, the raccoon hide, the raccoon limbs, realizing in horror they were all currently my features, right down to the ring tail twitching behind me. By the time I looked back up, the man – my body – had started trotting through the trees. 

I attempted to call after, making another chittering sound before I managed to call with my mind instead. [i]You can't do this![/i]

Not looking back, he responded, "Already did, dude. Thanks. The sympathy gave a wonderful opening. And I'm taking the cocktail shrimp with me, hope that's fine." 

I attempted to follow, first on two legs, which led me to fall on my face. Then on four limbs, which required some thought – or rather, a lack of thought. I found I needed to focus on going forward rather than thinking about how to deal with four limb movement. 

I heard his voice, my voice, call back faintly. "Don't lose your tail. I'll be back… In a few days. Maybe a week. Just want to get the proper experience. You know, if I don't get distracted or anything." 

No. He couldn't leave me like this. I couldn't be a raccoon. He couldn't be taking my body. When I got to a therapist about this they'd be so damned happy for such a puzzle that my mind presented. I scampered through the underbrush, momentarily confused how it didn't react, but in too much of a panic to care. I kept going until I made it to the pavement, rising on my haunches, looking for him, not certain what I would do when I caught him. I needed to reverse this. I needed to-

The pavement rumbled under my paws. Around the corner, two bright lights rushed at me through the dark. I stared, stunned and confused and completely frozen in place, until a bumper filled my world. 

Then went through my head, which didn't harm me, being a ghost raccoon and all. It did, however, completely terrify me, leaving me wondering how certain bodily functions still worked in a ghost raccoon form, just before I slumped (fainted?) on the pavement. 


"I liked the part with the cocktail shrimp. There should have been more with the cocktail shrimp in your story." 

I rubbed my snout. "This isn't a story, I'm literally telling you what happened last night. Do you have any advice on how to fix this?" I gestured down to my raccoon self. 

The spectral otter stared at me blankly for a beat. "Yes. More cocktail shrimp. Maybe some fish. Would make the story much better." He gave a definitive nod. 

I groaned. "I can seeing that telling you my plight was completely pointless. I'm apparently doomed to haunt these forests and possibly the dumpsters behind the ranger station forever. I can't even go back to town since I seem to start getting even more see-through-y the further I get from where this whole thing started. Maybe I could possess that ranger fellow and then, well, wouldn't want to do what unless he was a jerk to nature or something. Maybe I can find a sleezy land developer who's going to destroy the forest and-" I stopped, staring at the ghostly webbed paw on my shoulder. Did raccoons have shoulders? Perhaps not. In any case, the webbed paw on my forearm...leg. 

I looked to the otter's glowy maw, giving something like a smile. He gave my arm a pat. "Would you like some fish?" He nodded to a pile of ghost fish flopping about next to the stream. 

I took a moment to consider whether I should continue my existential panic paired with convoluted plots to get my life back or to enjoy eating some ghost fish. This had been more or less the same result as when I'd told that ghost badger in that burrow down the stream my tale and he'd offered me some ghostly grubs afterwards.

My stomach growled. 

"Thanks. Fish would be good, for now."