A short ghost story about living with a teenager. I love the ending of this story. Here’s the start:

Eventually we did start to catch on he was a ghost. The lack of sleeping was a clue — he was up when we got up in the mornings, still up when we turned in.

“I mean, the staying up late seems normal,” my wife said to me one night in bed. “But getting up early is weird. Do you think something is wrong?”

I dismissed it. A phase. Like the year he wore fedoras.