Jimmy, the ghost, had been haunting his old neighborhood for so long that he couldn’t even remember what year he’d died. 

All he knew was that he was lonely. 

Day after day, he drifted past the same houses, the same cracked sidewalks, and the same shady old maple tree on Elm Street. He liked to imagine he was still part of the neighborhood—just a regular guy, you know? Maybe even a neighborly guy. But every time he tried to strike up a conversation with anyone, they would scream, turn pale, and sprint away.

One October afternoon, Jimmy drifted up to his old house, where a teenager in a hoodie was pulling a wagon loaded with pumpkins up the driveway. He seemed like a nice enough kid, and Jimmy, aching for a chat, decided to try his luck. 

“Hey there, bud,” Jimmy said, his voice as cheerful as he could make it while floating several inches above the ground. “Nice pumpkins you got there!”

The boy’s face went blank, and his eyes widened like dinner plates. “Y-YOU’RE—”

“Yes! I’m Jimmy!” Jimmy said, extending his hand out of sheer habit, even though he hadn’t had anyone shake it in ages. “I used to live here, back in the day. Thought I’d come by and say hi!”

The boy dropped his pumpkins and bolted, leaving a trail of pumpkin guts and a half-mumbled scream. 

Jimmy floated there, bewildered. “What did I say? Did I get the name wrong?” he muttered to himself, looking at his transparent hand in confusion. 

He tried again the next day at the park, where he spotted a woman with a chihuahua. She was chatting on her phone while the little dog yapped at a squirrel. Perfect! 

Jimmy floated closer, giving her a friendly wave. “Cute dog,” he said. “You know, I had a mutt just like him—well, back when I was more, uh… solid.”

The woman whipped her head around and gasped, the chihuahua yapping like mad. “Oh no, oh NO!” she stammered, stumbling backward. “D-don’t come any closer! You’re… you’re… dead!”

“Of course I’m dead!” Jimmy said, slightly offended. “I didn’t think that’d be a problem. I just wanted to say hi!”

But it was too late; she had already scooped up her chihuahua and fled, muttering about haunted parks and calling her sister about moving to a new neighborhood.

Jimmy floated down onto a park bench with a sigh, watching the trees sway in the evening breeze. He just didn’t get it. Why was it so hard to make a friend? 

He wasn’t that scary, was he? Sure, he could see right through himself, but maybe they were all too sensitive. That had to be it. People these days.

Just then, a pair of raccoons waddled by, rummaging through a nearby trash can. Jimmy brightened, floating over with a hopeful grin. 

“Hey, fellas!” he called out. “Nice night, huh? You mind if I join you?”

The raccoons didn’t run. In fact, they hardly seemed to notice him. They just went back to digging, unfazed by his translucent form or his cheerful attempt at conversation. Jimmy sighed in relief. Finally, some company.

For the next hour, Jimmy and the raccoons hung out by the trash can, Jimmy chatting about the good old days while the raccoons gnawed on an old sandwich. They didn’t say much, but they listened, and that was good enough for him.

At last, as the moon rose over the quiet neighborhood, Jimmy smiled to himself. Maybe it was a strange little crowd, and perhaps they couldn’t say a word back, but tonight, he finally felt… almost alive.

The End