I watch a ballet of sea turtles paddle by; hammerhead sharks cruising in slow, deliberate circles surrounded by an entourage of fish like silver rain. The coral reefs are so close I run my hands over their scratchy surface. I swim over forests of orange and yellow sea anemones as bright as summer fruits, their drunken feathery heads and spidery legs doing a quivery hula dance in the water.

Seaweeds lightly my face as I stare up to the surface where the sunlight harpoons yellow shafts of light through the water. Only the brightness doesn't reach the bottom of the ocean floor. Down there, it's dark like the blackness of midnight: a cold, uninviting, distant world where predators hide in waiting.

He's in the water somewhere, swimming silently, stealthily getting closer and closer. Only there's not a ripple on the surface. I see manta rays as wide and thick as those animal carpets.

I want to call out to him, to reach him, only he isn't anywhere. I look all around and then I see him, or at least I think I do. He's way up above the surface, staring down at me. I try to call him, but I can't speak. I reach up to where he is to wave, only an army of weeds holds me back like a helpless fish wound up in a net, I slither out of their hold and rise to the surface searching for him, but I'm too late. He's gone.

The scorching white light of the sun steals my sight and all I can make out is an endless world of blue water where I swim and never stop.

° ° ° ° °

I wake up in a hot, sweat-soaked T-shirt, burning red eyes, and a throat with a blade inside. I sit up and the earth shifts.

"Omo!"

Irene brings me a thermometer. She puts her cool hand on my forehead. "You're burning up."

One hundred and two degrees.

She snaps into action. "Take these," she says, handing me aspirins and then water. Then she reaches for the phone. "I'll call the doctor."

"He's coming to the house?" No doctor I saw ever did that. But this town isn't that big and Dr. Kim is a friend. She calls him Namjoon.

"Some sort of virus," he says, shrugging slightly. My glands are swollen, but other than that, he says, "There's nothing remarkable." Translation: Virus means they can't pin it down. The good news is no gag-worthy medicine.

"Sleep and drink lots of fluids," he tells me. "Call me in a few days if you don't feel better."

I'm not going to the beach for the rest of the week, so that's fine.

"Don't tell my parents." I beg Irene in an scratchy unrecognizable voice. "They'll only worry, and what can they do anyway?"

"Let's see how you do."

She knows I'm right, I can tell. When they call, I'll say I was out with some girls I met. They'll be happy to hear I'm making friends.

I don't want to watch TV and I can't concentrate, so books are out. I lie back in bed and stare at the window and watch the gray sky darkens. I drift into a sweaty, uneasy sleep, my wet shirt against my skin under the steamy blanket tent.

I wake up and stare at the clock. 9:00. Day or night? Where am I? Then I remember. Something woke me, but what? My forehead's still hot and I reach for the water bottle next to my bed. It hurts to swallow, but I finish it and want more, but there's an entire flight of stairs to go down.

I lay back on the pillow and gaze out the window at clouds over the moon. Somewhere in the heavens it sounds like metal curtains are shaking. Seconds pass and the sky ignites with fireworks. It happens again and again.

From somewhere behind me, the awful moans of the dead began.

I don't have the strength to run down to Irene so I pull the covers up to my face and lie there with my eyes shut. I cringe in fear as something cold, almost rubbery sweeps across my head - like icy fingers that make my head shiver. Goosebumps spread over my arms.

"Stop it!" I cry out, punching away in the dark. "HELP!"

I cover my head with the blanket and it gets so hot I can hardly breathe. I lie still, but the feeling starts to creep up my spine again. it's like being on a dark street and knowing something's there and it's reaching out and touching you, only you can't see anyone or anything, you just feel the touching and you're powerless to stop.

"Stop it!" I cry out. "Stop it."

The I sit up and there it is.

A trembling mask of a face floats in the air and stares back at me. There are burnt-out holes where the eyes should be. A head, but no body, floating in the air, floating. It swoops near me and then drifts back and then that awful builds up again that I can feel in my bones.

"What do you want? Why are you here?" My throat is so sore that I can barely get the words out.

It makes that awful, inhuman squeal again like it's sick or in agony. The sounds rakes through me and I shiver and then break out in a cold sweat.

Behind me, the staircase begins to creek.

"Who's there?" I scream without a voice.

"Suzy?"

"Irene! Goodness, you scared me to death."

She sits at the side of my bed.

"The ghosts . . ." I whisper.

"Poor you," she says, leaning over and hugging me. The she puts the back of her hand against my forehead. "Still hot."

She hands me a thermometer and I put it in my mouth. It beeps and I look down. Now it's 101 degrees.

"Progress," she says, handing me more aspirins. "Do you want something to eat? I made you soup."

I shake my head.

"Just a little? It will help your throat."

"Later."

"What about company?" The futon opens to a bed. She's willing to stay, maybe help me ward off the ghosts.

"It's okay. I'm fine now."

She raise her brows. "You sure?"

Still she sits with me and we watch nothing on TV, channel surfing, only we can't find anything remotely interesting expect local news and then an old black-and-white movie that supposed to be funny. Eventually Irene turn off the TV. The stairs groan as she goes down.

The rain taps lightly against the window now. The lightning and thunder have stopped. I'm almost asleep except for the barest shadow at the foot of my bed. I roll over and close my eyes.

For now, at least, it's quiet.