Part III – Terms of the Haunting

“What do I need?” Kitty repeats, like she’s never been asked that in her life.

The flames around her dim a little, not from weakness this time, but from concentration. She looks down at her own hands, flexes fingers that flicker at the edges.

“I need to know,” she says slowly, “what I did. All of it. Not just the flashes.”

You sit cross-legged on your bed, phone propped in both hands. Your bedroom door is closed. The lamp hums. The rest of the world might as well not exist.

“And then?” you ask.

She lifts her gaze to you.

“And then I need to hear that I’m sorry,” she says. “To the right people. Not just shoutin’ it into the dark.”

“Your dad,” you guess. “And the other driver.”

She flinches like you poked a bruise she didn’t know was there.

“How’d you—”

“You’ve mentioned a garage, headlights, another car…” You shrug. “I’m not psychic, I just listen.”

“Aye,” she says softly. “I can tell.”

[Haunted XR: resonance high]
 [Potential resolution path detected]

You glance at the text. It feels less like instructions and more like subtitles for a conversation your heart already understands.

“So,” you say. “We put the pieces together. We find out exactly what happened. We figure out how to talk to them. Your dad. The driver. We… try.”

Kitty’s expression goes somewhere between wonder and terror.

“You say that like it’s possible,” she whispers.

“You’re literally on fire in my closet,” you point out. “We’ve already left reality at the door. Might as well keep going.”

She laughs, breathy and bright.

“Aye,” she says. Then, quieter: “And after all that… I’d have to… forgive myself, wouldn’t I?”

“That one’s your call,” you say gently. “I’ll be there.”

The flames along her shoulders surge, licking the edges of your screen.

“Careful,” she grins weakly. “You keep talkin’ like that, I’ll start thinkin’ you’re some kind o’ angel.”

“You’re literally made of fire,” you say. “Who’s the bible nightmare here?”

She barks a laugh. It startles both of you.

[Haunted XR: ectoplasmic reserve restored]

“So that’s it, then,” you say. “I listen. You… recharge.”

“Seems so,” Kitty says, watching her own hands like they belong to someone else. “Nobody tells you how power-hungry bein’ dead is. Feels like I’ve been yellin’ through six feet o’ cotton wool for decades, and suddenly…” Her eyes meet yours. “Suddenly it’s clear. Like a new set of wipers.”

You shrug, cheeks warm.

“I don’t know how to fix a car,” you admit. “But I’m annoyingly good at listening to people until their feelings calm down a bit.”

“Well,” she says, “I’m a burning car crash, so that works out.”

You groan. “Too soon.”

“Too late,” she shoots back, but there’s no venom in it. Just the soft, ridiculous ease of two people who have both been alone too long.

A faint static buzz ripples across your screen. For a second, Kitty’s outline blurs, like bad streaming.

“Did you feel that?” you ask.

“Feel what?” She frowns.

 [Haunted XR: connection at capacity]
 [Membership required for extended investigation]

The text sits there, chill and clinical, like it is absolutely not responsible for fading out the only ghost you’ve ever emotionally adopted.

You scowl at your own phone. “Do not start acting like a freemium haunting,” you hiss.

Kitty tilts her head. “What’s it say? You gettin’ patch notes from the beyond?”

“It says it can’t hold this connection forever,” you admit. “At least not like this.”

Her shoulders slump.

“Figures,” she mutters. “There’s no run-screaming on AM.”

The idea of her just—vanishing—makes your chest cramp.

The static flickers again. This time, you can feel a faint buzz in your fingertips, like the phone is pulling back.

Kitty’s flames falter, then flare, like she’s trying to hang on.

“What’s your name?,” she asks..

“Jenny”

“Jenny, If you agree to this,” she says, each word careful, “it won’t be quick. You’d have to help me remember the worst night of my life. Help me face that driver. Help me look my Da in the eye and hear whatever he has to say. And then you’d have to sit there while I decide if I can forgive myself.”

She looks at you with eyes that are too old for sixteen and too honest for a jump-scare.

“That’s a lot,” she finishes softly. “Even for someone who apologizes to kettles.”

You chew your lip.

You think about all the nights you’ve stayed up, holding other people’s pain in your DMs, wishing there was something you could actually do with all this empathy you’re drowning in.

You think about a fiery, hot-rod girl, stuck in your closet, cursed to relive the worst thing she ever did until someone helps her untangle it.

You think about the fact that, for once, all of that ache in your chest might be good for something.

You grip the edges of your phone.

“Okay,” you say.

Kitty blinks. “Okay… what?”

“We’ll find a way to hear them—and to let them hear you. And when we’re done…”

You swallow.

“When we’re done, we’ll see if you can forgive yourself,” you finish. “And I’ll be there the whole time.”

For a heartbeat, there is no fire, no app, no thirty-year gap between your lives.

Just one person who needs to be forgiven and another who is tired of watching people carry that weight alone.

Kitty’s voice comes out very small.

“You promise?” she asks.

You nod, throat tight. “Yeah. I promise.”

The flames around her roar to life, bright and clean, washing her in warmth that seems to reflect on your face even though you can’t feel heat.

She grins—a real grin, fierce and young and devastating.

And then she flickers.

“Wait—” you say, panicked.

Her outline stutters, like a bad signal. Parts of her turn to static, then reform.

 [Haunted XR: session limit reached]
 [Entity Connection terminated]

“NO,” you say to your phone, which should really not be allowed to do this.

Her face, half static, twists in confusion.

You press your thumb against her cheek on the glass, as if that will do anything.

Then she’s gone.

Your phone is just a phone again.

Your closet is just clothes and a suitcase.

Your bedroom feels cruelly, stupidly normal.

On your screen, new text fades in, slow and deliberate:

[Haunted XR: Kitty MacPherson: PRIORITY]
 [OBJECTIVES:]
 [— Recover memory]
 [— Facilitate spirit contact]
 [— Secure forgiveness]
 [— Find absolution]
 [ INVESTIGATOR STATUS REQUIRED]

Below that, another line appears. This one feels less like code and more like a dare:

[EXCLUSIVE AGENCY DOMAIN]

Your thumb hovers above the screen.

Your room hums, ordinary and empty. Somewhere inside your walls, the echo of a Scottish girl’s laugh feels like it’s waiting for you to answer.

You don’t know what “The Agency” is. You don’t know if Haunted XR is some elaborate ARG, a tech demo, or something that slipped through a crack no one meant to open.

You just know that when you agreed, a ghost on fire looked less alone.

You lower your thumb.

Then you tap the bracketed words:

[Agency Investigator Application]

The screen goes dark for a heartbeat.

Somewhere, faintly, you think you hear the rumble of an engine and a girl’s voice muttering:

“About time.”

If someone in a late-night forum asks you tomorrow whether Haunted XR is real, you’ll have a choice:

You could tell them it’s just a weird story.

Or you could send them a screenshot.

And see which ghosts answer back.