By Rashika Singh

Nate had asked about it every time they saw each other that week. At the local diner, where he first brought it up over a shared plate of banana pancakes, pushing the walnuts to Casey’s side. Outside the church, where they’d stand near the door and listen to the choir sing, Nate humming the solo under his breath. At the local car shop when Casey was on break, scrawling inventory notes into an oil-stained notebook, a gift for his twenty-third birthday. And now, at the gas station, staring at the icy road leading down into the ravine. The drive’s almost an hour long, Casey complained. The rain will make the winding roads even more dangerous. The smoky fog makes it almost impossible to see. And besides, Nate of all people should know the danger of that place. 

“That’s exactly why I want to go there.” 

“Can’t it wait until after the rain?” 

Nate fell silent. He kicked a pinecone near his feet, sending it skittering over the unguarded cliff edge. “It’s about my grandma.” 

Of course, Casey thought. He should’ve known. They’d had some variation of this conversation constantly over the past year. 

“There’s no way she just vanished without a trace,” Nate insisted. “It’s impossible.” “Don’t you think the cops would have told us by now if they found something?” “We both know they’re incompetent.” 

Casey hated when Nate got stubborn like this. It helped when their landlord tried raising their rent for the third time, but right now, it was exhausting.

“What makes you think her body’s still there?” 

“Maybe some of her clothing survived. Her necklace had to survive, it’s pure gold.” 

“Okay, let’s say you’re right, and we do find something down there. What then?” “Then I’ll stop bothering you about this and we can move on.” 

“Is anything I say going to change your mind?” 

Guilt flashed across Nate’s face. They both knew Nate was being unfair. He would find a way down there no matter what Casey said. And he couldn’t leave Nate alone again. Not after what happened last time. So he pulled his keys out and unlocked the car. “One hour. And then we’re leaving.” 

The rain was an old friend to Nate, returning every year to ring in the cold of winter. Everything was wet, the forest ground squelching with fibrous wood, and wet gravel grinding against tires on the unkempt mountain roads. The rain darkened the rusty redwood bark to a deep mahogany. Dark enough to camouflage blood, Nate thought, and wet enough to wash out the smell. It was no wonder everyone in this town had a story of someone who’d disappeared into these woods and never came back. Go too deep and they’ll swallow you right up, Casey’s grandfather said. Today, they were completely disregarding that advice. Nate took a swig of Casey’s cherry soda and placed the bottle back in the cup holder, the clink of glass the only sound between them as they drove down the winding valley road. Eventually, as the soda ran out, Casey cleared his throat. 

“So did you have a plan of some kind?” 

“Of course I have a plan.” Nate lied.

“Just making sure. I’d like to be back in town before it gets dark.” 

Nate closed his eyes, listening to the rickety hum of the car. A hiss of cold air blew in through the driver seat window, still unable to roll up all the way after it broke a few years ago. She died on a night exactly like this. Rain pouring like sheets of glass. 

“The rain gives us the best chance of seeing her spirit.” 

“Wait, I thought we were searching for a necklace. Did you seriously drag me down here to go ghost-hunting?” 

“Well, not exactly, but-” 

“Please tell me you’re joking.” 

“Listen to me, I’ve read about this and it’s completely possible.” 

“Why are you even bringing this up? You know how much I hate shit like this.” His voice trembled. He looks so much like Claire when he’s mad, Nate thought. The same intense glare and shaky hands. Nate never had any siblings, so Casey’s older sister was the closest he got. She talked about ghosts all the time. Claimed she could see them in the walls. He liked those stories. But Casey hated them. 

“I know, but I need this. I can’t explain why. ” 

“Nate, I am trying really hard to understand.” His hands gripped the wheel in an attempt to steady them. “But I can’t unless you’re completely honest with me.” 

Honesty’s nice until it’s not, Nate thought. But Casey deserves honesty. Even if saying it out loud made him feel stupid. He leaned against the car window and watched the droplets race across the glass. 

“I never told her I was trans.” 

“I thought she already knew.”

Most people had figured it out by that point, but Nate never told her directly. She used his deadname until the end. Telling her was dangerous, especially in those final months, but he didn’t know… She had this odd way of knowing things about him before he did. 

“Maybe if I told her she’d say something about how I was always more of a tomboy,” Nate said, “and it would have all made sense.”

“What would make sense?” 

“I don’t know. Just something.” 

And this is why Nate wanted to find her body. He needed some kind of clarity. He kept replaying these scenarios in his head of what would happen if he had told her. 

“It haunts me.” 

Casey stared intently at the road ahead. 

“Thank you for being honest with me.” 

Nate suddenly felt embarrassed. So bad at sincerity, he thought. 

“I’m sorry if that didn’t make sense. You don’t have to come with me.” 

“Hey, I was always gonna come,” Casey said, “I just wish you’d told me sooner. I would’ve brought more rain gear.” 

Nate didn’t choose to leave home. It was like his stomach chose. He couldn’t eat at home anymore. Everything there made him nauseous. He couldn’t even bring himself to drink water without retching. That feeling stayed throughout the months since she died. Sometimes it grew ravenous and bulging inside him, and sometimes it became a tight knot, rattling around in his digestive tract. Soon even the comfort of daily home rituals made him sick. The circling motion of the laundry machine reminded him of the churning of acid in his stomach. The dusty air conditioning left the dry, salty taste of tears permanently in his mouth. Even the familiar sound of his mother walking to his room gave him pounding headaches with every step. That last one really scared him. Grandma always said absence made the heart fonder, so maybe what he needed was time away. So he finally decided to move in with Casey, after months of him asking. His mom was silently supportive, packing everything away into cardboard boxes but his girl clothes, which she folded up and stored away under his empty bed frame. She never brought up his transition unless he did. Maybe out of spite at her silence he felt like bringing it up today, so he sat down next to her, cross-legged on the hardwood floor sorting through pictures. An old photo of him and Grandma caught his eye, both of them in long, navy blue dresses. “Hey, do you remember this day?” 

A misty smile crossed her lips. 

“Of course I do. You’ve sung almost every solo since fourth grade. She was always proud to hear you sing. Said you reminded her of herself.” 

Nate laughed. 

“I always loved when she said we were alike. I hated it when people said I was more like Dad.” He paused. “Guess that was more true than I thought.” 

His mom looked away. He felt guilty all of a sudden. 

“That’s not why I’m moving away.” he blurted out. “Transitioning, I mean. I just…everything about home makes me feel sick. I don’t want to start hating this place just because I feel sad about her death. I don’t want to hate you.” 

He felt her hand wrap around his trembling fingers. 

“I thought that was the reason at first. That’s why I packed all your girl clothes away. But no matter how much I store away, I always end up finding something else.” “Haha, me too honestly. It feels like I’m being haunted by a creepy little girl.”

They both laughed lightly. 

“I’m sorry. I’m being selfish.” 

“No, everyone needs to leave eventually. I’m just glad you’re still in the same town. Promise me you’ll call if you need anything. And you both should come over for dinner on the weekends.” 

Nate nodded. “I will. And yeah, dinner sounds nice.” 

So they moved in together. Simple as that. Nate liked that about Casey. His matter-of-fact frankness, his unwillingness to let any hard feelings linger in the air. If something bothered him, he said it plain and simple. Even if that something was him saying that Nate’s favorite brand of cologne smelled like gasoline. He still liked it though. Reminded him of late night showers, after both their shifts ended and they scrubbed the stench of the day from each other. The hot water always ran out halfway, so half-hot, half-cold showers would have to do. Nate found it was easy to get caught in the rhythm of these half-things. A job that pays enough for rent but not enough to save for a house. Food that’s enough to sustain but not nourish. People who are only kind enough, who nod but don’t smile back. Is it selfish to ask for more? No, that’s not the right question. It’s too painful to want more when it can never happen. So he learned to be content with half-things. A glass half-full. Eyes half-empty as he scanned groceries, ignoring the feeling of eyes scanning his body up and down, trying to figure out what he was. Tell me once you find out, he thought. I don’t know either. God, he hated this fucking job. But where else could he get a stable income? The thought sometimes floated across his mind, just pretend to be a woman and get a corporate job in the city, then once you’re rich enough to buy an apartment, be the man you truly are. He always banished them as soon as they came though. Something about indulging them felt wrong, a guilty pleasure. Nate knew it would just come with a new set of challenges.

But sometimes he felt a perverse nostalgia for his pre-transition life. Everything but his gender felt easier then. Even now he noticed himself catering his transition for others. A simple change from Natalie to Nate would be easier for others to make. They could rationalize it as a nickname, and he could avoid a piece of his soul shattering every time they messed up. A half-name for a half-person, in between who he is and who he’s supposed to be. 

It was easy for Nate to sneak out on Christmas. All the adults were too drunk to notice the lead soloist of the girls’ choir run towards the graveyard at night, his navy blue choir dress and short brown hair heavy with rain. Despite the cold he was grinning, his face warm with excitement at who he was going to meet. I hope he remembered to bring the tarp, he thought. And the marshmallows. Luckily, as Nate entered the graveyard, he saw a tarp over a faintly glowing tent, and rushed over. 

“You remembered the tarp!” 

“Of course I did. You never go camping without a tarp.” 

“Casey, you’re awesome. It’s so warm inside.” 

“I put some hand warmers in the sleeping bags. And brought this for you.” He held up a plastic shopping bag. 

“For your clothes. Getting the inside wet would be a bad idea.” 

“Oh yeah, you’re right. Uh, close your eyes if you want. Or don’t.” 

Nate pulled his dress up over his head, the wet fabric clinging to his body. Casey nervously averted his gaze. They’d been dating since sophomore year, but nakedness was still a little awkward between them. It’s so cute how embarrassed he gets though, Nate thought. He liked having that effect on someone, even if normally he tried to ignore the fact he had a body at

all. He changed into the spare boy clothes he’d packed, a set of jeans and long sweatshirt, and plopped down into the blankets, producing a camera from his bag. 

“If we see her I’ll snap a picture with this.” 

“Does it have night vision?” 

“Uh, yeah! I’m sure it does. It’s fine, it’s more likely we’ll hear her talk. Ghosts don’t appear unless they’re super pissed off.” 

“Then let’s hope your grandma’s in a good mood.” 

In a good mood, Nate wondered. Was she in a good mood when she died? He didn’t have a defined last memory of her. The only thing he remembered from that night was the squeaking of the front door hinge as the wind blew against it, and the hushed panic of his mother as she called the police. They found ripped pieces of her clothes at the bottom of the ravine, he later learned. And traces of blood splattered on some rocks. But not a body. There was no grave either, just a commemorative headstone on an empty patch of land. Nate was glad Casey didn’t choose a spot too close to it, despite that being the logical choice. Instead he’d chosen an adjacent grave under some trees. 

“Wait, whose grave are we on?” 

“My great-grandpa’s.” 

“Oh shit. Is that like, okay? With his spirit and stuff.” 

Casey shrugged.“Probably. Grandpa once told me a story about how he wrestled a bear so I figured he’d be cool with it.” 

“That’s crazy! And he survived?”

“Nope. Died at thirty. The bear story’s what Grandpa tells everyone, but I think he was probably just drunk driving or something. He seemed like the thrill-seeking type so I thought he’d be down for a ghost hunt.” 

“Not a hunt, Casey, a family reunion.” 

He shrugged again. “Whatever you say. I’m just happy to be out of the house. My dad always drinks too much on Christmas.” 

As the night went on they oscillated between playful banter and comfortable silence as the rain poured outside. Pretty soon Nate heard soft snoring from Casey’s sleeping bag, and although his eyes were killing him, he was determined not to sleep. There was no other place she could show up. They never found her body, but maybe her spirit would be in the graveyard, searching for a grave. Lonely, unable to rest alongside her family. The thought made him shiver. To die and have nowhere to rest. Compared to what she must be suffering, staying up all night was nothing. No matter how big that hole in the tent got. Nate looked over at Casey, still calmly snoring away. It didn’t surprise him that he could sleep through all the thunder. He probably dealt with even louder arguing at home 

As the night went on he felt his eyelids threaten to close. He hummed the solo he’d sung earlier that night to keep himself awake. He loved the look in everyone’s eyes when he stepped to the front with his short hair and hairy upper lip. Mrs. Canterbury refused to let him wear a suit. A choir should be harmonious in sound and fashion, she claimed. But she couldn’t deny his talent. His grandmother would have been so proud. They used to sing together all the time. Those memories were bittersweet now. 

But just as sleep began to take over he heard it. A faint, musical whispering in the wind. Humming, he realized. A harmony for his melody. Nate peeked cautiously outside. Then, he saw

them. A set of golden eyes staring right at him. A beautiful spotted owl perched on Grandma’s gravestone, bathed in silky moonlight. The humming burst forth into full-bodied singing. Casey felt his own voice intertwine with the mysterious song, as the pulsing sound pushed him towards the owl, unmoving and pristine. The thunder became percussion for his voice, the lightning a spotlight for his song. His exhaled breath, electric hot, untethered to a world which only hurt him. Suddenly, a sharp gust of wind pushed him off balance and the voice screeched to a halt. The owl took off, and Nate rushed after it, away from the graveyard and into the surrounding forest. The rain streaked down his face, mingling with his tears, and his breath streamed out behind him in wisps of white heat. There was no doubt in his mind it was her. He didn’t feel the biting cold, or the wet rain, or the splinters in his feet. All he felt was a black tendril around his heart dragging him further and further away. 

The rest of that night was hazy to him. He remembered being cold. He remembered Casey shaking him awake, his red-rimmed eyes wide with relief. He remembered silence on the way to the hospital. She’ll be fine, the doctor said, just needs to rest and avoid rushing into the woods with no coat or shoes on. He didn’t say a word as they sat next to each other in the backseat, Nate’s mom looking at them through the mirror. He didn’t look back as they dropped him off at his dad’s house, just squeezed another hand warmer into Nate’s palm as he exited the car. No one greeted Casey at the door. I’m sorry, Nate wanted to scream. I’m sorry I’m so difficult, that I drag you into my problems and hurt you. But he didn’t. He just waited for Casey to orbit around to him again. The benefit of a small town, he selfishly thought. It’s hard to avoid each other for long. After two weeks, Casey called him like nothing had happened, and they settled back into their normal routine. This was the one complicated thing about Casey, Nate thought. He never yelled when he was angry. Just left you with the violence of his absence.

They arrived at the base of the ravine at the tail-end of sunset. Determined to salvage the last whispers of sunlight they rushed out of the car and slid down the slope towards the rocks. There was no direct path into the ravine during winter. The hiking trails only opened in the warmer months. Nate had many fond memories of picnics there during summer, when the wet mush of the forest bloomed into a vibrant green, threaded with sweet wind. Nate glanced over at Casey, still making his way down the slope. 

“Everything okay?” 

“God, if Grandpa knew we were down here during a storm warning he’d lose his mind.” “Haha, yeah. Too bad Grandma didn’t die during summer.” 

“Listen, we’ve only got an hour of light left. After that’s done we have to leave. And if there’s even a flash of lighting we’re running back to the car.” 

“I heard you the first time.” 

They ventured into the forest, Casey glancing up at the sky.

“So what exactly are we looking for?” 

“Uh, clues I guess. Like clothes or jewelry.” 

Nate anticipated the usual retorts, there’s no way the police would miss anything like that, the storms probably swept all that shit away or it got stolen. But Casey just nodded. 

“Okay, let’s keep an eye out.” 

As the light faded the calls of nocturnal creatures filled the air, crickets chirping and owls softly cooing. Nate hadn’t seen that owl again after that night. The doctor reasoned it was a stress-induced hallucination, and his mother grew morose whenever he brought it up. Casey reasoned that maybe the singing came from a nearby Christmas celebration, and that he just

happened to see an owl at the same time. Nate didn’t know what to believe. He knew the doctor and Casey were probably right, but the sensation felt so real, so vivid in his mind that he couldn’t believe them. Casey’s grandpa said it was possible his grandma was reincarnated into an owl due to the violent nature of her death. Owls are a bad omen, he remarked. A sad fate for a nice woman like her. But Nate always liked owls.  

“The police told me they found her body near a huge redwood tree.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah, they said there was a hollow right in the center the size of a bowling ball.” “I didn’t know that.” 

He never really talked about it much with Casey. Everyone in town knew the basic details, but no one had ever asked him about it directly. Whenever you’re ready, his mother said. Or never at all. Casey was a silent comfort. His uncharacteristic avoidance was a relief in the early days, when even the smallest reminder of the tragedy sent Nate spiraling. But he wondered now whether that avoidance was just as much for Casey as it was for him. A way to protect their relationship from Nate’s trauma. Casey never talked about Claire. Maybe he didn’t want to contaminate their relationship with that pain. It was strange how he could be so frank yet so unknowable. But maybe Casey felt the same way about him. 

“Is this it?” 

His voice jerked Nate out of his thoughts. He looked at the tree Casey was pointing at, a tall, imposing redwood in the middle of a clearing, with wet, blood-maroon bark. The thick foliage slowly faded away as they got closer, as if the forest itself was recoiling from the scene. The gaping hollow darkly beckoned them to gaze into the guts of the tree. They both stared at it for a bit. Nate stepped forward.

“This is the place.” 

“How do you know that?” 

“I just do.” 

Casey placed a protective hand on his shoulder. 

“Wait, don’t get too close. Something about this place feels off.” 

“Well, someone did die here.” 

Nate shrugged his hand off and cautiously peered into the hollow. His fingers buzzed with heat as he touched the wet bark and pressed his forehead against it. He closed his eyes. He could hear Casey nervously pacing behind him, the wet ground squelching under his feet. He felt rainwater drip down his neck. A breeze whipped through the air sending goosebumps down his spine, and thunder lightly rumbled in the distance. But nothing else. He opened his eyes and closed them again. No, he had to feel something. The world was supposed to give him a sign that would make everything make sense. But nothing came. He felt a light tap on his shoulder. “Nate, c’mon, we have to go.” 

“Just a little longer.” 

He squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated, summoning all the energy inside him to the connection point between his head and the tree. Flashes of lightning illuminated the fleshy red of his eyelids. But still nothing. 

“Nate, we can’t stay any longer.” Casey’s grip tightened on his shoulder. “Please.” He couldn’t open his eyes. If he did the tears would fall and they’d never stop. Maybe if he stood in the rain long enough he’d dissolve away. Or a lightning bolt would kill him instantly. God, he felt so stupid. What was he even expecting to find here? 

“NATE!”

He couldn’t look at Casey. He knew the face he was making. It was the same face he made when he found out Claire had relapsed and crashed his car, when his father decided he’d had enough and walked out. Disappointed, but never surprised. It seemed like no matter how hard Nate tried to not be a problem for Casey, he always ended up being one. He searched his mind for something to say, but all he found was a shameful, unbearable silence. He couldn’t tell him the truth, that nothing changed and he felt even more lost, that maybe nothing would ever change. So he ran back into the forest, black tendrils eagerly reaching out to cradle his sadness once again. 

Casey had only panicked four times in his life. 

The first was when he lost his great-grandfather’s watch in the couch cushions. The second was when Claire came back after running away for a month, crawling through their bedroom window. The third was that Christmas when Nate ran into the woods. And the fourth was now, rushing through the forest, desperately searching for him. If only he’d resisted longer, put his foot down, convinced Nate to go home. As he ran, that familiar helpless feeling lurched in his throat. Despite how much he tried he still couldn’t help him. No matter what he did Nate somehow always ended up in danger again. He could protect him against school bullies and bigoted adults. But he couldn’t protect him from this. All he could do was pick up the pieces again once the damage was done. 

He didn’t know how long it took to find him. He didn’t know how he managed to carry him back to his car in the storm. All he remembered were warm tears streaming from Nate’s eyes, melting into the cold rain.

They didn’t say anything to each other until the next day. Casey sat by the window, watching the sunrise. He twirled a cigarette around in his fingers, a last-minute birthday gift from Claire. He still remembered her guilty face as she rummaged through her purse and tossed a pack 

at him, the irony apparently lost on her. Those ones are expensive, she laughed. A special brand, long and skinny. An elegant smoke for a modern woman. He’d tossed them away into a drawer when they’d moved. Funny how they found their way back into his hands now. If he had a lighter he might’ve smoked it. But he never kept lighters in the apartment. 

Casey heard the door creak open behind him, and turned to see Nate in the hallway, blanket still draped around his shoulders. He sat down next to him, and they huddled together in the softness. Nate took the cigarette from Casey’s hands. 

“Didn’t Claire smoke these?” 

“Yup. I still remember the smell.” 

“I miss it sometimes.” 

Silence again. Then, a whisper. 

“I’m sorry. I put us both in danger. I just didn’t want to keep being a problem for you. I thought that if I went down there I’d find something that would give me closure. Some kind of sign that she’d love me no matter what. But I just hurt you again.” Words always seem to fail when you need them the most. Casey opened his mouth and closed it again, searching for what to say. It was so hard for him to say what really mattered. But his fluttering mind finally settled on a memory close to his heart. 

“Did I ever tell you about the last time I saw Claire?” 

“No, we stopped talking about her after she died.”

“Her addiction got really bad near the end. She and Grandpa would fight all the time. I remember I’d run to our room and shut the door, bury myself in pillows to drown out the noise. They’d fight for hours until she stormed out of the house. Sometimes she’d be gone for weeks. But she always came back at night through the window. It felt like sharing a room with a ghost. But even after all of that, Grandpa would always come in and kiss her forehead after she’d fallen asleep. And then he’d do the same with me. I asked him once how he could still love her despite it all, and he told me, ‘Well, I’m not really sure. All I know is that when I look at her, I know I love her. I love who she is now and whatever she could be. And I feel the same way about you.’ I think he meant that for him, love is something that goes beyond just the present moment. When I told you I loved you I knew I loved your past and future too. So that’s why I’m still here. Because I always loved who you are now, even back then.” 

Silence. Casey felt the weight of his words in the air. 

“But all that love did is hurt him. I don’t want to keep hurting you.” 

“I don’t think he sees it that way. It’s impossible to avoid hurting people. It’ll happen, no matter how hard you try. But that’s a risk you have to take. I loved my father. I loved Claire. We hurt each other. But I don’t regret it.” 

More silence. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough to do that.” 

“You are. I’ve seen it. You’ve never run away from who you are. You inspire me, really.” Casey laughed awkwardly, a little embarrassed at being so earnest. Nate smiled. “Don’t compliment me too much. It might go to my head.” 

“Good, I think it should.” 

They both laughed, snuggling closer together. 

“Did you find what you were looking for in the woods?”

“No. I don’t know what I’m looking for anymore.” 

“Can I ask you a tough question?” 

“Go for it.” 

“If somehow, you found out your grandma wouldn’t have supported your transition, what would you do?” 

“I…I don’t know. I’d feel sad obviously. It would change a lot of my memories of her, knowing her love was conditional in that way. But I don’t think I’d regret loving her. Despite how it hurts me.” 

The heater in their apartment had been broken for a while. The windows barely insulated against the cold. But that morning, wrapped in each other like tangled roots, they were warm, sheltered by the heat of each other.

---

Rashika Singh is a writer and game developer whose work has been published in Peregrine, UC Berkeley’s first undergraduate literary journal. They write introspective stories exploring complex and messy characters. They enjoy reading tarot, collecting perfume samples, and playing piano. Find them on Bluesky at @litchilovers.bsky.social.