# Chapter 3 - Zayn's Secret
Instead of answering, Zayn screamed, “DAAAD! MOM! THERE’S A GIRL WITH A TILTED HEAD AT THE WINDOW!”
Zayn’s scream thundered through the ceiling, loud enough to wake everyone in the neighborhood. I nearly jumped out of my skin. Since when could this kid see ghosts? Usually, he was the one who laughed at me the hardest for being able to see them. He even called people with an ability like mine attention seekers. Desperate for attention.
I had just started to calm Zayn down when a series of loud thuds came from the stairs.
BANG! THUD! THUD! THUD!
“Who is it? Who’s there? Where are they?!”
My bedroom door was shoved open. Dad appeared first, panting heavily. He was wearing nothing but a sarong tied haphazardly around his waist, with no shirt. In his right hand, Dad gripped a palm-rib broom, ready to swing. Mom followed behind him carrying a scout staff.
“Where’s the burglar? Where?” Mom swept her gaze around the entire room.
Zayn immediately jumped off the bed and hid behind Dad’s broad back. “Th-there was a girl outside the window, Dad! Her neck was broken! Her head was tilted!”
Dad and Mom exchanged glances. Their expressions said they didn’t believe him. But seeing how terrified Zayn really was, they both turned toward the window, whose curtains I had already closed, then looked at me with a What’s going on? expression.
I shrugged. As long as I was in front of Dad, Mom, or the female ghost who might still be outside that window, I had to pretend to be both supernaturally deaf and blind.
Mom went to the window and opened the curtains. Just as I’d expected, the second-floor window showed nothing but the darkness of night and the branches of a stunted banyan tree waving in the wind.
“Where? There’s nothing here. You scared me half to death, Zayn. Besides, how could anyone be standing in front of the window? This is the second floor,” Mom scolded.
“I swear, Mom! She knocked on the glass: ‘Knock knock knock.’ Her head was tilted like this!” Zayn exaggeratedly tilted his neck until a small crack came from his own neck. “Ow, that’s tiring. But seriously, Mom, I’m not lying. Just ask Yuna.”
Dad and Mom now shifted their attention to me. Their gazes were full of suspicion. I swallowed.
“N-no, Dad,” I stammered. “There’s nothing there. Zayn probably just got startled by the tree branches blowing in the wind. Cut him some slack—it’s a new house.”
Dad immediately patted Zayn hard on the shoulder. “See? Besides, you’re a guy, Zayn. You’re already in high school, and you’re still hallucinating.”
I snickered at Dad using Gen Z slang.
“But usually…” Zayn protested.
“I didn’t see anything, Zayn!” I cut him off quickly.
Mom stamped the scout staff she was holding against the floor. “Enough, enough. Come on, Babe, let’s go back to bed. Zayn, you sleep in your own room.”
“No way! I’ll sleep on Yuna’s bedroom floor with a folding mattress! Seriously, Mom, if I sleep alone tonight, I’ll be dead by tomorrow.” Zayn pleaded dramatically.
“Hey, watch your mouth!” Dad snorted as he readjusted his sarong. “Fine. You two can sleep here together. But tomorrow, you have to sleep in your own rooms. Otherwise…”
“Otherwise what, Dad?” I shot back.
“I’ll rent out your rooms!”
“Your rooms? Wait, why am I getting punished too? Just Zayn, Dad.”
Dad raised one corner of his mouth. Pointing the palm-rib broom at us, he said, “That’s called esprit de corps.”
I pouted. Sharing the good times and the bad is for organizations. When it comes to Zayn and me, no thanks. He brought this on himself by making fun of my ability to see ghosts. Now he knows how it feels, right?