The first time I did it was by accident.

The cat couldn't have been dead for more than a couple hours. I don't know what got it, but it was something with teeth. My first thought was a dog, but that's just prejudice on my part. It could've been anything with a big enough mouth.

I squatted next to it, curious and kinda sad. I reached out to poke her and my fingers instantly tingled, all electricity and bubbling blood. But it wasn't unpleasant. They felt warm and fuzzy, like they'd been filled with soda pop. When I touched the cat, I felt the warmth move out of me and into the corpse. I was suddenly cold, all the way up to my elbow, veins full of snow. But I was fascinated and didn't let go.

Before my eyes, the wounds on the cat’s side closed up, as though stitched by some invisible hand, and my heartbeat suddenly matched hers. I have no good word for what I felt then. Is there a word for being excited, scared, sleepy and a little dizzy, all at once?

When I could no longer stand the ice cubes under my skin, I pulled my hand away. For a moment, nothing happened. Then she yawned – that big cat yawn where they arch their backs all funny – and stood up.

Mom didn't let me keep her. I told her it was just a stray I’d found, but she shook her head, making a face. She said it looked half dead. I was disappointed, but her comment made me smile to myself. I enjoyed secrets. They made me feel important. I have no idea where it ran off to afterward.

I think the cat being freshly dead was the only reason it worked so easily that first time. I tried to bring back some road kill about a week later, a raccoon that was dry and crusty and half-flattened. Even giving it everything I had only brought the poor creature back long enough to whimper, claw the air a few times and then return to the other side. I thought I was gonna vomit, the sides of my eyes going dark and my mouth filling with saliva, but instead I fainted

I woke up a half hour later, still nauseous, head pounding, and realized what l'd done. I'd only called it back long enough to feel pain and fear one last time. I felt sick, and not just physically. I didn't talk much for the rest of the week.

We moved to Georgia about a year after my discovery. My folks said it was because my dad got a new job, but he had to search for work when we got there, so l know that wasn't true. At first I was mad. I didn't have many friends in Virginia, and outside of the woods behind our house, I had no real attachment to anything there. I just resented my lack of input. I was hard-headed for a girl my age. Or so I'm told.

But this move turned out different. After a week my resentment was gone, replaced by my first good friend.

Kyle was the boy next door. He was a year younger, but you'd never know it. He was quick to smile, tall for his age and more or less unflappable. Very much his opposite, I was tense and small, watching everything like a suspicious little barn owl. He could talk to anyone, which I felt was its own kind of magic, and still do. We were both curious types, but he had patience about it. Not me. Once curiosity bit, I needed to do something about it right away.

I would often declare things like, "Tomorrow, we must go see what is beyond that creek." He'd just smile and say, "Sure."

In no time, we shared everything and spent nearly every afternoon together.

Kyle's family was weird. His father and big sister were kind to me, but they always seemed distracted, like they were listening to something else in the room. It wasn't so noticeable when talking one-on-one. But when both of them were together and turned their heads at the same time, in the same direction, it was unsettling. I sometimes saw Kyle do it, but he was way more subtle. He never lost track that there were other people around him the way his family did.

They were kind people, though. Generous and neighborly in all the ways you could ever ask for. Just odd.

But who am I to talk? My family is a secretive bunch, too. I can't count how many times my parents stopped talking the moment I walked by. They’d whisper even in their own bedroom. I know because I'd press my ear to their door, trying to make out what was so worth hiding. Sometimes I'd catch them watching me, a little too closely, like they were looking for clues. I felt like they knew my secret sometimes. But if they figured it out, they never brought it up.

Anyway, Kyle and I did everything together. I was a total tomboy and he was kinda soft, so we met somewhere in the middle. We did all the usual things kids our age did: fight invisible monsters with sticks; hide in ditches and throw pinecone hand-grenades at invisible soldiers; listen to radio serials on his back porch. But all along I held on to my secret. I was too afraid of what Kyle might think. He was my first real friend and that’s nothing to mess with.

All that changed when Charlie died.

Charlie was the neighborhood mutt. He belonged to the lady down the street. But she didn't pay him much attention, so he'd come sit with us on my back porch. Sometimes we'd slip him food when our parents weren't around. He was old and somber looking, like he knew too much and didn't know what to do with it, but we liked him. He was a good dog.

I don't know what killed him. Might've just been old age. We found him near the creek, lying there like he was about to drink some water. Kyle cried. He didn't hide it either, the way most boys do. He just let the tears run while he sat and pet his cold, still back. Then he walked home without saying anything. I watched him go until l started to feel my fingers tingle.

Kyle's bedroom window faced mine. We didn't plan it. Just how it wound up. When it was cold out, we'd write messages to each other in the frost on the glass. We'd do it in a secret code he'd taught me, which made us feel clever. That morning I wrote the message "Meet me here!" and drew a little map to a spot l'd never shown him.

It led to my secret hiding spot, in the split trunk of a giant old oak down by the creek. That's where l'd go when my thoughts were too loud, or to hide things I wanted no one in the world to know about. But seeing Kyle cry changed things.I was willing to give that up now. Along with my secret.

But holy hell, was I nervous! I got there before Kyle was awake and, inside the tree trunk, I let my fingers do their trick. I almost went too far. I had to lay down for a bit, biting my lower lip so hard I almost drew blood. But I didn’t faint. And it worked!

Charlie let out a little howl when he came back, then he licked my hand and stayed put. I nodded and whispered, "Good boy. Stay right there." Then I climbed the tree with shaky limbs, sat in a branch, and waited for Kyle.

My heart was in my mouth when he walked up. His hair was messy and he still looked sleepy, so he must have come right when he saw my message. He looked up at me when he arrived and said, "What happened?"

I couldn't talk. My mouth felt like it was full of sawdust. So I just pointed to the split trunk beneath me. Kyle peaked inside, then stepped back out, eyes wide. I couldn’t read his expression and I almost started crying.

"If you got something ugly to say, then say it," I said, angrily as I could muster.

Kyle looked back at Charlie, then looked up at me again quizzically. Then he smiled real big, said, “Come here, boy!”, and I knew everything was fine.

After that, Kyle was excited in a way I’d never seen him before. He looked like he could hardly sit still. Ants in his pants, my mom would have said. But I was still nervous. Secrets grow the longer you hold them. Mine felt the size of a house. Big enough to crush me, for sure. Kyle asked if I could bring something else back and let him watch. I shouted "No!" right away, but he begged me. Truly begged. It was embarrassing.

An hour later I caved.

Kyle ran home and grabbed a shovel, then he took me to a spot near the creek and started digging. I didn't know what had gotten into him. Then I remembered Lady.

Lady was his old parakeet. He'd had her since he was an infant, and she'd died the month before. I didn't say anything to him about it – I'm no good with those things – but I know he was upset. And now I could see why he was so excited.

I wasn't sure if I could bring back something so far gone, but I didn't say it aloud. I was suddenly scared to disappoint him. There was real relief in someone finally knowing my secret. I didn't want to muck it up. I also figured since a parakeet is pretty small, it might not be too difficult. That turned out to be true. It wasn’t just how long something had been dead, but also how big it was, and how intact.

From the ground, covered in clumpy soil, came an old metal lunch box with tape around the edges. Using his pocket knife, Kyle opened the tin and showed me. She was in good shape, as far as corpses go. The smell wasn't nice, but I figured I could do this.

"I'm gonna need to eat something first. I already brought Charlie back and I'm pretty lightheaded."

Kyle nodded, dancing from foot to foot. "Be right back."

He ran for his house. Before I could get cold feet, he returned with two slices of bread, three apples and a leftover sausage. I ate all of it sitting cross-legged in the grass, using my elbows to fend off Charlie. I gave him half the sausage, though, since he was whining so much. I imagine coming back from the dead might make you pretty hungry.

Once the food was gone and I’d stopped feeling shaky, Kyle sat in the grass and gently held Lady to his chest. He watched me closer than he ever had before. I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing. I just let my fingers grow tingly and I touched his parakeet on the back of her head.

For what felt like a lifetime, but was probably only a couple minutes, nothing happened. I grew anxious. I'd never brought back something this far gone before. The transfer from my fingers was slow, like pushing a dull pencil through heavy fabric. Kyle sat patiently the entire time and didn't interrupt me. He had a good sense about those kinds of things. He always knew when to talk and when to keep quiet.

I was starting to feel pretty ill when, quick as anything, the energy shot out of me. Small as she was, the transfer happened in a couple seconds. I was thankful. I would have fainted if it had taken much longer.

Lady started blinking, then she wiggled her wings. Kyle laughed and the biggest smile split his face. She started chirping, a song we both knew well. Kyle tried to get a grip on her, but she took off into the air and dashed through the trees before he could do anything about it. It didn't look like she was coming back.

I watched Kyle to see if he was upset, but he didn't look sad at all. He just waved and said, "Bye, Lady!"

I frowned at him, not understanding. He turned to me and said, "I didn't get to say goodbye last time. I just came home and she was dead. I didn't want to own her again. I just wanted to say goodbye."

He smiled again, happy as can be.

Sharing my secret was a huge relief. Sometimes we don't recognize the weight of what we're lugging around. It's only once you're finally free of it  that you understand how heavy it had been all along. My secret was like that. My parents even noticed. They said I looked happier and not so withdrawn, and so did my teachers. And there is something about sharing a secret that opens the door for people to share theirs.

Kyle's secret was behind a cellar door.

The weekend after I brought Lady back to life, Kyle brought me over to the side of his house and told me to look through the living room window. His sister and father were cleaning the kitchen. We watched them for a minute, then he said, “Have you ever noticed how my family will stop and listen to something in the room, all at the same time?”

"Yeah,” I said, cautiously. “I noticed.”

“We all do it,” Kyle said. “Me, too.”

“Oh.” We were quiet for a bit. “Well … what are you all listening to?”

“They're my old relatives. I don’t know why, but we can all hear them. They’re people in our family that died a long time ago. Some of them are over a hundred years old.”

“Are you messing with me?”

“Nope.”

Kyle explained that they inhabited whatever house their family did. Some just mumbled nonsense, but others offered advice and paid attention to their lives. A couple relatives had tried moving to different cities, thinking maybe it was just the location that was haunted, but their ancestors always found them again.

“I don’t just hear them, though,” Kyle admitted. “I can see them, too. So can my uncle.”

With me bringing dead stuff back to life these past few years, I had no reason to doubt him. But I still did a little.

“What do they look like?”

“Some are really washed out. Those types don’t talk much. But some are clear. Not like you and me, but pretty close.” He shrugged. “It’s part of why I’m always outside. The house gets pretty crowded.”

I had all kinds of questions for him. Like could he see ghosts around my house (he couldn't), was it hard to sleep (he wore ear plugs and an eye mask), and were any of the ghosts scary (not really) or funny (his great, great uncle liked to scare Kyle’s sister because she was easily startled).

“I wish I could see them,” I said, after exhausting all my initial thoughts.

Kyle smiled. “I can show you, if you want.”

Kyle then explained that he was different even from his uncle. If he were touching someone else, they could see the ghosts, too. At least a little bit, and only if he willed it. He told me how he used to sit with his grandma and hold her hand so she could talk with her dead husband. It wore him out, but he liked her a lot and did it whenever she asked.

So naturally, I said, "Show me."

He took me around to the other side of the house, over to their cellar door, which looked like no one had painted it in a lifetime. He opened it up, the rusty bolts complaining loudly, then stepped back next to me.

“Give me your hand,” he said.

I did, then we both stared into the inky dark of that opening. My hand grew cold. Not as cold as my arm got when bringing something back from beyond the veil, but close. And then I saw it.  Or her, I should say.

She was about thirty-five years old if I had to guess. She wore an old-fashioned puffy dress and a bonnet, and she held a bucket in her hand, the kind you milked cows with. I later learned it was his great, great grandmother.

She turned her head and sharply said, "Who's there?!"

I yelped, surprising even myself, and started running. It had rained earlier so the driveway was slick and muddy. I almost fell, but Kyle caught me. Then he ran with me and we didn't stop until we reached the corner of our street, next to the half bent stop sign that the local drunk had backed into with his car.

Catching our breath, Kyle smiled at me real big and said, "See. I told ya."

And I punched him in the arm.