Submitted to: Contest #308

Just the Scraps

Written in response to: "Set your story at a party, festival, or local celebration."

Fantasy Fiction Horror

This story contains sensitive content

(Sensitive Content Warning: Descriptions of Injuries)

As soon as she opens the door, Mona regrets coming to Scotty’s place. The cramped living room is already filled with the sticky heat of over a dozen bodies. She recognized so few faces. A girl she vaguely remembers from her psychology class waves at her, but her classmate is already looking elsewhere when she waves back. Okay, that’s fine. Everything’s fine.

She catches Scotty’s eye from across the room, and a smile spreads across his face. He pauses the conversation he’d been engaged with and wades through the crowd towards her.

“Mona! I’m so stoked you made it!” He says, pulling her into a hug. He smells like an only slightly noxious combination of beer, weed, and sweat.

“Uh– yeah, man. Thanks for the invite,” she says as he pulls away, trying not to betray how suddenly anxious she feels. Thoughts of turning around and walking back out the door are interrupted by loud reminders of why she decided to come here in the first place. She’s trying to socialize. People tell her she needs to get out more and, here, fine. She’s doing it. She’ll prove to them and herself that she can have a normal, fun night.

She doesn’t know Scotty that well. They have a lecture together, and they’ve hung out a few times, but she’s unsure if she considers him a friend or vice versa. But that’s why she’s here. To solidify their friendship, maybe, or to see if he and his friends are her kind of people.

“Of course!” It’s difficult to hear him over the Tame Impala blasting from the speakers. “Let me get you a drink.” He disappears for a moment and returns with a beer; some IPA she knows nothing about. She’s never cared much for beer. But before she can say as much, two guys are calling for Scotty, trying to get his attention.

He’s the host, Mona thinks bitterly, gripping her drink. He’ll probably be busy all night.

“Well, anyway…” he says, glancing over at his friends. “We’ll talk later, k?”

“Yeah, okay,” she says quietly, trying to force a smile as she watches him walk back.

She dances along to a few songs, failing to quell the embarrassment that rises. She isn’t a good dancer. Does she look stupid? She eyes the crowd, trying to make out even slightly familiar faces. But it feels like everyone else is caught up in their own discussions. She cracks open her beer and manages a few sips before she sets it down on a side table with a grimace, with no intention of returning to it.

She’s overcome with the sudden need for fresh air. The living seems suddenly stiflingly hot. She winds through the sea of people until, finally, she reaches the back door. Relief washes over her as she pulls the door open and steps outside. It’s cold out, especially having abandoned her jacket somewhere inside when she arrived. But it’s a nice night, and the backyard is quiet.

She tells herself she’ll just take a minute to collect herself before toughening up and going back in. That is until she sees the figure sitting on the lip of the pool, her legs submerged in the water. She wears a pink bikini, brown roots standing out against the blue of her hair. She looks uncomfortable– no wonder, Mona thinks, it’s freezing out here. What is she doing out here in just a swimsuit? I thought everyone else was inside.

And then she turns, the caved-in and bloody right side of her head suddenly visible, and reality comes crashing down. She’s dead. And by the look of confusion and unease written on her face, Mona doubts the ghost knows as much. Oh, God. Why now?

Why can’t she just be normal? Other girls get to have fun and go to parties without being faced with the undead. Some people view clairvoyance as a rare gift, but it usually feels more like a curse.

She could just go back in. She could pretend she never saw the girl; it’s not like anyone would know. But the thought alone makes her feel sick. She can’t just leave her like this. Not without at least trying to help.

With a deep breath, she walks to the pool's edge and sits on the ground beside the specter.

“Hey.”

“You… you can see me?” She asks incredulously, turning to meet Mona’s gaze. Her face is slack with shock, eyes wide.

“Yeah, I can. I’m Desdemona, but you can call me Mona. What’s your name?”

The disbelief on her face gradually turns to horror. She’s wracking her muddled brain for a memory she can’t reach.

“I… I don’t know. I don’t remember. How is that possible? What’s going on?”

“I know you’re confused right now. And I’m sorry. That can be scary.”

“Don’t patronize me!” She retorts, looking down at the water below.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to talk down to you. This is just… a weird conversation to have

to have.”

“What conversation? What are you trying to tell me? Who even are you?” She demands,

but she plows on before Mona can respond. “No one talks to me. No one has for, like, a really long time. They can’t… they can’t hear me for some reason. Or see me. I thought maybe I turned invisible or something. How can you see me?”

Mona sighs. It never gets any easier, these interactions. She isn’t plagued by ghosts everywhere she goes. Sometimes, she goes weeks or months without seeing or communing with spirits. But these respites between encounters never feel long enough.

It’s usually less complicated when they know they’re dead, though. But the ones who’ve accepted it and still clinging to the earth can be unpredictable. Vengeful and mean. Not everyone takes the news the same. That old man in the subway still haunts her. He was so contorted and crushed, a bloody pulp barely resembling anything human. No matter what she said, the only thing he did was scream.

“I’m sorry to have to be the person to tell you this. I know it’ll be hard to hear. But you’re dead.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“You had an accident in this pool. I don’t know how long ago. Scotty hasn’t rented this place long, and I have no idea who the last renter was. But… it looks like you hit your head.” Mona glances at the girl’s head wound, which weeps down her neck and chest. The blood would look deceivingly fresh were it not for the slightly translucent quality of the spirit’s form.

“No, you–you’re crazy! I’m not dead! That’s ridiculous! I’m fine. I just…” she raises a hand to her head, and it phases through. She tries to touch her injury several times, but the result remains. “I was at a party. I just bumped my head…”

“I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how difficult this is to process. I know you’ve been alone for a long time, and you’ve been scared and confused.”

“I –.”

“But I saw you,” Mona interrupts, rubbing a nervous hand on her knee. “That’s something I do. I see ghosts. And I thought about how long it must have been since you last talked to someone. And I knew I had to say something.”

The girl is quiet for a long while, staring intently at the placid water. And then, in a soft, tear-stricken voice, she asks:

“Is that why I can’t see it?”

“See what?”

“My reflection. In the pool,” she clarifies, sniffling. A tear runs down her cheek. “I can see yours. But not mine.”

“Yes,” Mona sighs, “That’s why you can’t see it.”

“I… I don’t remember what I look like. I don’t know my name or who I even was.”

Mona wishes so desperately that she could pull this frightened girl into her arms. She wishes she could bring back every memory she ever lost. She wishes she hadn’t died. Why did this poor, sweet girl have to die?

“You have tan skin. You have brown eyes and an oval face. Your hair is dyed blue, but from your roots, I can see that you’re naturally a brunette.” Mona can’t help the tears that spring to her eyes, though she tries to hold them back. “You’re beautiful. I wish you could still see it, but I want you to know that you are.”

Shimmering, semi-translucent tears run down the girl's cheeks. She pulls her legs out of the water – they appear entirely dry – and tucks her face into her knees. Her face phases partway through.

“I don’t think I’m even a person anymore,” she mumbles, “Just the scraps of one. What kind of existence is this? Do I have to stay here?”

“No, I don’t think you do. In my experience, things are different when someone knows they’re dead.”

“Different how? Like, I’ll just disappear. Poof, like I was never even here?”

“I don’t know where you’ll go. I wish I had something better to tell you. But I think

you’ll go somewhere beautiful. Where you and the people you love can be together and where you can remember every piece of yourself.”

“Do you really think so?”

Mona doesn’t have a clue, not really. This might be her eternity. Maybe she will

just cease to exist in any form. But she pushes aside her doubts and says, with certainty:

“Of course I do.”

“Thank you, Mona. For telling me.” She says, a resolute quality to her voice. “I think I

need to be alone now.”

She nods in understanding, rising to her feet. It feels bittersweet leaving now. This girl has been alone for so long. But the spirit has accepted reality, and Mona has done what she set out to do. She walks back toward the door, ready to return to the party and the land of the living. She pauses with her hand gripping the handle and glances back at the pool. The girl is nowhere to be seen. She wipes her eye with the sleeve of her shirt and breathes deeply. Then she opens the door and goes back into the house. She finds Scotty in the kitchen, who meets her with a surprised smile.

“Mona! I was wondering where you’d—” He pauses, looking at her more closely. The grief must show on her face. “Whoa. Are you okay?”

Mona sighs, nodding. The warmth of the house is equally as welcoming as Scotty’s gentle concern.

“Yeah. I’m alright now,” she says, feeling so acutely alive. “Hey, do you wanna dance with me?”

His frown morphs into a grin, and he grabs her hand, their fingers intertwining.

“I’d love to.” And as he guides her back into the living room, she’s barely even anxious.

Posted Jun 22, 2025
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3 likes 1 comment

Kelsey R Davis
16:28 Jul 03, 2025

Hi from Critique’s Circle!

I really enjoyed the premise of this story - I like the juxtaposition of a house filled with hot intoxicated bodies against an underdressed dead girl out on a cold night lit up by a swimming pool’s glow. That’s beautiful.

I think some of Mona’s dialogue is a little too knowing, and it would be nice to workshop her thoughts and conversation a bit more, maybe some of the world building too. Maybe a little more showing than telling, using other past interactions to ground her in the present (if that makes sense). The moment about the bloodied screamer on the train is vivid. Mona saying Yes,” Mona sighs, “That’s why you can’t see it.” is less so. Could be her shrugging “probably” or thinking about another reflectionless ghost. That’s just my reading though. And like her knowing how long Scotty may have rented the place feels a little at odds with previously setting up to only knowing him from a lecture/not knowing if they’re friends, but idk. It’s not implausible of course it just is an observation that she seems too sure of her words/explanations without more detail/background?

I also caught myself visualizing Mona dancing for a few songs with the unopened beer in hand, and how hard that would be for an anxious person (tend to use drinks as clutches, and probably couldn’t last that long dancing feeling uncomfortable?) but that’s just me. I might set up what she does with the drink first and then show her trying to get through dancing but not even lasting a whole song.

Nice work Samantha.

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