The Next Morning

“I’ve seen Benja. You were all wrong. Benja is alive.”

Norin nearly fell down the stairs in his hurry to tell his dad and Fjoda.

Benja and he had talked and talked until he finally was so exhausted he just fell asleep. They had planned that Benja would hide during the day. Where, she wouldn’t tell, because she didn’t want her parents to find her.

“They are busy grieving. And they already lost me once. It might kill them to go through that again,” she had said.

But Norin could not contain his joy. He needed to tell someone. And Dad and Fjoda would never tell Mr and Mrs Wilson.

“Huh?” Fjoda was not the fastest thinker in the morning. “What did you say?”

“Benja was in my closet tonight. She is alive. I told you so.“

“Benja was in your closet?” Dad asked. “Norin, you were dreaming. I’m sorry, but it is impossible.”

Dad put a bowl of cornflakes in front of Norin. He sat on the other side of the desk and watched his son.

“I was not dreaming. She came out of the closet, I hugged her, then she ran into the wall to prove that she is not a ghost.”

“That does sound like Benja,” Fjoda muttered.

“And then she told me about her illness and that she had been in the hospital, but was fine now.”

Dad looked uncomfortable.

“You must tell him,” Fjoda said softly. “It is addressed to him after all. It is his.”

“What is?” Norin was confused. That was not the reaction he had expected.

“A letter arrived for you today,” Dad said.