Nate rubbed the sleep away from his eyes and fixed his glasses, which were askew from his fitful nap. He pushed his curly black hair away from his eyes and adjusted his red bowtie with shaking hands. His forehead and hands were slicked with sweat. He was used to this recurring nightmare, however. He took deep breaths and sat up, pushing his covers back. As he got out of bed, a thought popped into his head. An unexplainable urge to fix the camera washed through him. It would be easy, Nate knew, but he wasn’t sure why he had even thought it. For nine years he had avoided looking at it, been tempted to sell it, or just flat out throw it away, but he didn’t. Walking across his room to his desk, he sat down and grabbed the screwdriver he had in his drawer.
    As he worked on the camera, the remnants of his dream echoed in his head. “I’m sorry, Nate… but he isn’t coming back… he’s gone…” Nate focused the lense of the 1950s Minolta. “He’s in a better place, now…” He tried to shake the memory away as he aimed the camera at his solar system model. “It will be ok, Nate… your father loved you very much.” Every time he blinked back tears, the image of his father in the hospital bed came into view. The sound of the flatline rang in his ears as though he were still there. Nate pulled back the film-advance lever and clicked the button. A puff of smoke jetted from the bottom, causing Nate to fall into a coughing fit. During his fit, he hadn’t noticed the smoke manifesting itself into the form of a person, with hair that swept back into a rather smooth curl. It’s eyes were as blank and white as the moon, and they appeared to be glowing through the dispersing smoke. Nate finally regained control of his breathing and looked up, letting out a yelp and falling backwards in his chair.
    “What the- who- who are you?!” Nate gasped, pushing his glasses further up on the bridge of his nose. “A-are you a… ghost?” He surveyed the being before him. Leather jacket as black as his slicked back hair, a white undershirt and jeans that were worn but well, (all translucent, like the rest of him), he resembled that of a greaser.
    “What’s it look like, genius?” the ghost replied, picking up the camera that Nate had dropped. There was a large crack in the lense. “Dang it, Nathaniel, you broke it!”
    Nate was at a loss for words. He looked up at the ghost from his position on the floor, his eyes wide and his head swimming. “G-ghosts aren’t real…” he said as he propped himself up on his elbows.
    “Hm… I’d have to say that you’re wrong, Poindexter. Name’s Dennis.” The spirit replied, leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe.
    “N-Nate…” he stammered, standing up and fixing the chair. “How did you… how are you- you’re-” he couldn’t speak. His head felt like a snowglobe, thoughts whizzing around and around in his mind.
    “Spit it out, c’mon…” Dennis urged, a crooked smile hooked on his translucent face.
“Where did you come from?” Nate asked, sitting in the chair shakily.
“Hm… don’t really remember… I think I died in 1952, though.”
“1952… you came out of that camera, didn’t you?” Nate asked, casting a cautious glance toward the camera.
“You got it. Thanks for breaking it, by the way… really appreciate that. That’s the only thing I’ve got that ties me to this house…”
“Sorry… I didn’t mean to…” Nate pushed his glasses up a bit. “How does the camera tie you to this house?”
“I need something from the 50’s to keep me on this planet, and this is the only thing you’ve got.”
“There are tons of things on this planet that are from the 50’s! Why did you have to pick this camera? Why not… I dunno… Elvis’ grave or something?”
“Because you need my help, Poindexter. I know that your old man gave you that camera, and that he died in a car crash just like I did. I also know you’re hurtin’ about it. So, I’m here to help you get back on track, starting with this camera.”
“So… what are we… what are we gonna do, then?” Nate asked, still trying to process the ghost standing before him.
“We’re gonna go bring your dad back to life.”