The Ghost in the Fiber

The cable guy was here again. Third time this month. Elena watched from the window as he wrestled with the coaxial cable like it was a living thing fighting back.

"Signal keeps cutting out," he said, wiping sweat from his forehead. His hair was dark with it, plastered to his skull in jagged streaks. Summer in Sacramento was no joke.

Elena nodded, not really listening. Since Marcus died, the cable was the only thing that broke the silence in the house. Even that was unreliable.

"Got it," the technician said suddenly. "Something's loose in the junction box. You know, your neighbor—old guy in 4B—keeps complaining about the same thing. Says his TV talks to him sometimes."

Elena forced a smile. Mr. Henderson was senile, not haunted.

"Funny story," the tech continued, oblivious to her disinterest. "Last year, this lady calls me out because her cable's on the fritz. Turns out her kid's goldfish had jumped out of its bowl, died behind the entertainment unit, and the decomposition was messing with the wiring. Took me three hours to figure out why it smelled like that in there."

He laughed. Elena didn't.

Marcus had loved that pool. He'd installed it himself the summer after his diagnosis, determined to swim every day until he couldn't anymore. Elena hadn't touched it since the funeral. The water was green now, a stagnant ecosystem collecting leaves and dead bugs.

The tech packed up his tools. "All set. Should be good now."

"Thank you," Elena said.

She watched his truck pull away, then walked to the backyard. The pool cover sagged in the middle, heavy with rainwater and decay. She peeled it back, revealing the murky surface.

Her phone buzzed. A text from her sister: *You okay?*

Elena typed back: *Fine. Just swimming.*

She wasn't. She wouldn't. But she stood there at the edge, toes curling against the concrete, and wondered how long she could keep lying to everyone, including herself, before something inside her simply... stopped transmitting.