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relentless, but after a while, I told him I wasn’t familiar with the medium he wanted me to use. He had wanted me to write a screenplay, and I didn’t even know that’s what movie scripts were called, much less how to write one.
    “I’ll teach you,” he said. I was hesitant. Here this spirit guide was bonding with me and establishing waking-world contact with me. Why me, of all the billions of people in the world? To this day, I still don’t know. All I do know is that the more he pressed me, the more I reverted back to how I was when he first spoke to me that night from the dining room—wary as hell. If I was going to make a sacrifice of time for him, darn it all, I had every intention of putting him through a gauntlet of spiritual challenges, including a homemade exorcism that I had learned from a book at the university library. I mean, I had to do something before I committed to him. Wouldn’t you after first seeing him as an inmate of some infernal prison in a dream?
    As our relationship progressed, I became more unbearable than ever. Neurotic, even. One day I was accusing him of being a demon come to tempt me away from God, and the next I was questioning my sanity since I was not only hearing a disembodied voice, I was arguing with it. Worse yet, I could see Jake in my intuitive vision—my third eye—although I didn’t actually realize I was seeing him. I thought I was imagining him, visualizing him. But when it finally dawned on me that I could see him as easily as I could see any corporeal human, I only felt kookier. My life was starting to look like a Goth version of the movie Drop Dead Fred , only Jake was a lot cooler and didn’t cause me to do things that got me in trouble … often.
    The biggest argument we ever had occurred around the first anniversary of his contacting me on that memorable night in 1996. The project he had seemed so desperate for me to complete was done. My screenplay won multiple awards at the university, but when I attempted to get it made into a movie, I unwittingly allowed the script to be stolen right out from under me. When I realized that all my hard work had been claimed by someone else, I was pissed off to a level of monumental proportions. I was angry at the thieves, the situation, the fact that I could do nothing to bring them to justice and the fact that Jake had even allowed the theft to occur. He had actually served as my mentor and muse for the entire piece! It was what I then considered my most creative moment ever. I blamed him for allowing my hard work and research to go to waste.
    “Jake, go! I never want to see you again!” I screamed as I paced my bedroom like a caged lioness. “I hope you enjoyed your little game with me. You’re nothing but a damned devil, so go back to Hell where you came from.” Jake hadn’t said a word in his own defense. He merely nodded respectfully and vanished. I can only liken the feeling he left behind to that of total emptiness. Where there was warmth, peace, and security was now nothing. Absolutely nothing.
    As the hours passed, I warred with myself. Part of me wanted to call him back to my side and apologize for berating him so mercilessly. The other part of me was still wondering if he was just some ghost having a laugh at my expense. Upon nightfall, I decided it was best that I move on without him. After all, it was through his influence and urging that I had missed what I then thought was the opportunity of a lifetime.
    The next morning, I got up for work still feeling as angry as ever. My fury at Jake was still off the charts, and all I wanted was to go back to the time before he came into my life. I had gotten so used to talking to him almost every morning before work that even sunny days without him seemed bleak. This particular morning, however, I was determined to start anew. I thought putting on a new suit and creating a new hairdo would make me feel better.
    Convinced the makeover had done the trick, I headed to