My office door opened. It opens on to an alleyway that has a legend attached to it. The last thing I ever expected was to have that legend walk through my door and say, “Thomas Reeth. My name is J.J. Brown.”

I said back, “Really.” With out much sincerity…sarcastically in fact.

I continued. “J.J. Brown’s body was found at the end of this very blind alley on the twenty third of June nineteen sixteen, which makes you’re a ghost and I don’t believe in ghosts, so who are you really.”

The interloper said back, “I am glad you don’t believe in ghosts because I am not. The exact terminology would be Phantom, which would explain why I exist in a solid state.”

I said back, “You exist in a solid state because you are pulling a gag. Who sent you. Everyone knows that I have spent my career trying to track down the circumstance of your vanishing act, I mean J.J’s.”

“I know and if you get past your prejudice I will enlighten you Cousin Reeth.”

I said back, somewhat startled, “How do you know J.J. is my cousin. I have never told anyone that, because I am not, not really. He is my cousin several times removed.”

“I know. My mother is your great aunt.”

I thought about that for a long time then said, “I have also been investigating the disappearance of your parents, with no success unfortunately,” beginning to think that strange things happen in the world that our mundane brains cannot fathom.

“I have answers for you. Not all the answers but enough to put some content in your investigation. In the end you may even begin to believe I am who I claim.”

“Why now?” I interrogated.

The Phantom shrugged its shoulders and removed its soggy brown Panama hat revealing the youthful face of J.J. Brown, exactly the same face that hung on my office wall in a gold frame, except the Phantom J.J. was in living colour.

The Phantom reached out and offered a handshake. I accepted. The hand was solid but not as warm as you might expect on the summer solstice.

I said, “Sit.” Pointing at a straight back wooden chair in front of my desk.

The Phantom complied and laid his Panama on the desk. Then he reached into the pocket of his gray, worn trench coat and pulled out a pack of smokes and a lighter. He took out two, lit them both and offered me one. I took it. I took a drag then extricated a bottle of bourbon and two glasses from the bottom left hand drawer of the desk. I poured two and gave the Phantom one. He accepted saying, “Mother was left handed though in those days it was not a good thing. She trained herself to work with her right hand rather than be thought of as a devil’s spawn.”

I laughed.

I put a flash drive voice recorder on the desk and said. “OK cuz. Tell me your story. Make me a believer.