This tale was co-written by a ghost that lives in my basement. When I get tired, he steps into my body and writes about his life and death. It’s much like sleepwalking. I’d start my nights in bed and wake up the next morning in a blue armchair in front of a laptop. My job is to rearrange his words into a narrative. For me, this is a work of fiction. For him, it’s a memoir. Either way, here’s our story.