By: Alisa A. Gaston

“What sort of things?”

I clung to my stemless wine glass at the dinner party, the Malbec settling my nerves.

“Sometimes raisins,” I said, “also marbles, square pieces of white chocolate.”

“The chocolate sounds nice.”

“Yeah, but most things he drops in my coffee are inedible. Once I found one of those tiny plastic babies they put in king cakes.”

“Just tell him to leave. That’s what my girlfriend did when she had a ghost.”

That night I told him to stop spiking my coffee or leave. He left. After that, my coffee tasted bland. Even with many fancy creamers.

© 2026. Alisa A. Gaston

Alisa A. Gaston’s short stories and essays have appeared in Fugue, Brain Child, The Sun, The Montreal Review, and elsewhere. She lives in Colorado where people love dogs and the hiking is grand.

Posted July 22, 2026.