Welcome to Labrys, your student-run art and literature collective of Smith College.

When the coffee pot in the Prohaska-Babao household began shrieking at seven-thirty in the morning on March 16th, Zuzanna Prohaska paused in the act of pouring oatmeal into bowls to address her daughter.
“Fiona, make sure you put honey out for the ghost before we have to leave.”
The glass pot of honey was tucked away in the cupboard above the sink, high enough above the ground that Fiona had to scamper up onto the counter to retrieve it. As she pushed past jars of smoked paprika and lemongrass, her mother turned off the coffee pot, which continued to scream, and shouted over her shoulder.
“Eleanor! Your grandfather’s angry again!”
Fiona hopped down from the counter with only a bit of stumbling, the glass jar of honey precariously balanced in one hand, the dish they kept stashed at its side in the other. As she poured the honey into the bowl her other mother walked into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes blearily. There was paint in her hair.
“Fee, you’re getting honey all over your homework.”
When Fiona glanced down, honey was dripping from the glass comb all over her fractions worksheet. She tried to pour the honey into the dish instead, and only succeeded in leaving a trail of honey across the entire table. “Christ, here, let me...” As Eleanor Babao grabbed the pot of honey, the refrigerator let out a wailing noise. Fiona ran over to it.
“Mommy says you have to be quiet!”
The fridge only began screaming louder. Across the kitchen, two cabinet doors began swinging open and shut, completely of their own volition.
“He’s upset because I turned his study into my studio,” Eleanor said, grumbling. She slid the dish of honey across the table in the direction of the refrigerator’s wailing. “Lolo, I cannot work in the living room any- more; I keep getting paint all over the rug.”
“How’s the new project coming? I didn’t hear you come to bed last night.” Zuzanna set the oatmeal bowls down the table, glancing worriedly at the clock. “Bogárkám, I’m running late;I have to be in surgery in an hour. Can you take Fiona to school?”
Fiona picked at her oatmeal as her mothers discussed school pickup and dropoff. Across the table, the honey in the dish was rapidly disappearing, as if being drank through an invisible straw. She imagined for a moment that she could see the ghost of her dead great- grandfather, the man who’d come to San Francisco from Manila in 1927, who had raised four children in this apartment. Maybe he was hovering over the table now, sipping honey from a ceramic bowl Fiona had made two years ago in first grade, watching his youngest grand- daughter ate breakfast with a wife who’d come from Budapest in 1997 and a daughter who had been born in the hospital across town. He seemed to be enjoying the honey, as the refrigerator and coffee pot stopped screaming, the cabinet doors slamming shut.
“See, he’s calmed down now.”
Eleanor was cradling her oatmeal in one hand, rolling her eyes at the dish of honey while she ate. “He’ll be mad about something else come tomorrow morning. If he breaks the coffeepot, I’ll paint the master bedroom a different color.”
The empty dish slid across the table as if sent by a violent hand. Fiona giggled.
“What would happen if we moved? Would he come with us?”
“We can’t move,” Zuzanna said dryly, dropping the breakfast dishes into the sink. When she reached for the honey dish it refused to budge. “Fine, I’ll leave it there. Unless you’d like to pick it up yourself?”
“If we move, the poor soul who comes here next will be out within a month. I only put up with this non- sense because I’m related to you!” This time, Eleanor’s shout of exasperation was directed to the photograph of her grandfather that hung on the refrigerator, sandwiched between one of Fiona’s baby pictures and a photo of Eleanor’s parents on a trip to the Philippines three years before. Her voice was not without affection; she pressed a hand to the picture fondly as she made her way out of the kitchen.
“Come on, Fiona, we’re going to be late.”
As Fiona grabbed her backpack and coat she glanced at her great-grandfather’s picture on the fridge. She could have sworn that the night before, it had been three inches higher on the fridge, sitting above a picture of her and her parents on her first day of kindergarten. When she looked harder, the face in the picture seemed to wink at her.
“Fiona!”
“Coming, Mommy!”
She tore her gaze away from the picture and ran out of the kitchen. “Can Aisha come over after school tomorrow? She likes the ghost; she thinks it’s funny when he makes the dishwasher flood the kitchen.”
“I’m glad someone does!” Zuzanna shouted, followed by a string of undecipherable mumbling in Hungarian. Eleanor laughed as she shrugged on her coat.
“Aisha can come over, but only if you come with me tonight to get more honey for Lolo.” Her voice dropped to a whisper as she glanced back over her shoulder at the kitchen. “We can also pick up a present for Mama’s birthday on Saturday. Sound like a plan?”

Fiona nodded. As they made their way down the hallway of the apartment complex, she heard the distinct clanging noise of the ghost upending the silverware drawer onto the floor, and Zuzanna cursing in Hungarian at the top of her lungs.