These are the small, mean spirits who leave mysterious messages on devices, translating speech into no known language; groff nable malp en dink? This is no technical glitch, but a pathetic attempt at haunting. Secondary ghosts are a fading of something already faded. A memory of a scream become a half-heard whisper— a forgotten song with bad lyrics. They cast no shadow, or possibility of shadow. These are not lions of other realms, bursting onto the mind’s savannah. They aspire to the condition of invisible hamsters, and strain to leave bad smells in kitchens. The mischief of rats is beyond them, and their passing ruffles no hair. They dwell just to the east of nothing, a quiet transparent punctuation half felt in life’s written world. In a rare moment of visibility, they may manage to leave a mark. Tiny passing of a secondary ghost dwells, perhaps, at a sentence’s end.