I've been renting this house for a couple of months now, and it's been mostly pleasant. I'm not done fixing the place up and there's some hygiene issues to deal with, but other than that I'm starting to really settle in. Just yesterday I got the direction I needed to turn the keys in without getting it wrong first. It's a nice place, but there's just this one little issue I feel I need to point out.
He's in the living room. He's not very scary, though. Most he'll try is a disaffected 'ooooh', while flipping through pages on long-dead social media apps on his ancient smart phone. You'd think you'd get bored of it, but maybe the ghosts are still posting? I honestly have no idea.
I've tried to talk to him, figure out why he's here. Most of these conversations don't really go anywhere. He'll just look bored and not respond.
But last night was different. I'll tell you what happened.
"Guy. Guy! Why are you here? You gotta answer me one of these days."
"FINE. What?", he put the phone in his pocket. I noticed he was wearing skinny jeans and a hoodie.
"Why are you here."
"I don't know, alright?"
"Any unfinished business, maybe?"
"I. Don't. Know."
"Okay, can you tell me anything about what happened to you?"
"Because maybe I can help you, like, cross over or something?"
"Why would I? I'm fine where I am."
I looked at him incredulously. He was a young guy, maybe in his late 20s, and was wearing those black rim glasses. I couldn't see whether there were actual lenses in them, but I didn't think so.
"Did you live here?"
"Yeah, with my parents."
"And how old are you?"
"29. Look, times are tough. It's normal to live with your parents at my age."
"I'm sure times were tough. Look. I know this is going to be difficult for you to accept, but... You're dead. Sorry."
I don't think I could've looked more surprised if I had prepared for it.
"Duh. That's why my parents moved away. Can you stop talking now? I have some things to read."
He took his phone out of his pocket and started swiping again.
And that's the last time I tried to help him. We eventually struck a deal that he'd move to the spare bedroom and stay in there. That made everything much easier for me.
A couple of times people have been over who had to stay the night, and they always wondered why they had to sleep on the couch instead of in the spare bedroom. I explained it to them, told them why I called it the Ghost Room, but they never believed me. If they insisted, I would let them go in there and lie down.
Most of them believed me then.