Specter

Greetings

Please read the authors note at the end of this chapter. Thank you.

•••
Death isn't something I truly expected or accepted. Death is my ruthless backstabbing friend and its boss was my killer that I'll never know. I'm stuck in this world without anyone knowing, I exist in the miserable in between. My only joy in death is haunting the living, and all the fears that haunt their thoughts.

I regret that I've lived my life as if I was going to live forever. Most people believe that death takes place when the heart stops beating; but this does not mean that the person has died, because the person subtle mind may still remain in their body.

I truly don't understand why people say that the ultimate goal in life is death. It's not for me because I didn't live my life, and on top of that I'm stuck in the in between, where everything is the same. Death is miserable, and you are not dead until you've reached that ultimate happiness.

I wake up from the comfort of my bed, hearing the loud rumbling downstairs. I quickly leave the room, making my way to the stairwell so see boxes being placed in random spots. This is the first time another person has ever moved in here since my last "roommate" was here. The thought of sharing my space and freedom makes me unsettled, but also just a little unlonely.

I look at the chubby mover, sweating heavily as he runs in and out of the house to grab and place boxes. Then I look over to the curly head fellow, pacing the room like a mad man.

"Please put those boxes somewhere else other than the middle of the floor." The boy says, sighing in frustration.

"I apologize, sir." The mover says, seeming very nervous.

"No, I apologize for being so snappy." He smiles and the mover smiles, leaving back out the door.

I stared at his face. When he smiled I saw his dimples, and his prominent jawline was nicley structured. His curly hair pinned to the back in a ridiculous bandana that was bigger than an average bandana. His jeans were extraordinarily tight for a boy. It made me wonder if he was gay or were tight jeans the new trend these days. One of his arms were covered in ink. From his looks you'll think he was a bad boy, but he's nicer than most.

I stand at the top of the stairs, unnoticed as they continued to fill my house with boxes. This is new. I know this house cost a lot of money because it's haunted, and it's toured occasionally. When my other roommate moved out this house was turned into a haunted house. Kids were breaking in, and Halloween was the worse. The movers kept bringing boxes into the house. How many boxes does he need? I know all of them can't be his, but no one has walked into the house expect him and the movers.

"Harry, babe." I hear a squeaky, irritating voice, booming through my ear. I snap my eyes towards the door.

His name sounds so familiar. Harry.

A blonde walks in, heels clicking loudly, making me want to use my telekinesis to throw something at her so she'll fall and I won't hear the clicking anymore. She comes to an abrupt stop when Harry appears before her.

"Yes, love?"

"Can you tell them stop handling my things so roughly?" She snaps. "Chanel isn't cheap."

Dilemma, dilemma; that's all I'm thinking about in my wicked head and I want to start some now.

I look towards the mover, carrying in her ratchet boxes. As the mover brings them in I use my telekinesis, making the boxes slip from his grip. The girl gasps and ran over to her box and pick it up.

"Are you insane!" She hollered, pushing the mover to the ground before walking to sit the box somewhere else.

The mover quickly scrambles from the ground and dust himself down. The man blinked confused about what just happened before speaking.

"Nice arms, lady." He yelled. "Bro, your wife is fucking nuts."

Harry rushed over to the man. "She's not my wife." He assured him. "I'm sorry about that, I'll pay you extra."

Why would boyfriend and girlfriend move together? I can understand fiancée or wife but I think boyfriend and girlfriend is too soon in the relationship to be moving together. I'm dead so I can't really say anything about their choices.

"I can go without pay I really didn't mean-" Harry's girlfriend cuts him off.

"That'll do just fine because you're a very stupid, moron." The lady yelled at the man, making him frown and Harry do the same.

"It's fine; please just bring the rest in. I think me and my girlfriend can just tidy up," He smiles at the man sweetly.

The man nods and quickly rushes out the door. I swear I can see the the tears breaming his eyes from here. I feel bad but then again I don't care at all because I'm dead and my killer didn't care neither.

"Blah blah blah." I mock Harry, rolling my eyes. He's so damn nice I hate it.

"Grow a pair!" I yell, but neither of them heard me.

Harry sighed, running his hand through his hair, knocking the bandanna off before saying, "Hannah, love, you can't just push people down and holler in their face. It frightens them."

I chuckled and watch as she scrunches her nose up. She shook her head and glared at Harry. This shall be good.

"Harry, can you grow a pair?" She retorts, earning a chuckle from me, "He dropped my fucking vintage Chanel; I have a right to shoot his brains out," She storms pass Harry, bumping into him harshly.

"I hate you, Chanel." Harry says, looking at the other boxes.

"I hate you both." I mumble. "But I'll come to love you guys once I'm finished destroying your life." I say, walking back to my room.

___

Thanks to the amazing author of "Touch"(Emma) I have come to the conclusion of making my own story. Her writing skills are absolutely phenomenal and I love her story so much. Thank you so much for helping me pick a plot for the story. I was going insane. I love you.