Zayn then begins to speak and asks, “Well, what else happened?”
“Well, for the rest of the week, it was kind of like that.” Harry explains, “Things weren’t in the right places, the telly would always be on different channels, my laptop was having trouble working, and all things weird in general.”
He seems to think for a minute, while I think of ways to stop this mess, he needs to stop telling his friends or else they’ll make him move out—and gosh, I sound really selfish.
I put my head in my hands as I think about it. Harry needs to do what’s best for him, even if that means moving out of the flat and him never meeting me and me never becoming human again—and, no, that can’t happen. I’m going to stick with being selfish.
When Harry again begins explaining things, I hold my breath and slowly walk out the door. Making sure Harry hasn’t turned around, I slowly walk to his dresser and look for the notes.
I can’t even remember the number of notes we’ve written back and forth, so I decide to just grab the ones I see and leave as quick as possible.
They aren’t on top of the dresser, so I peak behind my shoulder once before opening it just a crack. To my luck, they’re right there and I grab a handful and turn and stuff them under his duvet so that none of them will see floating notes.
I’m about to grab the other notes that weren’t in the bunch with the others but stop when I hear… nothing.
I run and sit behind Harry’s bed, peeking over only to see Niall staring at the dresser. My first thought is that he actually can see me, but then I realize he probably saw the notes floating around due to his expression.
Harry looks to him and asks, “What’s wrong Niall?”
Niall jumps at Harry’s voice but then blinks his eyes a few times and replies with, “Nothing, um, what were you saying?”
Harry looks at him quizzically, along with the others, but doesn’t say anything about it. “Well, anyway, probably the weirdest, yet most amazing part about this whole thing was that, um, this ghost thing has been, um, writing notes.”
All of the others attention is again on Harry, all of them having wide eyes and shocked expressions.
“Notes, like, handwritten and everything?” Louis asks, obviously surprised.
“Well, yeah, that’s usually what a note is.” Harry shrugs.
"Are you sure that the ghost has been writing notes?" Liam asks, bewildered.
Harry nods wildly, “I can prove it, the notes and everything!” He jumps up from the couch and runs to his dresser and doesn’t even acknowledge that it’s opened.
He grabs the notes that were at the bottom and puts them on top, then rummages through it carefully a little more, probably to find the other notes.
I kind of feel bad that I hid them from him, but I had to do it. What was I suppose to do? Watch him walk out of the flat?
He opens the next drawer, now looking a little more flustered. I start to get afraid that he’ll see me, so I scoot my body under the bed a bit more and try to watch as Louis comes over to him.
“Where are they?” Louis asks, beginning to help Harry rummage through his drawers.
Harry now looks frustrated, “I swear they’re in here, I swear it wrote them, I swear I’m not hallucinating!” He grabs his head and leans his elbows on the dresser.
All of the sorrow I felt for him a minute ago leaves my body when he calls me ‘It’. I’m not an object, I’m a person—or was a person—just like him and his friends. He knows enough to refer to me as any of the initials I had left for him, but not ‘It’.
