I Fell In Love With A Ghost

Part 1: It Begins.

**There's a ghost in my apartment and she likes me**

*CHAPTER ONE*

I’d already gone over the messages a  hundred times, and looking back I should have been wiser to what was  happening behind my back. My so-called best friend had been showing up  more frequently, and all the times he’d just happen to be wherever we  were. Jesse—and him—had been sleeping together behind my back for about  three months before I’d walked in on them in our apartment—the apartment  I’d been paying for. It didn’t hurt any less when they’d confessed  their love for each other. It was painful alright, more painful  considering I was thinking of proposing to her. The bitch.

Sorry  to set the scene so abruptly but this was pretty much the start of  everything to this point. I’d ended up moving out while Derek, my old  chum, was moving in. I’d ended up desperately looking for a one-bedroom  apartment in the city, away from the two of them. Money was never an  issue but I needed to find somewhere fast. The last place I’d been in  looked like I had to split the rent with the termites, and the one  before that was a modest one-bedroom which had only had one heroin  addict overdose in it. Eventually I’d been shown 14B Brookmere. I felt  blessed.

“It’s spacious.  One-bedroom on the second floor. And it overlooks a beautiful little  café outside. Renovations have been done recently—“

“How much?” I interrupted the realtor.

He  grinned that shark smile and I knew why. It was a steal. Half the price  of what I was paying at Jesse’s place and I was quite happy with it.  But I was no fool.

“Okay, so who died here?”

“Nobody died here—as far as I know,” he shrugged. “Honest injun.”

“Yeah, sure,” I said with a smile. “But it’s great. I’ll take it.”

It  really was. An open lounge, a huge bedroom. All the space I needed at  the time and the solid isolation of no upstairs neighbors and time to  get over the love of my life leaving me. It was great. I was happy to  say the least and over the first three months everything in this place  was pure heaven. Silence. Peace. My own lounge, and nobody cheating on  me. The hurt didn’t exactly abate quickly but I felt so much better  knowing I was here alone, or so I thought.

A  month after I’d moved in I’d begun to notice only small things at the  time. A missing knife or fork here, a misplaced drink over there. It  wasn’t so much a big thing. I honestly just considered I was purely  stupid and was doing these things myself. Anybody could misplace four or  five drinks, right? I was determined to stick by that until almost two  months into living here and that night which ended up forcing me to stay  awake.

I’d gotten into bed and  left my TV on. With the volume down low I’d lulled myself to sleep  quickly. But it was one of those sleeps where you close your eyes, think  you’re blinking, and six hours have passed. My TV had shut off, and my  room, although enshrouded in darkness was easily lit up by the  streetlight outside which cast an orange glow through the slats of my  blinds. The light cascaded onto the wall, past the small desk I’d put  in, over the dark looming figure in the corner, and behind my TV.

I squinted and poked my head up, put it back down, back up, and then adjusted my vision. *It was short and black.*  A shadow that loomed by my desk. A burglar? A rapist? I wasn’t going to  go down with a fight if a serial rapist was gunning for me. I jumped to  my feet and yelled out “Fuck you!” The figure was so fast, like  lightning. It sped past me and out the door into the lounge. “I’ll kill  you,” I screamed. “Comin’ in to *my* house.”

I  sprinted into the lounge and almost fell over. Nobody was here. I was  surrounded by darkness, my coffee table filled with drafts of my work,  and my huge couch and TV. But there was no shadow in here, and I’d have  heard them go through the door leading to the hallway. The air in here  was cold, colder than my refrigerator. A small wind blew and felt my  hair raise up. A few of my papers slid off the table and I grunted at  them.

“What the fuck?”

At  the time you don’t think of ghost, ghouls, and specters. You assume  that whatever is in your house is a real threat, or a horror steeped so  much in reality you believe you’re in the presence of something that’ll  kill you; burglars, murderers, and rapists. But nothing in my house had  been touched, and there was no trace of them coming through the front  door or anywhere else.

I sat up  all night looking around for clues. I’d grabbed a rolling pin from my  kitchen and searched the entire house like I was the gestapo. But there  wasn’t hide nor hair of whatever was in my bedroom. I didn’t sleep until  gone 6AM when daylight returned.

And  then there was nothing. For another couple of days there was silence,  no missing utensils, no missing drinks, plates, or random items. No  faint winds, or shadow-people. At the time I hadn’t pieced any of it  together but it took me a long time to sit down and write all of this  and in hindsight when you put it all on a page it all kind of makes  sense a lot more. But I’m digressing.

Almost  a week later after this whole shadow person thing—which I chalked up to  being half-asleep—I was getting those lonely blues. I didn’t mind being  alone but I’d decided that it being a Friday night I’d drink myself  silly since I’d finished a batch of my current client’s work and alcohol  was my prize for a long day’s work. I’d started on beer, moved up to  whiskey, and finished with vodka. I’m not a smart man even if I’d like  to think I am. And looking back, I’m going to assume I’m not a normal  one either.

It was gone 2AM when  I’d slipped well into drunk territory, and like all stupid drunk people,  I’d decided to call my ex, Jesse, and tell her I miss her.

“Jesse?” I asked when I heard the dial-tone click.

“No it’s Der—“ Click.

I  threw my phone away and sighed. Defeated and miserable I slid down my  couch and laid back. My world swirled, my throat felt like it’s been  paved over with cement, and my nose ached. I wanted to sleep, I wanted a  cigarette, and in the darkness I could make out a pair of white eyes  that stared down at me from high up, or was that because I was slipping  down into a dream? I wasn’t quite sure. But I remember those eyes, like  something out of a horror movie. Although I did not feel scared. I was  too drunk I suppose.

“Don’t take  advantage of me like this,” I said with a cackle and I saw the eyes  crease as if it was smiling. I let out a menacing cackle and that was  all I remembered until the hangover in the morning.

For a brief moment I could remember somebody stroking my hair. I was sure of it.