This entire situation is worse than eviction and theft; at least those were fun. I have been dead for centuries, and the afterlife has bored me to death further—literally. Today, my never-ending suffering got a recent addition: A warm one moved into my apartment.
Dead or not, I cannot escape rent and my financial debts, which have become a grave issue. Fate herself decided to enroll me in an “adopt-a-human” program for bankrupt ghosts like myself. She claims if this doesn’t work, and I can’t fix my money problems, then I’ll be Hades’s chew toy, or worse…his footrest!
This “warm one,” as I like to call them, apparently will help me with rent without even realizing. Housing with humans involved allows a 50% discount on payments because they are a huge liability to the supernatural, especially the self-proclaimed witches! They’ve been so close to exposing our secrets.
Truth be told, humans are confusing, but they aren’t a threat. They stare into their weird, gleaming mini boxes and slowly break their necks most of the time. I just hate sharing my space with them. I have to be mindful that I can’t leave the bedroom or bathroom doors open, otherwise they freak out and call the priest down the street.
Fortunately, my pranking years are long over; it is my fault, after all, that humans have believed in this “Bigfoot” character for all these centuries.
This mouth breather is alone, thankfully, and she seems quiet. I do not plan to make my presence known. This whole setup will be easier if I keep my head down and hide away until the human leaves.
I refuse to get attached, like the rest of the ghosts on this floor. I rotted alone; therefore, I roam alone in my end. In the human world, trust and love only put me in the dirt, so why would I try again? Pain still exists in the afterlife, only we feel it for eternity now instead of our mere lifetime.
The girl has many coffee mugs and books stacked against my—now our—wall. Any other ghost would pick them up and drop her mugs or even flip her books to a random page, but there’s nothing fun in scare or fear anymore.
The arrangement is simple: To be a literal ghost in this apartment. Trouble is something I cannot afford; though in this world’s inflation, I cannot afford anything anyway. I can see her items that she moved in with, but she cannot see my belongings, not that I had much to begin with. My bed and guitar are all I truly need to be comfortable, but this human does not believe in minimalism. She has made the apartment look like a home, and I applaud her for it. The living room has a couch, a TV, bookshelves, a coffee table, and large framed art pieces I do not recognize. The room doesn’t reek of high energy like the neighbors did, which I thank Zeus for.
Most nights, the girl rests on the couch with a book and dims the lights, and I relax further. Maybe this arrangement isn’t so bad after all.
Elyssa Latham (she/her) is a woman of words, and reader. Elyssa’s works express strong emotions that people go through and get the reader to feel those emotions alongside her. She wants readers to take away that it is okay to allow yourself to feel and that you can craft art out of pain.
Featured image by Nick Hillier on Unsplash.
