Chapter 5
5
I t takes all of my willpower not to knock the syrup bottle over and onto Noah’s lap as I watch him eat the breakfast I made for his sister. I’d hoped he’d be gone by now, but no. He tucked into the food I spent an hour preparing, and much longer pilfering the ingredients from my neighbor’s grocery deliveries in preparation for Emma’s welcome.
What an asshole, not even waiting for her to join him before eating my hard work.
It’s pretty late, and I would’ve thought she’d want to be the one to talk to the movers, but I guess Emma likes to sleep in. She must be a heavy sleeper too, because Noah’s shouting didn’t wake her up. Maybe I’ll go bump into some things in her bedroom to wake her up. I don’t want her waffles to get too cold.
Heading toward the bedroom that used to be mine, I have to press myself against the wall in the hallway when a pair of movers emerge from inside, carrying a dresser. My dresser. One of the pieces of furniture they kept when they staged the house.
Huh, I thought that would fit Emma’s style.
I follow them, momentarily distracted as they haul it toward the front door. There’s a blue sticky note on the top, and with a quick survey of the living room, all the furniture that was mine has sticky notes on them as well. It’s like someone went through and hand selected everything that wasn’t bland and lifeless.
What the hell?
I furiously rip off the sticky note from my favorite chair and slap it on the beige couch instead. Did Emma ask her brother to mark the furniture for her?
Man, fuck that guy. On top of everything, it looks like he has terrible taste. No wonder he never texted after our date. He wouldn’t know a good thing if it bit him in the ass.
Fueled by spite and the conviction that Emma would want to get a say in her furniture, I race around the house, swapping sticky notes from my furniture to the ugly staging pieces.
When I’m finished, I head back to the master bedroom, where I find no sign of Emma. The bed is pristinely made and there aren’t any bags or evidence that things have been touched, other than the missing dresser.
Did she sleep somewhere else last night?
A sinking dread builds in my incorporeal stomach. Why wouldn’t she sleep in her new house? Why would she leave when her brother stayed?
I check around the house for any signs of Emma, but there’s nothing. Her car isn’t outside. She’s gone. She’s gone and her brother is here.
The dread amplifies as I come to the most logical conclusion.
No. No way.
I clench my fists as I return to the kitchen and glare daggers at the back of Noah’s head. There are other perfectly good explanations. Maybe Emma needed to go do some stuff at her old place, and he decided to stay so that he could let the movers in.
Yeah! That’s totally what it is.
God, for a moment there, I thought that he… Nope, not even going to acknowledge that silly thought again. Everything’s fine. I’ve fixed the furniture notes and will make Emma breakfast again when she’s fully moved in. I’m still a little peeved that he’s enjoying the fruits of my labor, but he’ll be gone soon enough.
Not wanting to end up in the movers’ way or continue to watch Noah eat breakfast, I head to the only safe haven I can think of. The guest room closet insulates me from the rest of the house, and while it’s not the most comfortable, there’s enough room for me to lie down. Plus, my meager stash of belongings are all hidden in here.
I remove the false panel from the closet wall and pull out my phone.
One of the most exciting parts of having someone move in is that I don’t have to use my neighbor’s spotty wi-fi anymore. You never realize how much you rely on a good internet connection until your videos won’t stop buffering and it takes forever for pages to load. Or when you’re desperately trying to search for information on ghosts.
I gave up on my quest for trying to find any credible information on the internet when I met Vincent, since he was real and not some random, potentially deranged person making shit up about spirits. Now I don’t even know if the things he told me were true, since he lied about so much.
The more I think about our first encounter, where I was out in the yard, trying to catch a faint glimmer of myself under a full moon and Vincent happened to be walking by on a midnight stroll, the less it feels like happenstance at all. That fucker probably saw that someone had died recently and was staking out my place for the opportunity to swoop in and steal all my assets.
Wish I could stake him out.
Enough. He’s gone and what’s done is done. Emma will be back soon. Her moving in is a good thing. Things are going to get better. They have to. Otherwise, what is the damn point of me being here?
While I wait, and with the power of a strong wi-fi signal, I reattempt my internet searching. Not sure where else to turn, since basic searches only surface ghost hunting shows and folktales, I head to Reddit.
Yes, I’m really looking for advice on how to be a ghost on goddamn Reddit. What else am I supposed to do?
After an hour, I haven’t found anything that seems real. Lots of dramatic stories and arguing, but nothing that rings true. Like with any good internet deep-dive, I get distracted. Because along with accounts of “real” hauntings and murderous ghost lore, there are a ton of posts with people discussing the other kind of ghosting.
Anger builds inside me as I read post after post.
How do I know if I’m being ghosted?
If you think you are, you’re probably right. If someone likes you, they’ll message you back.
What’s the best way to ghost a girl if she’s ugly?
Grow a fucking pair and tell her you aren’t interested!
AITA for ghosting my fiancée after I realized we weren’t meant to be together?
Yes, what the fuck is wrong with you?!
That last one has me ready to rage throw my phone against the wall, but I hold myself back. I don’t want to break one of the few things tethering me to the rest of the world.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and screw my eyes shut, attempting to take a calming breath, but I’m still pissed. How could I not be? The living embodiment of how shitty people can be is here in my house. As if Vincent wasn’t bad enough, now I have the man who tore my paper-thin self-confidence to shreds. The man who made me give up on trying to find love.
If karma is real, then what the hell did I do to make my life filled with awful men?
With a sigh, I close the browser. Enough of that. It’s only making things worse.
I go to open up my ebook app, but my eyes snag on the dating app next to it. I’d reinstalled it a week before I died, but didn’t get any further than a few swipes before I got overwhelmed. And then… I died.
I shouldn’t open it, but my finger is tapping the icon like a planchette being tugged into place by an unseen force. A welcome back message greets me, along with an influx of ancient messages from people I matched with but never felt up to messaging.
My phone vibrates and another notification pops up.
Match near you!
I thought I turned off the location info on this stupid app. My cursed finger once again taps to expand the message instead of closing the app. As a grim reward for my curiosity, I’m slapped in the face with a message history I never wanted to see again. And curse my masochistic bitch of a brain, because I read what’s on the screen.
Noah: Will I sound too eager if I tell you how excited I am to see you tomorrow? Because, I am. Really excited.
Dot: You really need to set your expectations a little lower haha. What if I turn out to be a lizard person? Or an eldritch abomination?
Noah: Eh, I had a pet iguana and I’ve seen some interesting things with tentacles, so you’re not making me less excited.
Dot: Haha fine. But I usually save the tentacles for the third date, so don’t get your hopes up.
Noah: Not me already mentally planning our third date.
Noah: Like I said, I’m excited. I have a really good feeling about you. Though that could just be your powers of mind-control…
Dot: Yep. It’s too late for you now. I’ve already taken over.
Noah: Hot.
Dot: lol you’re ridiculous
Noah: You like it.
Dot: I do. I have a good feeling about you, too.
God dammit. A hot, angry tear rolls down my cheek, and this time I do throw my phone. It clatters feebly against the closet wall, but I don’t bother to check for damage. I cover my face with both hands and let out a muffled scream.
The universe sure has a cruel sense of humor. Why else would I be reminded of my connection with Noah as he’s literally inside my house?
Yes, I opened the app. Yes, I should’ve deleted the conversation. But still! Fuck, way to kick a girl while she’s down.
I only have a moment to wallow before heavy footsteps sound, coming down the hallway. Shit, I must’ve made too much noise throwing the phone. I scramble to pick it back up and shove it behind a box a second before the closet door swings open.
Noah’s heavy brow furrows as he flicks on the light and scans the empty closet for the source of the commotion. I hold myself still, my racing pulse hammering in my ears despite not having any blood or a beating heart. The terrible instinct to go over and slap the confused frown off of his wars with the much worse one of grabbing him and kissing it away.
All of my senses are lit up and they flare even brighter as he steps inside. I scoot myself as far under the clothes bar as I can, cursing my giant ass and wide hips that still stick out into the center. If he takes a few steps closer, he’ll collide with me. It was satisfying tripping him yesterday, but he could fall and split his head open against one of the shelves in this tight space. I may hate him, but I don’t want him to get hurt. Or die. That’d be just my fucking luck for him to croak and end up haunting this place with me.
He steps in further, his scowl deepening.
Another step. He’s about to connect with me. I can’t get out of his way. Shit!
I brace myself for the collision, my eyes screwing shut like that can save me from the catastrophe about to happen. But nothing comes other than a small shiver of awareness.
I hesitantly open my eyes to see his foot pass through me as he turns and heads back out the door, muttering about losing his mind.
Whoa. I didn’t know I could do that!
I spring up from my hiding spot and trail behind him. A reckless part of me needs to test it again, to see if I can make myself incorporeal a second time, or if it was a fluke. Boldness leads me forward, until I’m a few inches away from him, but when he pauses to pull his phone out of his pocket, I falter.
Something in my brain is still very human and doesn’t believe that I won’t slam into him. As I hold myself on the precipice of trying to push through and go for it, I watch as the hairs raise on the back of his neck.
He stiffens.
In fascination, I bring my face closer to him and purposely exhale against him, watching as more goosebumps raise on his skin.
He can certainly feel me now. His head whips over his shoulder, looking futiley for what caused the sensation. I almost don’t step back as he turns completely to look in my direction. A sick part of me wants him to feel me here.
I want to terrify him.
I want to get him to leave.
I want to know if touching him will light me up even more than the sight of him.
What the hell is wrong with me?I pull away like I’ve been burned and dart back to my closet. I shut my eyes and try to will my pathetic attraction to the man who didn’t want me when I was alive away.
Just a few more hours, and he’ll be gone.
Just a few more hours…