Chapter 22
Five
Mr. Venom was here today. He rarely visits the home, so it always stands out as a strange occurrence when his presence is known. Mostly, he spends his time in the basement.
I haven’t ventured into the depths on the mansion.
I think there may be something keeping me from entering.
I’m unsure. It just seems odd that I have roamed freely around the estate in my memory “possessed” state, and yet I have never stepped so much as a toe over the threshold of the basement door.
I’ve watched him come and go. Entering and exiting the door, sometimes hastily, as if there’s a problem he needs to solve quickly.
And usually, soon after his short visits, others arrive.
Either a new soul who will take permanent residence with the rest of us, or guests. Though…the guests never quite leave.
I know the others here won’t harm me. I truly do not think they can. However, little can be said of the humans who come into this house. Some of these spirits are starved. I suppose it’s much like myself.
There is a hole in their soul. An incessant need that cannot be satisfied. Questions that need answered. Wants that need fulfillment. For me, that’s hurt, grief, longing. For some of the others…it’s anger, revenge, desire.
It could possibly answer why we are ghosts in the first place. The popular belief that spirits are the souls of people who have a reason to stay behind. Call it unfinished business or an attachment or whatever. Maybe it’s these things that kept us here and not allowed us to move on.
As for why we are here? That I haven’t quite figured out.
Between my hopping of reality and memory and the different mutterings I have heard through the walls, I haven’t found an answer.
I just know the memories before Mr. Venom found me are jumbled or a void of darkness.
The fact that I cannot hear my heart beating, that I don’t eat, or drink, or really sleep tells me I am dead.
And…after the memory of her grave…I know she is too.
I was right. Early today a group of people began to pour onto the property, their laughter and conversations seeming to echo across the vacant grounds.
The energy seemed to shift, intensify as if the house itself knew they had arrived.
They trailed through the gates, their excitement for the stay palpable.
A stay that would probably be far longer than they had expectedif the way the weather seems to be changing is anything to go by.
For weeks, winter has slowly been descending upon the small Maine town, but from my post at my window, I watched as the dark ominous clouds followed closely behind the group’s vehicles, and seconds after they entered the front door, the first snowflakes began to fall.
Even though the town is close by, Mr. Venom’s home is very secluded.
The long drive isn’t maintained by the town, and soon, before the guests know it, they’ll be stuck here just like the rest of us.
One thing no one tells you about being a ghost is that it is so boring.
Especially here in my room. There’s no television, radio, stereo.
It’s no wonder I lose myself in my memories, and some of the others here have lost their minds.
Day after day, doing nothing but pacing the floors and staring at the walls or the ceiling.
At least when I drift into the past, I can do things.
The only reprieve I get from the monotony is when the guest that stays in my room—if a guest chooses my room that is—brings along something that I can occupy my time with.
It’s the very rare times since I’ve been here that I don’t slip into the memories constantly.
Even better if they decide to leave it playing after they have left the room.
Those are my favorites. I get to spend hours listening to new music or even some old music playing through a speaker.
Or watch movies or shows from the interesting new laptops people have today.
Hours after the new arrivals showed up, I still haven’t welcomed a guest into my room, and I have begun to lose hope I’ll get company for the next few days.
I can hear the soft chatter through the walls and still feel that heightened energy that coursed through me the moment the group crossed over the property line.
I wonder if the others can feel it too. An almost jittery sense that settles into every fiber of your being. Almost anxious. Anticipatory. Like even the walls are waiting for something big to happen but not knowing what.
Just when I thought I should give up my hope of having a temporary roomie, there’s a quiet knock at the door of my room, and it slowly creaks open.
I hold my breath waiting. It’s kind of pointless because I’ve also learned that, aside from Mr. Venom and the other ghosts here, no one can really see me.
I find that somewhat poetic considering before her, no one ever seen me then, either.
I was already a ghost living among the humans, until her friendship brought me to life.
God, I lived during those few years we had together. So much happiness, laughter, and lo—…no…no I can’t say it. There’s something inside me that won’t allow me to say that word about her. I’m not good enough. I didn’t do enough.
“Hello? Anyone already claiming this one?” A girl calls from behind the half open door.
Just me, I think to myself staring out the window at the darkening sky.
The sun has nearly disappeared, but just enough light peeks through the thick storm clouds illuminating the flurries passing by the glass.
I don’t watch her as she enters the room walking across the wooden floor squeaking beneath her weight.
I don’t really pay any attention to her at all.
But then she passes by me on the bed, and I catch a glimpse of dark brown hair, and I’m hit by that familiar world shattering smell of strawberries and vanilla.