Spookmates

A ghost lives under my bed.

He was there when I moved in. The last person to live here, he says, never paid the rent on time. We play video games. At night, before I fall asleep, we chat about our days. I talk about the words I put on a screen. He tells me about the spiders he finds beneath the floorboards. I wonder if any make it into my bed.

The ghost likes to sleep through the day, and I hear him during the night, sometimes. He likes to slam doors when I’m not paying attention, and I always have to look down when I stand up, in case my shoelaces are tied together.

Our pranks usually don’t go too far. He once swallowed my goldfish, bowl and all. I had to watch it float around the room, suspended in his torso for two whole days. He didn’t like my tossing fish food through his mist-like body. The day after, I burned one of my red socks and tossed its ghost into his laundry basket. He only wore whites. Now, he only wears pinks.

Today, he brought home a dog. I told him not to, but I had a feeling this might happen. For the last month, I’ve seen him surfing dog-adoption sites on my computer when he thinks I’m asleep. No willpower in life or after is strong enough to resist those adorable faces. At least he compromised; I promised I wouldn’t feed a dog if he got one, so he got a ghost dog. It still needs to be walked.

The dog kept me up all night. The ghost was trying to teach it to play alive. I found out that undead dogs like bones as much as living dogs do.

Finally, the weekend! There’s a party tonight. Marsha will be there. Marsha likes dogs, so I’m taking the dog with me.

The dog peed on Marsha. I told her it was fine. It didn’t leave a trace on her physical body, but she’s going to confession tomorrow to get the smell of urine off of her soul.

The ghost and I got drinks last night. After a couple rounds, I convinced him to turn into a poltergeist. He made all of the books on our shelf fly through the air, and then he juggled them between chairs above our table (which was also floating). We had more drinks. I don’t remember what happened next. We need a new TV.

We both slept in.

Today, I worked all day and came home after he had already gone out with the dog. I found half a pizza waiting for me with a sticky note that said “good night.” I wonder what happens to the pizza he eats. Then, I try not to think about it.

The kitchen is a mess this morning. The ghost always forgets to clean his dishes, because he rarely eats anything off them. Sometimes he collects them under my bed until I clean them out for him.

I think the ghost is angry at me. He found out about the party tonight, and wants to know why he wasn’t invited. I’m bringing him with me now, but he doesn’t want to talk to me right now.

The party didn’t end well. The ghost is great at party tricks, once he gets going, but he’s very shy. He scares a lot of people when he first meets them. Between dances, he spent most of his time haunting a small chandelier. I could tell, because all the lights started flickering whenever he did. I was worried he might drop the chandelier on someone. In the end, he caused a power outage, and we had to leave the party early.

As we walk home, the ghost and I talk about death. He tells me he doesn’t remember his. I think he looks around twenty, but don’t know how long ago he died. He tells me he likes being a ghost. There are no responsibilities, and he doesn’t have to deal with the annoying parts of being alive. He misses feeling, though.

I ask him if there is something after being a ghost.

He tells me that he didn’t know.

I asked him if he’d met God.

He didn’t know that either.

I haven’t seen the ghost in a couple days. I wonder if he’s possessing the air some of my shoes while I’m around. He left me a note, reminding me to get groceries.

I think I’m glad to know that there’s something after death. But the ghost says that not everybody turns into a ghost, or there’d be a lot more of them. My grandma died when I was a kid. Maybe she’s still in her old house somewhere. Where would I like to live as a ghost? Probably a movie theater. I’d settle for a playhouse, too.

The dog ate my shoes. My good ones. I have a date tonight, but all I have left to wear are my tennis shoes.

The ghost stole my sheets again. I wouldn’t mind so much if he didn’t do it while I was sleeping.

We had a good talk over my breakfast this morning. His dinner.

The dog ran away, and we don’t know where to find it. We’re making posters, and I keep telling the ghost that it’ll be alright, but he’s shivering. I can’t get him to rest until the dog is safe.

I found out that the ghost had a dog when he was alive. It was a puppy when he first got it. He smiled for the first time since our dog ran away.

I’m so tired. I cannot sleep. The lights are all strobing. The ghost is screaming with the voice of a ten-year-old girl and a thirteen-year-old boy at the same time. I need to go somewhere else.

I slept on a friend’s couch last night. When I came home, my bed was gone. When I opened the fridge, I found my pillow inside, torn to shreds. I wish the ghost would grow up.

I went for a walk today. The leaves are changing colors now, and they crunched under my tennis shoes. I thought of the past year living with the ghost. It made me smile. Our days are misaligned, and we fight, but he’s the best friend I have in this city. I felt sad for some reason. I wished our dog was there to comfort me.

For his birthday, I gave the ghost a new ouija board. He’s been practicing recently, and I think he has a real talent for it. I’ve started bringing people over for his performances. He’s really good at dead aunts, but his long-lost fathers could use work. I brought David yesterday, and he got fully possessed by his great-great-grandmother. We had a blast.

I found a listing for a job in a new city. The company wants to interview me next week.

The ghost doesn’t have much to do these days. I come home, and I can guess where he’ll be based on the time. At 5:30, he’ll be on the ceiling, trying to wake himself up. By 6:00 he’s usually sitting at the table, making faces at the window spider. If I eat dinner out with friends, I won’t get back until 8, and he’s in his favorite spot on the couch, watching Seinfeld.

Will the ghost keep using my account to watch TV, even if I leave? It seems rude to ask him to stop, or to change the password.

The second interview went well. I usually don’t think about my future, and now I have a choice to make. Mostly, I reflect on what’s passed: my childhood (what I can remember of it), my teenage years. Old notebooks stacked on bookshelves are my windows into that world. The ghost’s life is past, but he persists, and will persist until… I don’t know how long.

The ghost wants to go out tonight. It’s Halloween, but I don’t have a costume. That’s okay, the ghost tells me; I can be his victim. He’s been haunting me for well over a year now, so I can just be myself.

I told the ghost today that I accepted the job. He smiled. I told him that he’d need to look for a new roommate. He told me that he’d like to move out too. I think he just wanted to make me feel better. Maybe it’ll be good for him, though.

I found a new place to live, and my lease starts three months from now. Plenty of time to spend with all the friends I’ve made here.

I only have two months left, and I need to make the most of it. The ghost hasn’t been looking, and I wonder if he’s really serious about moving.

There’s still a month left, but my brother drove all the way out to help me move. It was his first time meeting the ghost. They got along really well. My brother bought the three of us shots. The ghost helped us move the couch out of the apartment. It was large and bulky, but the ghost levitated it out onto the balcony and lowered it to the street for us. My brother and I drove all of the next day and spent the night at my brother’s house. It isn’t haunted, and the quiet night seemed eerie to me.

It’s my last week living with the ghost. Everything is packed, and we’re taking the last load to my new apartment on Thursday.

The ghost has arranged to move out. I was shocked when he told me. A priest is coming tomorrow to perform an exorcism on the apartment. Once that’s done, the ghost will find somewhere new to live. I asked him where he wanted to go, and he told me that the mountains sound nice. He never got to see them when he was alive. I thought it was wild. He spent all those years so close to something amazing, but he never went. I asked if he’d ever want to live in a ghost town. He said no; too crowded for him.

The priest was a wash. We could both tell that he wasn’t putting his heart into it. It’s so hard to perform a satisfying exorcism when half of the parties are just going through the motions.

The ghost scheduled another exorcism. Hopefully it will go better than the first one. But it’ll be after I leave, so I won’t get to see what a really good one looks like.

We’re out one last time tonight. The club is packed, and the ghost is able to dance freely, phasing in and out of the other patrons. I have to shove my way from the dance floor to the outdoor bar every couple songs to cool down. It’s snowing.

A pair of footsteps stumble over to me, and the ghost appears with a half-hearted “Boo!” He’s too drunk to make it convincing, but I’m too drunk not to play into it. We have one last drink and the bar closes. It’s later than I thought.

We walk home, and I have a hard time distinguishing the steam of my breath and the specter of the ghost. The street lamps flicker as we walk past each one. The moon is high in the sky, and though I’m rushing to get out of the cold, each step feels farther than the last.

I feel tears in my eyes, though I’ve had a great night. The ghost tells me that he’ll miss me. I tell him that I’ll miss him too.

Yesterday, I moved out.

I overslept, but my brother was there to drive me back. He strapped my mattress to the top of his car while I nursed a hangover. Before I knew it, I was laying the key on the counter-top, and there was nothing left to do.

I gave the ghost a hug, and he hugged me back. It felt cold and insubstantial. I smile every time I remember it.

We said goodbye, and then I was driving away.

I went back to that apartment recently, but the ghost wasn’t there. It’s been a few years, but I haven’t kept in touch, so I wasn’t sure whether he’d left or not. I guess he finally did move away. He didn’t have a phone or a computer -- he used mine for anything he needed.

I hope to see him again, before I die. I’m not sure if I’ll see him after.