My Ghostly Roommate

To save a buck, I rented a notoriously haunted apartment.

The first night, the faucet turned on by itself.

I yelled into the empty air, "You're paying the water bill!"

The water shut off instantly. I thought that was just the beginning…

I just never expected that the next day, I’d find a three-course meal waiting for me on the dining table.

01

The note was written in what looked like blood. Crimson, with a faint metallic tang in the air around it. The handwriting was sharp, elegant, radiating an air of non-negotiable, C-suite authority.

I, Chloe, a perpetually broke optimist just trying to outrun my rent and bills in the big city, just stared at that slip of paper for a solid thirty seconds.

My brain did a quick calculation.

Three dishes and a soup. A perfect balance of meat and vegetables, plated beautifully, wafting a soul-snatching aroma. A meal like this from any restaurant would set me back at least fifty bucks.

Going Dutch, that's twenty-five.

Worth it.

What is fear, anyway? To someone who’d been living on instant noodles for three days straight, “fear” was just an adjective that couldn’t fill my stomach.

I picked up my fork and speared a piece of glistening, braised short rib. I put it in my mouth.

Rich but not greasy, it melted on my tongue.

So good I nearly swallowed my own tongue.

As I devoured the meal like a starved wolf, I mumbled at the air between mouthfuls. “I mean, seriously, Mr. Ghost? You’re a little cheap, don’t you think? You’re already dead, what’s with all the penny-pinching? Lighten up a little, will you?”

The air was silent, filled only with the sound of my chewing.

After I finished, I let out a satisfied burp. Staring at the greasy plates, my inner sloth took over. As a little test, I piled them in the sink and left them there.

Consider it a little experiment to probe my new “roommate’s” boundaries.

The next morning, I was woken by the faint clinking of pots and pans.

I tiptoed to the kitchen doorway and peeked in. The dishes in the sink were sparkling clean, stacked in a perfectly neat pile, like a row of soldiers awaiting inspection.

Next to them was another note.

Not in blood this time, just a standard black pen. The handwriting was still impossibly elegant, but the message was ice-cold.

“Dishwashing Fee: $5 per service. To be settled at the end of the month.”

I burst out laughing.

Unbelievable. Truly.

I, Chloe, in my twenty-odd years of life, had never met a ghost with such a strict moral code.

My competitive spirit was officially ignited.

So, he wanted a battle of wills? Fine by me. Game on.

I deliberately left a full garbage bag by the front door, blocking half the entryway. Let’s see you take this out, I thought.

The next day, the garbage bag was gone.

A sticky note was on the door: “Errand Fee: $10.”

I came home late one night after working overtime, dragging my half-dead body through the door and fumbling for the light switch in the dark.

Click.

The living room lamp turned on by itself. It was a warm, gentle gl...