Most people would’ve bolted out the door by now. A warm welcome wasn’t what he was used to. It didn’t soothe him. If anything, it made things worse. Something deep inside him whispered this was a bad omen. He’d been unlucky in life… but now, in death, too?

  “Leave… my home,” he whispered, trying his best to look menacing.

  “Oh, right. Yeah, I know, I know. This is your apartment and all that.” Alice waved her hand dismissively. “What’s your name?”

  And there it was. He knew this feeling all too well. He didn’t know what it was, where it came from, or why he still felt it even after death, but his gut twisted, his head started to ache in that strange way again, and the light… God, the lightwas unbearable! Could a ghost have a migraine? Yes. Apparently, he could.

  “Go away…” he whimpered, trying to fight the creeping dread that it was all downhill from here.

  “No worries. Honestly, I don’t care what your name is,” Alice said casually. “From now on, you’re Marcel. And let’s just say… you belong to me.”

  No. No, no, no. Everything was wrong. She was supposed to be scared. Her shield was supposed to crumble. Her confidence, smashed like an insect on a doormat. The intruder was supposed to run away, come back shaking just to grab her things, or maybe try to tough it out one more night, trembling under a blanket. Why did this have to happen to him?

  “Don’t worry, Marcel. It could’ve been worse.” Alice gave him a wide smile.

  “I’m not so sure…” the ghost sighed and tried to vanish into thin air.

  At least, that’s what she should have seen after his grand exit, but she was still staring straight at him. No, there was no way she actually saw him. People don’t just see ghosts like that. And yet… something felt off. Concerned by the odd turn of events, he walked over to the second armchair and slumped into it. She still followed him with her eyes. A shiver ran down his spectral spine.

  “Oh Marcel, I could’ve been an exorcist.”

  The ghost buried his face in his hands and let out a long, despairing wail. God must’ve really hated him, even in death, to send a lunatic like this into his apartment.

  “My name was Thomas. Stop calling me Marcel.”

  “Of course, Marcel.” Alice kept smiling. She was loving this role reversal. “You’ll stay with me in our cozy little apartment, and we’ll be one big happy family.Unless you misbehave. You won’t misbehave, will you?”

  “You’re crazy, aren’t you?”

  She sees ghosts. What is it, psychopath? Schizophrenic?

  “You don’t know?” Alice’s rarely-used facial muscles twitched. She relaxed them, much to Marcel’s relief, allowing her face to slip back into a more natural expression. “I’m not crazy. Or a junkie. Or anything weird.”

  “I don’t believe you...”

  “Don’t interrupt me, Marcel.”

  The ghost shot her a furious glare. Didn’t seem to bother her one bit.

  “My name isThomas. Thomas, for crying out loud!”

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “You’ve got anger issues, Marcel. Dead and still a hothead, huh?”

  “I don’t believe this. God, I really don’t. I was supposed to die, and that was supposed to be the end. Nothingness. Why is God doing this to me?”

  “God doesn’t give a damn about you, Marcel.” Alice stood up and carried her mug to the kitchen. After a moment, she added, “He doesn’t give a damn about any of us. Get used to it.”

  “That’s not what I wanted to hear.” The ghost fell silent for a moment, then asked, “Why can you see me? Are you a medium or something?”

  “Am I a medium?” Alice seemed to consider that, letting the stream of warm water run over her hands. After a few seconds, she rinsed the mug and said, “In a way, yes. You could call me that. Though I’m something more. Much more.”

  “Meaning?”

  Marcel got up and followed her into the kitchen.

  “I’m the last living witch. Or so I believe.”

  At that, Marcel made a face that could best be described as uncertain at best. Every coherent thought evaporated from his head, and he froze in place. Seeing him like that, Alice burst out laughing so hard that tears streamed from her eyes. The ghost snarled, furious,

  “Shame you’re not an exorcist. At least then you could’ve sent me to the afterlife.”

  “Oh Marcel, Marcel, Marcel… I can do that too.”

  He stared at her, unsure whether she was joking or being completely serious. To the afterlife? Her? Could she really? He didn’t trust her at all, but the thought of finally resting, of finally being done, was stronger, sweeter, than all his fears. He was so, so tired. Of this… non-life. Of the endless monotony. The first year had actually been kind of fun, in a weird way. But after that? Pure torment. Trapped in time, stuck forever. Watching others move on while he stayed frozen. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

  “Send me away,” he whispered. “Send me to hell if you have to. Just don’t make me stay here any longer.”

  “I’m sorry, Marcel,” Alice said sweetly, smiling. “You’re staying with me.”

  And in that one moment, the poor ghost realized there’s nothing crueler than a hope awakened after years, only to be stomped out without mercy.

  “Why?”

  “Because you might come in handy. There are still a few things I haven’t quite mastered yet. I need to experiment a little, figure out my limits… Boring stuff like that. Don’t worry, it’s nothing personal. Or difficult.”

  “Well, it is difficult for me, you know?”

  “Relax, Marcel…”

  “Thomas.”

  “…Marcel, it’s really rude to interrupt, for heaven’s sake. Now, where was I? Right. I just need you to keep an eye on things. Give me a heads-up if anything happens. Like, say I’m asleep and some uninvited guest sneaks in… A demon, maybe, or something like that. Just wake me up. That’s all. Not hard, right? Or if the landlady tries to rob me, scare her off. I’ll give you a bit of energy so you can materialize for a second if needed…”

  As Alice went on, completely casually, explaining what she expected of him, the ghost slid to his knees and started banging his head against the floor. This wasn’t even funny anymore.Even that smelly old pervert who used to jerk off to pictures of naked little girls was better than her. At least he hadn’t known Marcel was there. And when the mug mysteriously shattered, he reacted like a proper human and panicked. That was the normal response. Maybe this was a punishment. Maybe for the suicide. Maybe God was pissed that he’d destroyed His carefully crafted creation, his body. Or maybe… maybe he’d committed some mortal sin he didn’t remember. Maybe he’d killed someone as a toddler. Or maybe he had dissociative identity disorder and used to rape people as his alter ego. That had to be it. There was no other explanation. What could possibly be so evil that even in death, your soul wasn’t allowed to rest?

  “Are you even listening to me?” Alice asked, clearly annoyed. “I’m talking to you, Marcel. Focus, damn it.”

  “Kill me. Please. Destroy me or whatever. I can’t do this anymore.”

  “Don’t be so dramatic, Marcel. You’re a man… Well, you were, anyway. Once I’ve done what I need to do here, I’ll send you off and that’ll be that. A few months won’t kill you, will they? It’s not like I’m asking you to murder someone.”

  No. Don’t do this. Don’t get your hopes up again. She’s crazy. She’s totally insane.

  “You promise?” he asked, cursing himself for his own naivety. “A few months and then it’s over?”

  “Of course. Well, a year or two tops, no more.”

  The ghost let out a long, miserable groan and went back to banging his head against the floor.