Ghosts Anonymous

He was alone. Or, at least, he felt like he was alone in the great, wide world, but, when you lived in an apartment that’d been haunted for the last hundred years, solitude of any nature was tricky to come by.

But what good was a resident ghost when they didn’t contribute to the rent nor solutions for just what the heck Robert was supposed to do about his unwanted solitude?

Because it wasn’t the peaceful kind of solitude. It was the “I’ve never felt more isolated from my peers and coworkers, and I suspect I’ll have to crawl my way back to connection but don’t know how” variety. The kind that had blindsided Robert because he’d never experienced anything like it before. High school, college, those things were a breeze of social connection, and he’d graduated with his degree figuring he was well set-up to tackle adult life head-on.

So, what was this? 

And why hadn’t his landlord warned him of the supernatural company he’d be keeping by signing a lease to this place?

Robert, having been up long before his alarm clock, flopped out of bed and trudged into the kitchen. The morning routine called for a cup of coffee, a bowl of Wheaties, a shower, and taking the scenic route on his walk to the office. Absolutely nothing earth-shattering, nothing countless other 9-5’ers weren’t also doing in countless homes across the city. You’d think the solidarity in knowing others were hard at the corporate grind would give him a boost, but he set the coffee to percolate feeling much the same as always.

Tired. Unmotivated. And trying to muster up what it took to hide his defeat from all the people in his life who thought he’d lucked out by landing a dream job and having his entire life ahead of him.

Geezo, he needed to figure out how to get out of this slump one way or another because he didn’t know just how long he could keep the farce up.

A spark of curiosity found him after he’d poured his cereal and cradled the bowl in his hands. There was one part of his routine he hadn’t yet done, and that was this: Stand in front of the fridge and do his best to decipher whatever magnetic poetry Resident Ghost had put together overnight.

When Robert’s little sister’s housewarming gift had been way too many tiny word magnets, he hadn’t thought much of it. She’d been gifting them to everyone; they were all the rage. By that mark, he’d have been offended to not get some of his own.

When he, a single man living alone, noticed the words being ordered and then re-ordered one night to the next, he definitely had thoughts about that. It said something about how low his spirits had sunk that he wasn’t even disturbed by learning that there was another presence somewhere in the premises; rather, he was happy about this disruption to the norm. The norm was slowly killing him, but maybe this phantom poetry could keep him afloat.

Today’s string of words was unoriginal, though not quite right. Resident Ghost had put a spin on popular lyrics. It had to be a mistake because this song was on the radio often enough—and Robert liked to leave his stereo on when he was home—that messing up these lyrics was a joke. Had to be.

do not go choosing waterfalls Please speak to the river and this lake you are

“You are?” Robert muttered to himself. Then, louder, he said, “You’re not even going to attempt to finish the lyric? I mean, I can see you were struggling, but you were almost there.”

A cold wisp of air skirted the back of his neck as he leaned closer to the magnets, searching for the correct words.

Ah, good. Resident Ghost had arrived. Sometimes it wasn’t that easy. Sometimes he had to sass at it for a good, long while before it made itself known, slamming cupboard doors or scattering mail piled up on the counter.

“It’s chasing waterfalls,” he said, as he scanned the magnetic words. “Don’t go chasing waterfalls. Do you even listen to the music when it comes on? Oh, sorry, maybe I’m being rude. I still haven’t figured out if English is your first language or not.”

Silence. Companionable, in a way.

“I think I know why the rest of the lyric is wrong, too. There isn’t a plural river magnet, is there? Or lake? Bummer about that.”

The chilliness brushed past his arm in the direction of the fridge, and he waited patiently, munching on Wheaties, to see what might happen.

Resident Ghost must have really been searching for their words with care. They were taking their sweet time. What might they have to say now?

A minute later, Robert read, go work.

He sighed. “I know there’s a to magnet. You literally used it before.”

That burst of cold whipped around and flew right at his face, splashing milk onto his bare chest. Well, that was another piece of evidence added to what he already knew pointing toward the fact that maybe this phantom roommate wasn’t a morning person. Er, ghostie. 

“All right, all right, I’ll get out of your hair. Just, while I’m gone, try not to overplay my favorite Eagles tape.”

With that, Robert finished his cereal, rinsed the bowl and left it in the sink, and went to get dressed. A clean button-up, a simple tie, nothing too fancy yet business professional enough to not get frowned at by his boss. Then it was off to work, and it really said something about where his priorities were at that, before he left, he spoke into the empty apartment to emphasize, “I really mean it. I don’t wanna come home and find out I have to go buy another copy of One of These Nights.”

He’d already had to replace a Meat Loaf tape, and that had come with a complaint from a neighbor. A note had been slipped under his door at some point during the work day, which had read, We get it. You would do anything for love, but you won’t do that. Enough already.

He’d gotten no clear answers from Resident Ghost indicating precisely how many times that tune had been looped, and, while he wanted to know, he wasn’t sure what he’d do with the insight, once he had it. So, all he’d really done was advise that, if they were going to play music, they really ought to keep the stereo at a considerate volume. 

There’d been no further complaints since then. But, as for not overplaying tapes…Well, that was a lesson yet to be learned, apparently.

Knowing whether or not he’d need to swing by Sam Goody in the near-future would only be information revealed to him after he’d endured too many hours stuck in his cubicle. There were numbers to crunch, a team meeting to attend, and depression to stave off. Fortunately, his lunch break was actually that—a break.

Too often, lately, he’d been lazy about packing something ahead of time, so he’d pop outside and head up the street to the Subway that was just around the corner. A handful of coworkers would, inevitably, have the same idea, and he’d stand in line with them while they waited to order their footlongs. A good deal, really.

Today, though, he lagged behind on their walk back because a sign on a telephone pole caught his eye. He fully stopped, waving the others on, to read the whole thing.

Experiencing supernatural abnormalities in your life? the poster wanted to know before it invited you to, Come talk about it Wednesdays at 6pm!

The location listed was the public library’s downtown branch, and, apparently, “light snacks” would be provided. It all sounded fine and good, but Robert was caught up on the wording of the initial question. If whomever made this poster was inquiring about supernatural abnormalities, did that imply there were normal supernatural experiences? How could he tell the difference?

Later that evening, he was back home standing in front of his fridge once more. He’d been pleased to return to a quiet apartment, no ruined tapes in the stereo. His appreciation had been communicated, but now he wanted to say something else.

He started alphabetizing the various words, figuring maybe that would help Resident Ghost locate the ones they needed faster, and began talking.

“Uh, I know you might be busy right now, roomie,” he spoke to seemingly no one, “but I saw something today that made me think of you. I guess, there’s people who meet every week at the library to talk about supernatural things? I’m thinking about going since, you know, cohabitating with a ghost fits the bill.”

As he fell silent, he registered the air to his left had grown colder a notch or two. Okay, very good.

“I think I’ll just go and listen, see what other people have to say. I never really thought anyone else was haunted like this.”

A few magnets were ordered in a blank spot on the freezer door: yes old city

“It sure is. So, how long have you lived here?”

This time, two of the words were taken away, and Resident Ghost simply left the word old where it was.

“Yes,” Robert said, “but what does that mean? Like, how long have you haunted this apartment?”

long day

“You are a ghost of many words.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets and thought about what to ask next. Then an obvious thing came to mind. “You really like music, huh? Have you always?”

yes beautiful

“I mean, I don’t know if I’d call Meat Loaf’s music beautiful, but I suppose it has its own charm.”

piano is good

“Hey, look at that. You used an article!”

Instead of whooshing a cold burst of air at him, Resident Ghost chose to use words: bad man

“If you want me to get a classical tape for you, I wouldn’t be name-calling now…”

Because, as soon as he’d read the word piano, he’d decided he’d be going to Sam Goody, after all. He didn’t think he had a single Beethoven or Mozart in his collection, but he’d be more than happy to include them for the ghost’s sake. He loved music, too. The more the merrier.

So, tomorrow would be the trip to the music store after work, and the day after that he’d be at the library.

Resident Ghost was pleased with those plans, at least regarding the new tape he brought home. The magnetic note they left on the fridge for him Wednesday morning after he’d let the sonatas play the night before was: very good beautiful

He was feeling happier, as he walked his scenic route to the office, than he could remember being in some time. It may have only been an invisible spirit he was befriending, but, at the very least, it’d helped him to not get caught in a spiral of thinking about how dissatisfied and alone with life he felt. Who knew ghost-related thoughts were such a great distraction?

An unexpected distraction presented itself at the library with the group of strangers gathered to discuss supernatural happenings in their everyday: a lovely young woman. No way was he lucky enough to live in the same city as someone this beautiful. It was a beauty he wasn’t even fully aware of until they went around introducing themselves, and she smiled. 

He was dazzled, hoped he wasn’t staring like some fool, and hardly remembered his own name when it was his turn to say hello to everyone.

Like him, she seemed content to simply listen to the anecdotes and stories others had to share, but he desperately wanted her to say something. Wanted to hear the sound of her voice, again. Just one, little sentence. It’d be as sweet as the sonatas Resident Ghost adored.

He didn’t get his wish, though, and went home knowing his sole reason for looking forward to going back next week was because he wanted to see her again. He hadn’t felt like this ever.

That was why, when he stood in front of the fridge, it wasn’t to communicate with the ghost. Rather, he, thinking of the way the layers of her hair had framed her face and of the cute denim vest she’d worn and the interested tilt of her head as she’d listened to someone’s crazy tale, searched for the words that might speak all he felt.

He gathered the obvious beautiful but also sunshine, heart, and wishing. Then he also found hair and nice. Another pair was eyes and bright.

The chill that accumulated beside him told him he was no longer daydreaming and attempting to wax poetic alone. Resident Ghost wanted in on what they surely thought was about to be a conversation.

A new word was pulled to get that conversation going: who

“Oh,” he said, “there was a girl tonight. At the library.”

The magnet wiggled around, as if to emphasize it.

“Well, I don’t know who she is.”

Now: what

“She was just someone who showed up for that group I was telling you about. You know, the people getting together to talk about supernatural things? I don’t even remember her name.”

Though, he realized he really should have. She’d introduced herself and everything. It’d been the only word she’d uttered, and he hadn’t held onto it.

failure man

He scoffed. “Geezo, go easy on me. I haven’t exactly been the most social creature lately. And I don’t wanna be a creep.”

make friend

“Yes.” Now he sighed. “I realize that’s the thing to do, if I want to get to know her. But do you even know—do you remember—what it’s like to put yourself out there? I gotta be cool. I gotta be chill. And I was…I was blindsided by her tonight, you know? I haven’t felt like I wanted to talk to anyone, really, lately. But something about her made me feel like it would be good. You know, to do that. To get to know someone.”

you are sad man

“What did I just say about going easy? I’m baring my soul to you here.”

you are sad good man

“Thank you. That’s, uh, better. Not great, but I feel a little more supported.”

Resident Ghost took it upon themselves to be the quiet voice of encouragement every day leading up to the next Wednesday gathering, the morning messages positive if perhaps odd, in their own way. 

you can do necessary was one line he woke up to, and so was you are very jazz person.

Again, Robert couldn’t know if English was a second language, or if death had created a disconnect between fluid and totally coherent communication. Either way, he caught the drift of what his strange, phantom roommate was trying to tell him.

Then, on Wednesday, he came home from work and was about to get ready to go out again when his eyes caught a new line left for him on the fridge: take piano music

“The tape?” he asked out loud. “The new one I got you?”

He only had to wait a few seconds before he got a response: yes

“But isn’t that your favorite of the ones I own?”

No direct response to that but a repeat of take piano music

“Okay…” he said, retrieving it from the stereo. It’d been all Resident Ghost had wanted to listen to since he’d bought it, but he wouldn’t anger them now by disregarding them.

One more line for him: take to lovely person

So, he slipped it into his pocket and headed out, thinking to the point of overthinking just how he might start a conversation with the woman at the library. How would he give her the music? Would she find it weird? Would he creep her out? Oh, he certainly hoped not.

No strategies or conclusions had been reached by the time he walked into the library’s meeting room and saw her at the snack table, considering her options. She couldn’t have been prettier, if she tried, and he walked right up to her before he lost his nerve.

“Hi,” he said.

She looked up at him, not at all taken aback by his sudden appearance next to her. “Hi.”

“I’m Robert.” He stuck out his hand to shake.

Taking it, she smiled and said, “Yeah, you were here last week. I’m Marilyn.”

“It’s nice to meet you.”

She nodded, still smiling.

He let her hand go so he could be free to extract the tape from his pocket and then that was the thing he extended her way. “So, this is…Well, the ghost I live with told me to give this to you.”

His nerves returned, even as she took it. What was that emotion in her expression now? How was she taking this random gesture? What was she thinking?

Then it was decidedly wondrous amusement that shone in her eyes as she, done looking at the tape she held, stared up at him while pulling something out of her own pocket. She lifted up what she grasped in each hand so they were both clearly seeing them.

Identical tapes, they were. Sonatas pleasing to the dead. Music connecting them right then and there.

She held out the one she’d brought, saying, “And my ghost thought you should have this, too.”

Robert accepted this exchange, turning over the tape in his hands. He wasn’t sure he understood what was going on, but a laugh bubbled up and out of him. And he couldn’t remember the last time he’d vocalized joy in that way. He laughed, she did, too, and it was some minutes before they could stop.

“Tell your ghost I say thank you,” he said.

“Only if you tell yours the same.”

They found seats—beside each other—then, as the meeting was getting started. While someone across their circle of chairs was kicking off the introductions, Robert glanced over at Marilyn. She met his eye, and they shared another smile. 

Wow, what a good time he was having, and the meeting had hardly begun.

He was crawling now back toward life, crawling out of isolation, and he didn’t have to be alone. His roommate was, somehow, making sure of that. So, maybe having a resident ghost was a good thing, after all.