The Quiet House

Nobody stays here long. That's my fault, really. I'm the one that makes them leave.

I shouldn't be here either, but to be fair, it was my home first. It's still my home, even though I don't really "live" here anymore. I'm not ready to leave it, and I don't know when I will be. I know that I have to go eventually but...not anytime soon.

It's been fifteen years since my family moved out. Fifteen years since the day that car plowed right into me.

Fifteen years since I died.

Didn't even get to finish high school. Still had another year to go before I was done, but life had other plans, and apparently those plans didn't involve me. God just looked down and went "Oh, that kid? That one right there? Let's have a car slam into him. Just blitz him when he's crossing the street because reasons." And that was that, the end of me. The only thing I can say is that it didn't hurt for long. Maybe a few seconds before my head hit the pavement, and then there was nothing. No pain, no fear, no anything for that matter. Just darkness.

I didn't even realize what had happened at first, since I just woke up back in the middle of the crosswalk later. A lot later. It'd been morning when I got hit, and when I opened my eyes again it was dark out. People --and cars-- going about their business like nothing had happened, and there wasn't a random kid left laying in the street all day. Afraid of being run over I scrambled out of the street. I'm sure I looked stupid doing it, but right then I didn't care. All I cared about was going home. Not to the hospital or anything, just home. Home was safe. Home was where I needed to be.

It's also where I realized things were very, very wrong. Normally Mom and Dad would be in the living room watching TV if it wasn't dinnertime, and if Lizzie wasn't doing her homework she'd be sitting there staring at her phone. None of that was happening. I didn't see my sister anywhere, and Mom was crying her eyes out. Dad was on the phone with someone, looking like he was just barely holding it together himself.

The first thing I thought was that something happened to my sister. Mom's crying, Dad's on the phone sounding like he's delivering bad news to someone, and Lizzie's nowhere in sight. Of course that was the first place my mind went.

"Dad, what happened?"

He didn't answer. All he did was keep talking as if I wasn't there. I tried to get his attention a couple more times, going as far as standing in front of him and waving my arms like an obnoxious little kid. Even that got me nothing, which was way beyond weird. If that didn't get me at least a death glare, I didn't know what would. It was like I'd somehow turned invisible.

He sighed and shook his head, listening to whatever the person on the other end of the phone had to say before answering.

"...Nothing they could do. He was gone before the ambulance came."

"Wait, what? Gone? Dad, who died?"

It couldn't have been my sister, since Dad said 'he'. That automatically took Lizzie out of the running and put my worst fear to bed. She was safe, probably just holed up in her room. That didn't change the fact that somebody important had died, and I went over everyone male it could be. Grandpa, Uncle James or Uncle Tyler, maybe Mom's cousin Eric. Couldn't really think of anyone else that would have them so upset offhand.

Until I thought about what had happened that morning, that was. How I'd gotten hit by a car and had somehow walked away unscathed. I knew I'd been hit hard; I felt something crunch when the car slammed into me, and then my head had smacked into the pavement. There was no way I should have been able to just walk home after that. Why wasn't I in the hospital, covered in gauze with a bunch of tubes and lines shoved into me? That's when reality slapped me in the face and went "Hey genius, that's because they're talking about you. You're dead."

After that, everything made sense. Of course none of the cars were stopping, and no one was yelling at me to get out of the road. There was no me to drag out of the road. When I got home I never even opened the door. Normally I would have dumped my keys in the bowl on the endtable, but they weren't there. Lizzie's were, but mine weren't. I just walked through the door, literally through it, without thinking. As for why no one was responding to me, that was because they couldn't see or hear me.

Because I was a ghost. Because I died when that car hit me.

Sixteen years isn't a good run unless you're a dog. I felt cheated. Here I was, completely invisible to everyone while life went on without me. It was kind of like I was on the other side of a window looking in at them, or watching everything on a screen. My family mourned me, but still. I'd rather be alive and there than be dead and not-quite-gone, if that makes any sense. What I'm trying to say is that I wasn't supposed to be dead yet. Only sixteen, remember? My death was supposed to be a hell of a lot further in the future than this.

The first few months of my unlife were rough. I got real pissy, real fast, and a lot of things got broken. Dishes? They went flying. Lights? The bulbs would blow out, and in a couple cases I actually made them burst. Random things would be knocked off the shelves or overturned. It made me feel better in the moment. No one could see or hear me, but I could make my presence known in some way. I had control over something. It wasn't much, but I took what I could get.

Sometimes I just sat in my room and cried. I mean, why shouldn't I? If being dead isn't a good enough reason to, then absolutely nothing else is.

My parents did some impressive mental gymnastics to explain what was going on. I mean, I can get blaming everything I did to the lights on bad wiring, but when waking up to a kitchen full of smashed plates and flung silverware Mom said she must not have put them away right. Like they just fell out of the cabinets and jumped out of the drawers or something. Or when I knocked everything I possibly could off the shelves in the living room, Dad blamed the cat. Okay yeah, Soot was always a bit mischievous and sometimes she did knock things over, but really now?

Sometimes I wonder if they knew what was really happening deep down, and just didn't want to believe it. I mean, 'the angry ghost of our teenage son is haunting our house' sounds crazy. Most people aren't going to want to say that out loud.

Eight months later, they moved away. I knew it was coming since Mom talked about it all the time. Said she couldn't stand living here anymore, looking at my empty room and knowing it was always going to be that way now. The sudden upswing in problems around the house caused by my poltergeisty shenanigans were the final nail in the coffin, and were what really convinced Dad it was time to go. I still miss them. I think about them a lot while I'm here, just drifting around an empty house, trying to fill the empty hours. Lizzie's gotta be what...twenty-seven now? She'd have to be, since I would have been thirty-one and she's four years younger than me. Wonder what she's doing with herself. Did she go to college? What kind of job does she have now? If she's in a relationship with anyone they'd better not be a shithead. I'll haunt them instead. I will.

Mom and Dad are probably still, well, Mom and Dad, and I'm sure Soot might even still be around. She was only two when I died, and cats can live a long time.

I miss that cat. Even though she did things like chew wires and howl in the middle of the night she was still cute in her own way. Her own stupid way.

Anyway, the house was sold, my family moved out, and new people moved in. It didn't take me long to decide that I didn't want them around. This was my home, not theirs, and it was never going to be theirs if I had anything to say about it. Seeing them in my house enraged me, and I made their lives as miserable as I possibly could until they left too. If I have to be miserable, so does everyone else. I don't care if it's petty. It's how I feel, and it'll probably never change.

That was when my unlife settled into the cycle it's been in for the past fifteen years. The house is empty, then someone moves in, I chase them out, and we're back to an empty house again. That's how it's been and how it will continue until I pass on, my house is knocked down, or I just give up and let someone live here, whichever happens first. Not gonna lie, sometimes I actually do entertain the idea of that last one. It gets lonely in here, and even if they can't see or hear me, at least there'd be someone else around. Then I remember how much it pisses me off to see other people getting to live when I don't, and we're back to square one: scaring the shit out of them until they leave.

Haunting's actually pretty easy when you get right down to it. Most of it's just messing with things, and since living people can't see you doing it, it creeps them out. Take those 'possessed' dolls everyone's so scared of. If someone just came into the room and moved a baby doll around, that's not scary. But if the doll is always in a different place every time you look at it? That's creepy. Same goes for when you flicker the lights or let the bedroom door creak open at 3 AM. Little things like that go a long way. What I don't do is stuff like making the walls ooze with blood or opening portals to the hereafter in the closets. I've seen enough horror movies to know that once you open one of those things, they don't close again so easily.

I'll usually start things off with creaking noises. Those always spook people. Like, it's three AM and dead quiet. Everyone's supposed to be asleep but someone's walking around. That's really all I'm doing; just walking down the hall, up the stairs, or around the attic. Slowly and deliberately, making sure to hit every squeaky board and creaky spot there is so that they don't think it's just the 'house settling' or something. No, I want it to be real obvious that someone --or something-- is walking around.

On a side note, it's always been weird that you can hear me walking when I don't have feet. No really, I don't. My legs just fade into wispy nothingness halfway down my shins. Guess it's a ghost thing.

Sometimes someone'll be brave enough to go and see what it is. Always opening the door real slow and poking their head out into the hall, because your house is ten times creepier in the middle of the night. They won't see anything -- usually. I know I said I'm invisible to the living, but with a bit of effort I can let them see me for a little while. It's pretty hard to do, and the best way I can describe it is trying to push through a thick wall of Jell-O. I'm normally on one side of the Jell-O wall and everyone else is on the other, and they can't see me unless I can force my way through.

On those occasions they'll be greeted with the sight of me, pale and transparent, still bloody from the accident that ended my life. I'll usually give them a big smile and a wave before disappearing again. Figure I'm horrifying enough without pointing menacingly or screaming. Actually, all the screaming comes from their end now that I think about it. Sometimes I also like to show up behind them in the mirror for a split-second. The look on people's faces when I do that is always priceless. Most of them jump, some of them run, and one guy actually started yelling at me.

"I know you're here, you creepy bastard!"

Yeah, I am, and I'm staying. You're not.

Even if I don't show myself, I can still make my presence known. It gets colder when ghosts are around, which is something I didn't know before I died. The only reason I do know is because my family would complain about how chilly it got whenever I was around and eventually I put two and two together. So if someone's poking around in the hall looking for whatever made that noise, I make sure I'm close by. Close enough for them to feel cold, even if it's in the dead of summer and ninety degrees out. Maybe even close enough to touch them, letting my icy fingers brush their shoulder or grabbing their arm. Did that to the same guy I scared in the mirror, and he took a swing at me. Or rather, where I should be. His fist just flew through empty air, since you can't punch a ghost.

He stayed another four months out of pure stubbornness, but eventually couldn't take it anymore and left. Just like I wanted him to.

I'll still resort to poltergeist bullshit too. Making the lights flicker, knocking things over, causing electronics to go haywire. It doesn't have to be all creepy apparitions and creaky noises. Sometimes a crackling TV or something pounding on your wall when you're trying to sleep will do just as well, especially if I mix it in with some of the more otherworldly stuff.

I am honestly surprised anyone even buys this house at this point. I've made it real clear that it's haunted, and I know word's gotten around. Don't know what the real estate people are telling prospective buyers, but there has to be some world-class lying going on there.

The last couple I had to deal with were named Doug and Amanda Devon. Ugh, the Devons. They only lasted five weeks in here, which is a personal best for me. While they were here Amanda complained about everything. There wasn't enough space, there wasn't enough light, the stairs were too steep, the floor was too creaky, on and on and on. Seemed like nothing could or would ever make her happy. Her husband Doug wasn't any better. In addition to having one of the most punchable faces I've ever seen, this guy had this attitude about him like he was God's gift to humanity.

Side note, I've never liked anyone named Amanda. Or Doug for that matter. Who even names their kid Doug anymore?

For these two my usual tricks just wouldn't do. They needed something more. Amanda was planning a big housewarming party at the end of the month, since in her own words she needed the time to make this place presentable. I assume by 'presentable' she meant decorating it with more of the weird crap she thought was cute or something. Lady had the worst taste.

I know I said I usually don't do big, overwrought stuff, but for those two I made an exception. While I normally would have chased them out immediately, they were planning a big housewarming party for the end of the month. Had to give Amanda enough time to make things presentable after all. With that in mind, I decided to hold off until then. I'd welcome them to the neighborhood in my own special way.

The day came, and once everyone had gotten nice and comfortable I got to work. I started small, just making some of the picture frames on the wall unit jitter. Just a little bit, just enough for them to notice the rattling noise over the hum of conversation. There's no subway nearby, and earthquakes don't happen here. Doug just tried to laugh it off. "Oh well, that sometimes happens when I walk past the wall unit! Things shake a bit; no big deal."

He hadn't even gotten up in the past twenty minutes, but okay. A couple of the people there laughed halfheartedly, clearly not believing him but not thinking it was anything to worry about either.

Now it was time to give them something they couldn't ignore. I started with this porcelain doll on the shelf. The thing was creepy on its own; it was supposed to be a little kid, but the way-too-big eyes and red cheeks reminded me of a clown. Since it did, I made it laugh like one. Just all of a sudden giggling, its tiny hands held over its mouth. "Is it supposed to do that?" I heard someone ask. Amanda shook her head silently, staring at it with wide eyes.

No, of course it wasn't supposed to. Neither was anything else in the room, but they were about to join in. Laughter's contagious, after all.

Soon enough every inanimate object in the room was cackling. The three pewter faeries, the coconut piggybank, even all the books and plants. The TV fluctuated wildly between static and distorted, howling faces. At one point the lamp on the end table was jittering so hard the shade fell off. The lamp itself tumbled onto the floor and continued to roll around cackling like someone told it the funniest joke in the world. Once the sofa and loveseat bucked the guests off, that was it for the party. All of the Devons' friends went running out the door, Amanda screaming hysterically and Doug trying to reassure them that it wasn't that bad to no avail.

And then the final nail in the coffin: me. I'd already expended a ton of energy pulling this stunt, but I still had enough in me to manifest. I forced my way past that veil separating me from the living, and gave Doug Devon a light tap on the shoulder. He spun around and came face-to-face with me in all my spectral glory. No smile this time. No smartassed little wave. Just one word.

"Leave."

The next day the Devons left. Packed up whatever they cared to, and went to go stay with relatives until they could find somewhere more permanent. They'd been able to shrug off my spectral shenanigans as things like the house settling or mice running in the walls before, but that night couldn't have been anything but a haunting and they knew it. I overheard Amanda saying she didn't want to spend one second more in a house like this one, and honestly I don't blame her. I know I wouldn't have either if the problem wasn't me.

It's been almost a year since then, and the house is still vacant. Eventually someone else will move in, but right now it's empty.

For now, the house is mine again.

For now, it's quiet.