My Ghost Roommate

“Uh, am I supposed to just ignore that you called me dumb?”

“—talking to no one at all except myself … or the occasional cat that hops up the fire escape and actually senses me … or something. Cats are fuckin’ nuts, man.” He crouches down to swipe the pizza he dropped right off the floor, then proceeds to take a bite. “Seriously,” he goes on, talking through his food. “It sucks here.”

“Uh, gross.”

“What? I’m dead already. What’s a slice of pizza off the disease-ridden floor gonna do to me? Can’t taste it anyway. Bro, I’m so glad you lit that damned candle. I was about to lose it, watching you these past few weeks. Then tonight I thought I’d help myself to some pizza, which is something I can’t usually do, since my ability to touch things is kinda finicky without candlelight, but I didn’t know you’d actually light one, and now I—”

“Hold on a minute. Watching me?”

“Yeah. I told you I live here, didn’t I?”

I blink in astonishment. Then I glance back at the candle, putting it together. “You mean you exist … even when the candle’s out …?”

“Of course I do.”

“And you’ve been … watching me?”

“I … well, I …” West frowns and wrinkles his face. “Hey, man, don’t make this weird.”

“Me? Make this weird? You’re the one who just admitted you’ve been ‘watching me’ like some weirdo stalker in the shadows.”

“What else am I supposed to do? I’m stuck here!”

I feel naked suddenly. My mind is now firing in all directions as I comb my memory, imagining what I’ve done in my supposed privacy these past few weeks here. “What have you … seen exactly?”

“Look, whatever you do in the bathroom and in the bedroom is all your business. I don’t go there, and I got zero interest in seeing your dong or watching you wash your balls, believe me. I respect the privacy of others.”

I eye him. I’m not entirely convinced he’s the angel he claims. “And what if I was some hot chick?”

He opens his mouth to speak—then slaps it shut and gives me a look.

“Yeah,” I decide, nodding. “That’s what I thought. You may be a ghost or whatever, but I know your type. A total, douchey ass-wipe. Womanizer, probably. Broke a thousand girls’ hearts. Probably bullied a fair share of nerds and quiet guys like me in your lifetime, too.”

“Hey, hey, you got me all wrong, bro.” West shrugs and spreads his hands, making a show of how innocent and friendly he is. “I’m not some evil spirit. I’m just a victim of circumstance. I have no idea why I’m stuck in this filthy place, other than it’s where I died, and …” He suddenly changes tack, giving me what I take to be an attempt at a charming smile. “Hey, look at it this way. I’m just good ol’ West! Your surprise roommate! This can be a great thing. You need a friend, right? I see you moping around all the time. And I’m the perfect friend! I won’t ditch you. I won’t be in your way if you don’t want me to be. I …” He gives me an awkward laugh. “Well, I might steal your pizza. But if you don’t like that, hey, no prob, I don’t have to eat your food. I don’t gotta eat a thing! I’m a ghost, for cryin’ out loud.”

The longer I look at him, the more conflicted I feel. He’s every guy I grew up despising, rolled up into one. He’s also the kind of guy I wished would have stood up for me when I was getting shoved around as a kid. He’s probably only being nice to me because he’s desperate. I bet West was the life of the party. All of his buddies looked up to him. But now? He’s just a lonely shell.

It sounds more like he’s the one who needs a friend.

“I don’t need a friend,” I tell him. “I need sleep. I have important job interviews in the morning.”

“Oh, right. Those. Because of that dumb call you got earlier.” He winces. “Sorry. Yeah, I heard it.”

I feel hairs rising on the back of my neck. The more he says—things he shouldn’t know, things he couldn’t know—the more uneasy I feel. He really has been watching me. Does he watch me eat? Has he seen me scratch my ass and unpick my wedgies? Does he sit on the couch next to me while I’m watching Netflix in my underwear? Did he see me last night when I …

Oh god. “Do you see me at my computer …? In my bedroom …? At night …?” I go pale. “Do you … see-me see me when I …?” I can’t even bear to say it.

For a dead guy, West’s face is apparently still very capable of flushing red. He looks away, gathers himself, then turns it all into a joke as he shrugs. “So? We all do it. What’s there to be embarrassed about?”