A Haunting in Jersey

The fear struck me instantly; my stomach tightened and my vision blurred. I lost my balance and stumbled backward onto the couch.

“What do you mean you’re haunted?” I asked her.

She sat down next to me and repeated herself. The disembodied voice I’d heard a minute ago say “he looks like a punk bitch” belonged to who she called “just some asshole ghost”. She explained that a year ago, the ghost would terrify her at night; slamming on doors, throwing anything not nailed down against the walls.

She’d tried burning incense, sage, splashing holy water all around the apartment. She tried staying with her parents; it just followed her. But one night, a line was crossed when she’d felt her ass pinched, and she instinctively threw a backhand behind her– somehow making contact with her assailant. The first words she’d ever heard from the ghost were “Ow, fuck”. The story very quickly stopped being scary.

From that point on, he cut the stereotypical spook shtick, and would act as nothing more than an incorporeal jerkoff roommate; leaving lights and the TV on, doing something with her food to make it disappear– certainly not eating it; and apparently, he really liked to “talk a lot of shit.”

She avoided meeting my eyes as she was speaking but when she finished she looked up at me, trying to read my mind. No chance, I didn’t even know what I was thinking myself. I closed my eyes and reached out to hold her hand.

After a few quiet moments on the outside, while I still was desperately trying to organize my thoughts inside my head, I opened my eyes and looked back at her.

“So, what are we going to do?” I asked, “Have you seen like, a priest or something?”

She nodded and frowned.

“I did, but he told me there was nothing he could do,” she said, “Because the spirit isn’t Evil, he’s just kind of a prick.”

She started to grin, and it forced me to smile with her.

“So, what then?” I asked.

She shrugged and laid down on top of me.

“I’ve just kind of gotten used to him.”

She kissed me and I held her head against my chest.

“Do you still love me?” she asked cutely, already knowing.

My answer was interrupted.

“Of course I d–”

Hey,” came a voice from the other side of the room, “You’re both gross, stop it.

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