A Ghost Cooked For Me

My relationship with her was far from good.

Whitley came from a wealthy family and threw her weight around at the office.

She looked down on people like me the most. She considered us people who would scrap over a couple of dollars in coupons.

I opened the door.

Whitley was standing in the doorway while pinching her nose with a look of disgust on her face.

“Casey, you live in a place like this? It looks just like a garbage dump.”

Her eyes swept across my small studio apartment with contempt.

“I heard the rent for this place is ridiculously cheap. There couldn’t possibly be something wrong with it, could there?”

I said flatly, “It’s quite good. It’s spacious, bright, and the neighbors are nice.”

Whitley laughed exaggeratedly. “Neighbors? Would you even dare to go out at night in this building? I heard someone died here.”

She was just here to gloat.

I could not be bothered to deal with her. So, I turned to close the door.

However, Whitley swiftly slipped inside.

“Hey, what kind of attitude is this? Don’t be so quick to shoo me away. I was just being nice by stopping by to check on you.”

She began to explore my apartment on her own. She kept her nose pinched, as if she were surveying a slum.

“My, so clean? Did you hire a cleaner? This doesn’t seem like your style.”

She walked to the table and suddenly stopped. She pointed at a silver candlestick holder.

“This is a nice candlestick holder. It looks really old. Is it an antique?”

I became tense. “It’s just a decorative piece.”

It had been there since I moved in.

Whitley pursed her lips and reached for it.

“Let me get a closer look.”

“Don’t touch that!” I tried to stop her.

But it was already too late.

Whitley touched the candlestick holder. Her grip was weak, and it fell straight toward the floor.

My heart leaped into my throat.

Just as the candlestick holder was about to fall to the floor, it stopped.

It hovered midair and stopped less than an inch from the floor.

Time stood still for a moment.

Whitley’s smile froze as her eyes widened.

The next second, the candlestick holder swayed unsteadily as it rose into the air. It then landed securely back on the corner of the table, completely unscathed.

A deathly silence filled the room.

Whitley’s face paled, shifting from flushed red to a deathly ashen white.

She pointed a trembling finger at the candlestick holder. “It... it...”

She stammered for a long time and was unable to form a complete sentence.

Then, she let out a blood-curdling scream, turned, and ran outside.

She scrambled away frantically without looking back.

I watched her panicked retreat, then looked again at the candlestick holder on the table, and sighed.

“Nathaniel, how many times have I said you need to lay low?”

I scolded into the empty air.

“Do you have any idea how much this candlestick holder costs? If you break it, you’re paying for it.”

There was no movement in the air.

I did not expect him to answer, anyway.

That night, as I lay in bed, I initiated a conversation with Nathaniel for the first time.

I told him about my troubles at the company.

I described how particularly annoying Whitley had been that day.

I confessed how much I wanted to earn big money.

I said I wanted to buy my own home, so I would no longer need to endure anyone’s condescension.

I talked until I eventually fell asleep.

The next day, the cold woke me.

The room temperature seemed to have dropped to a freezing point.

I wrapped my blanket tightly around myself, but I was still shivering from the cold.

I checked my phone and saw a text message from the electricity utility company.

The electricity bill for this month was three thousand eight hundred dollars.

I stared at that number for a full minute.

Three thousand eight hundred dollars?!

I lived alone. How could my electricity usage possibly be so high?!

I suddenly remembered something.

The faucet turned on by itself. The television switched on in the middle of the night. Meals appeared like clockwork every single day!

Since when did paranormal activities run up the electric bill?

Pure rage shot through me.

I leaped out of bed, snatched my phone, and screamed into the empty room, “Nathaniel Simmons! Get out of here right now!

“What’s with this electricity bill? Three thousand eight hundred dollars?! You may as well just mug me next time!

“Don’t pretend you’re some magical being running on passion. You’re racking up my electric bill!

“This one is on you! You’re paying for it!”

My voice echoed through the small room, filled with uncontrollable anger.

The lights in the room began to flicker wildly.

A cold dread, sharper than the chill in the air, shot up from the soles of my feet.

The patch of shadow in the corner began to writhe unnaturally, coalescing into a denser form.

A human silhouette, darker than the darkness around it, slowly detached itself from the wall.

It was tall and gaunt, its entire form wreathed in an impenetrable, smoky blackness.

The air grew still and heavy, as if the room itself was holding its breath.

Then, a voice, cold and utterly devoid of emotion, sounded not in my ears, but directly in my mind.

“I dare you to repeat that.”