The Haunting Grin

The ghost lingered in the shadows, blending into the cold, damp air that clung to the empty streets. His eyes darted across the crowd, but his gaze was hollow, searching. He wasn’t in a hurry; despair took its time, and so would he. Among the bustling people, with their laughter and chatter, he waited for the one who carried that heavy, familiar burden.

“I need someone soon,” the ghost muttered, feeling the ache of hunger deep in his bones. The happiness around him grated like nails on a chalkboard. Laughter, smiles, connection—weakness. He despised it all.

Then, he found him.

Ethan moved slowly, almost drifting, his feet barely lifting from the pavement as he walked toward the bus stop. His shoulders were hunched, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, his head lowered like the weight of the world rested on his back. The ghost paused, intrigued. Ethan’s inner voice was faint, but enough to reach him, cutting through the crowd. “Why am I always the outsider? I just don’t fit in… anywhere.”

The ghost’s lips curled into a twisted smile. There you are.

He followed closely, slipping in and out of shadows, his movements silent as a breeze. As Ethan stood under the flickering streetlight, waiting for the bus, the ghost could feel his despair seeping out, a dark aura pulsating from him like a slow heartbeat.

Ethan’s mind drifted into familiar territory. “No matter how hard I try, I’ll never belong. Maybe I’m just not meant to. I’m just... tired.” His thoughts wrapped around him like a heavy blanket, suffocating, tightening. His heart thudded dully in his chest, a hollow echo of what it used to be. His throat constricted, the words he could never say pressing down until it was hard to breathe.

The ghost hovered close, feeding on the bitterness rising in Ethan’s chest. He could almost taste it—the sharp tang of self-doubt, the bitter sting of rejection. Yes. Finally, someone ripe for the taking.

Across the street, a man grumbled to himself, his face twisted in anger. The ghost, always looking for a way in, leapt inside the man’s body, twisting his emotions. Without warning, the man’s voice rose sharply.

“You people... coming here, taking everything. Can’t even speak our language properly,” he spat, his words aimed at Ethan, his venom slicing through the cool night air.

Ethan stiffened, his eyes narrowing. The words cut deep, like a knife through his heart. He looked back at the man, his wide, creepy smile stretching from ear to ear, revealing a sinister evil that chilled Ethan to the bone. "Reckless hate," he thought, but he didn't respond. He never did. He just swallowed the pain, burying it deep inside, where it could fester unseen.

The bus pulled up, and Ethan climbed aboard, shoulders sagging further under the weight of everything unsaid.

The ghost slipped out of the man and followed him onto the bus. Strange, he thought. He didn’t react at all. Why didn’t he snap?

Ethan sat by the window, his head resting against the cold glass. The city lights blurred as they passed, but his mind was far away. The hum of the bus, the chatter of passengers—none of it reached him. He fumbled with his phone, desperate for some kind of distraction. Music, maybe. But the lyrics only echoed the turmoil inside him, and it all felt too personal, too close to the truth. His grip tightened on the phone, as his heart pounded in his chest.

The ghost hovered just behind him, observing, listening. Ethan’s pain was rising, like a tide slowly creeping in. He was sinking, and the ghost knew it.

“Why don’t I ever belong? I’ve done everything they wanted. I’ve smiled when I didn’t want to, kept quiet when I should’ve spoken up. But no matter what I do… I’m invisible. Maybe it’s my face. Maybe it’s just... me.”

The bus jerked to a halt at Ethan’s stop, but he didn’t move. His eyes were unfocused, glazed over, lost in the storm of his own thoughts. The ghost stirred, his whispers becoming louder, clearer.

“It’s pointless. You’re not going to change anything. No matter what you do, it won’t be enough. It never is.”

The bus driver’s voice cut through the fog. “Hey, kid, this is your stop.”

Ethan blinked, disoriented, and stumbled off the bus. The cold air hit him like a slap, but the fog in his mind didn’t lift. He walked toward his house, each step feeling heavier than the last. By the time he reached his front door, his hands were shaking, his breath shallow. He stood there, staring at the handle, his heart racing for no reason he could explain.

Why does going inside feel so hard?

The ghost hovered beside him, close enough to hear every thought, every doubt that gnawed at him. He watched as Ethan finally opened the door and stepped inside, his movements slow, his soul crumbling under the weight of his unspoken fears.

In the living room, Nina was sprawled out on the couch, laughing into the phone. She barely glanced up as Ethan walked past, her focus elsewhere. He sat down next to her, but the distance between them felt like miles. He watched her laugh, the sound of it cutting him to the core, because she was so far away from him now.

She doesn’t even see me anymore.

He wanted to say something, anything, to close the gap between them. But the words were stuck in his throat, lodged somewhere between his mind and his mouth. He couldn’t find his voice. Maybe if we eat together, we can talk. He picked up his phone, ordering food, hoping it might give them a reason to sit together, to reconnect.

The ghost watched, confused, his interest piqued. There was something deeper here. He couldn't quite understand it. It was as if Ethan was hiding something, a secret that was buried deep within him.

Suddenly, Ethan’s thoughts were sharper. It’s not just today. It’s been weeks. Maybe months. She doesn’t laugh like that when we’re alone. When did I become... invisible to her too?

The doorbell rang, breaking the silence. Nina nudged him, barely looking away from her call. “Food’s here.”

Ethan stood up, moving like a puppet, going through the motions of living. But inside, he was miles away. When did everything start falling apart?

As they sat together, eating in silence, Ethan felt the words pressing against his chest, desperate to break free. But when he looked at Nina, her eyes glued to her phone, the words dissolved before they even formed. He dropped his fork, suddenly feeling sick.

The ghost leaned closer, sensing that Ethan was nearing his breaking point. It’s over. She doesn’t care anymore. No one does. Why keep pretending?

Later that night, Ethan lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the weight of his thoughts pressing down like a heavy fog. He could hear the ghost now, louder than before, whispering in his ear, feeding his despair.

“You don’t have to fight anymore. You’re alone now. It’s easier this way.”

Tears slid silently down his face, his chest aching with a pain he couldn’t explain. He didn’t move. He didn’t even wipe the tears away. The ghost sat at the foot of the bed, watching him, knowing that soon, Ethan would be his.

And for the first time, Ethan wasn’t sure if he wanted to fight back.

****

The next morning came too soon, and Ethan dragged himself from bed, his body exhausted but his mind still swirling with restless thoughts. The ghost, still lurking in the corner of the room, observed silently. Its presence felt heavier now, as though the air itself had thickened around Ethan, pressing down on him with an invisible weight. He sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor, his breaths shallow.

Why bother? he thought, the familiar voice whispering at the edges of his mind. But he pushed the thought aside and forced himself to stand. Teeth brushed, shower taken—his daily routine passed in a blur of motions, each action performed mechanically, like a puppet going through the motions.

In the living room, Nina was almost ready to leave for work, her phone in one hand, a bag slung over her shoulder. She barely glanced at him as she spoke. “I’ve got some things to do today, Ethan. I’m leaving early.” Her voice was distant, casual, as if they were just two people passing by, not two people who once shared everything.

The door clicked shut behind her, and the sound echoed through the empty space. Ethan stood there for a moment, staring at the closed door, a hollow ache growing inside him. He wanted to stop her, to say something, to ask her to stay—but the words wouldn't come. They never did.

The ghost hovered near the doorway, its expression unreadable, but its presence was heavy with dark satisfaction. Ethan sighed, a deep, weary sound that came from somewhere deep inside him, a place where all the things left unsaid had taken root.

As he stepped out into the world for another day, the weight of the ghost followed him, an ever-present shadow that seemed to grow darker with each passing moment.

Ethan's walk to the office was slow, his feet dragging as if tied to the ground. The morning light seemed too bright, too harsh, and every step felt like it required more effort than it should. His mind was still foggy from last night, the whispers still there, faint but lingering. The ghost was with him, feeding off the heaviness in his chest, stirring his darkest thoughts.

At work, things didn’t improve. His boss was already frustrated with him. "Ethan, this is the third time this week you're late," the man said sharply, his voice cutting through the dull hum of the office. Ethan nodded, mumbling an apology, but it barely registered. His heart wasn’t in it. How could it be? His mind was already drowning in everything else. The whispers were louder now, and his thoughts were slipping further into the darkness.

As the day dragged on, small things kept going wrong. His computer froze during an important meeting, a client snapped at him over the phone, and his coworkers, once friendly, now felt distant—almost like they could sense the emptiness inside him. He felt like a ghost moving through the office, unseen, unnoticed.

By the time lunch rolled around, he couldn’t bear to sit with the others. Their laughter, their conversations—it all felt like noise, grating against his already frayed nerves. He grabbed his lunch and headed outside, hoping the fresh air might clear his head. But even outside, the weight didn’t lift. The ghost was there, whispering again.

"Why even bother? No one cares. Not here. Not at home. You’re just... alone."

He leaned against the building, staring at the cars passing by, but all he could think about was Nina. How distant she had become. How it seemed like she wasn’t even trying anymore. And then it hit him—her late nights, the secrecy, the way she laughed with someone else on the phone. There was someone else. He knew it deep down, had known it for a while, but now, it felt like a knife twisting in his chest.

The realisation crushed him. His legs felt weak, and he slid down the wall, sitting on the cold concrete. The world around him blurred, and the ghost’s voice was clearer than ever, almost like it was speaking directly into his ear.

“She doesn’t love you anymore. She’s already left, even if she’s still there in the house. It’s over.”

Ethan sat there for what felt like hours, numb, hollow. The pain was overwhelming, and for the first time, he didn’t feel like he could get up and push through. Not this time.

By the time he got home that evening, the weight was unbearable. Nina wasn’t there, and for that, he was thankful. He couldn’t face her, not after realising what was going on. Not after understanding how little he meant to her now.

He went to the bathroom, splashing water on his face, trying to clear his head, but when he looked in the mirror, something was wrong. His reflection stared back at him, but there was something... off. His eyes. They weren’t his anymore. The expression on his face—it was twisted, dark. And then he saw it. That smile. The same twisted, wide, terrifying smile he had seen on the faces of others before they hurt him. The smile that wasn’t his, but somehow was.

His stomach twisted in fear. The ghost had done it. It had taken over. He could feel it now, deep inside, crawling through him, poisoning every thought, every feeling.

Ethan stumbled back into the living room, his heart pounding, his breath shallow. He could hear the ghost's voice, louder than ever. "It’s time. You’ve fought long enough, haven’t you? There’s nothing left. No one left. It’s easier this way."

He didn’t want to fight anymore. He was tired. So, so tired.

That night, under the ghost’s control, Ethan made his decision. He found an old rope in the closet, his hands moving mechanically, like they weren’t his own. The ghost watched him, its smile growing wider, its eyes dark with satisfaction.

In the dim light of the room, Ethan tied the rope to the ceiling. His hands shook, but the voice in his head was steady, guiding him. "This is the only way. You’re free after this. It’s over."

As he stood on the chair, his heart raced, but not out of fear—out of relief. The weight, the pain, the loneliness—it would all be over soon. He slipped the noose around his neck, closing his eyes for a moment, taking one last breath.

Then he kicked the chair.

For a moment, the world was nothing but silence. His body dangled, struggling for air, his hands clawing at the rope instinctively, but it was too late. The ghost stood in the corner, watching, satisfied.

Ethan’s body twisted, and as he turned, his eyes caught the mirror on the wall. His reflection stared back at him, and there it was again—that same smile, wide and cruel, plastered across his face. The ghost’s smile.

He wanted to scream, to fight back, but his body betrayed him. It was over. The last thing Ethan saw before everything went black was that smile, the one that had haunted him for so long. And then, he was gone.

Nina returned home. She pushed open the front door, her mind on something else entirely, until she saw him. Ethan, hanging from the ceiling, lifeless, his body swaying gently in the stillness of the room.

Her scream pierced the air, and the neighbors came rushing in. The police arrived shortly after, their faces grim, the usual procedures unfolding around her, but it was all a blur. The shock, the disbelief, the crushing guilt—none of it made sense in that moment. All she could do was stare, frozen, at the man she once loved, now gone.

But in the corner of the room, unnoticed by anyone, the ghost stood, watching with that same twisted smile. His job was done.

And then, as if hearing a distant voice, the ghost turned, his expression shifting. A new voice, weak and filled with pain, echoed in the air. Another target.

The ghost smiled again, his eyes gleaming with dark anticipation as he drifted toward his next victim.

The story of Ethan had ended. But for the ghost, it was just the beginning of another.