Ghost Friend

My apartment was cold. Not just in the winter, but every day. I tried everything I could to warm it up, carpeted rugs on the floor, space heaters. Nothing could take the edge off. Since moving to the practically Antarctic climate of South Melbourne, I had become quite the coffee fanatic. Three cups a day, minimum. It was the only thing that warmed me.

I boiled the kettle, rolling my wrists and ankles in a light stretch as I waited. Click. The kettle switched off.

“Not today ghost friend, come on,” I groaned, taking the kettle to the bathroom.

I plugged it in, and… click.

Digging through the couch cushions like a honey badger, I found five dollars in dull silver coins. Just enough for a coffee, but not caramel syrup. The kitchen cupboard opened slowly with a screech, “I know, I know, we have syrup. But it’s not the same!” I said.

I ran out of the apartment without watching where I was going, as usual, and bumped into my new neighbour. I’d seen him around a few times, but we hadn’t officially met. All I knew was that he could be easily described in clichés. Tall, dark and handsome, sparkling white teeth, a man of mystery.

 “Sorry! I’m sorry, I’m so scatter brained!” I said.

“It’s okay! Don’t stress” he replied, his voice smooth and light. “Where are you off to?”

“To coffee. To get coffee, I mean. There’s a café down the street,” I said.

“Can I tag along? I just moved here, and I haven’t found a good coffee place yet.”

“You can come but I don’t know if it’s really that good” I said, as we started heading down the stairs together. “I’m Marike, by the way.”

“Josh.” Of course that was his name.

The café down the street wasn’t really my vibe; it was too white and modern, with not enough personality, but it was close to home, toasty and heated. Josh and I sat at a small table, the closest to the counter. I ordered my latte, and Josh commented “funny, I would’ve thought you were a caramel kind of girl.”

“Oh no, it’s too sweet,” I lied.

“Totally, you may as well just add like 50 sugar packets. Anyway, what do you do for work?” he asked.

It was hardly an invasive question, but I felt awkward answering so close to the barista. I exist? I work? I can be perceived by others? How embarrassing. “I work at a veterinary hospital. I’m a receptionist,” I said quietly.

“What?” He couldn’t hear me over the milk steaming. 

“I’m a receptionist. At a vet.”

“You’re a vet? That’s so cool! You must get to see so many cute doggos! Actually, I have a lizard, his name’s Barry. He’s a frilled neck. We could use a good vet,” he said.

I didn’t think I would see this guy very often; I thought we might nod and smile on the staircase and that would be the extent of our relationship. So, to save myself the humiliation of having to repeat myself a third time, I decided to be a vet.

“Yeah, it is cool. I only really take dogs and cats though, reptiles are a little outside my wheelhouse,” I said.

“Oh, that’s okay, I’m sure we’ll find someone else. But they won’t be as pretty as you.”

I don’t think anyone had ever flirted with me before, and if they had, I never noticed. In my fantasies, no one called me pretty. I was stunning, gorgeous, ground shaking. I didn’t know how to respond to a compliment that I’ve never even imagined, so, I just moved on.

“What do you do for work?”

“I’m a ghost hunter,” he said.

“Really? That’s so interesting. You’re definitely in the right place, you know I – ”

“No, not really, I’m just joking, I’m a logistician,” he cut me off. My face was hot. 

“Oh, right.”

“You’re cute,” he smiled, flashing those sparkly whites.

I didn’t see Josh for a few days after that. I supposed that he was busy … logisting.

The next time I saw him I was dragging my groceries up the stairs. “Here,” he took a bag from my hands, the blood to returned to the tips of my fingers.

“Thanks,” I huffed.

“No worries. There is a lift you know,” he said.

“I know, but the power is always going out in this building, I don’t trust the lift,” I said. Truthfully, I didn’t trust my ghost friend not to mess with it.

“Right, good to know,” he said, helping me bring the groceries inside and dump them on the bench.

“You know, this brand isn’t dolphin safe,” he said, holding up a tin of tuna.

“Oh yeah, I didn’t know that, I should’ve checked,” I said.

“I thought you’d be into stuff like that, you are a vet. Aren’t you supposed to be an animal lover?” he said.

“If we care about dolphins at all we’d stop eating fish all together, overfishing kills more dolphins than nets,” I said, hoping that was true. “And we’d stop eating meat. Nothing pollutes the oceans like factory farming. I don’t think my little tin of tuna is doing that much damage. Not in the scheme of things.”

He smirked, “you’re smarter than you look.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” I said, taking an awkward step towards him. This was my first attempt at flirting.

“It means I haven’t been fantasising about my hot neighbour’s big brain,” he placed his hand on my waist, his long fingers pressing into my back.

With his other hand he brushed the hair from my face before planting it on my neck. It was hot and sticky, already adhering to my skin. I looked up at him, trying to remember what my mother taught me about doe eyes versus siren eyes.

He kissed me. His lips were soft, while his chin was rough. I turned my head slightly, trying to create some distance between my skin and his unrelenting stubble. He turned the same way, lining us up again.

With a thundering crash, the apartment woke up. Every light flashed; every appliance started running in synchrony.

“Jesus!” Josh covered his ears.

“Sorry! I’m sorry!” I yell over the crashing sound. “It’s the power, it’s really weird in this building!” I ran around, switching off outlets one at a time.

“That’s okay!” he said, “I should go anyway, I’ll leave you to it!”

As soon as he walked outside and the door latched shut, the lights were off again. With only a sliver of sunshine peeking through the window to light the space, I stumbled for the light switch, and of course, it didn’t work. “Great,” I said.

“Really ghost friend? Really?” I called out in the empty room.

The TV switched on. I recognised the dingy news set, the antique desk, but not the presenter. Based on her teased-up hair style, this story was not current.

“Devastating news from Melbourne today, a young woman has been found dead in her apartment on Church Street. Police say she was found early this morning, in a state of extreme decomposition. She has been identified as 22-year-old student, Petra Dunt. Police say it is safe to assume foul play. More on this at 10.”

The TV went static, before displaying a photo of a woman. With wavy blonde hair, brown eyes, and freckles across her nose, she was beyond beautiful. She was stunning, gorgeous, ground shaking. She looked like a woman who innately knew where she was going, what she was doing. Far wiser than 22.

“Petra? That’s your name? Petra?” I asked.

The lights switched on, the TV off, as if to confirm. My ghost friend had a name, Petra Dunt.

I invited Josh over again the following day, assuming that my ghost friend would behave herself now that I know who she is.

We sat on the couch, his arm around my shoulders, watching some cheesy romantic movie. “These girls are always introducing their boyfriend to their family way too soon,” Josh says, flicking the salt from his potato chips onto my floor.

“Yeah, she’s known him for like, two days,” I agreed.

“You don’t need to be meeting the parents two days in. You should be having fun, messing around. People are always making things too serious,” he said.

I suppose that confirmed what he was looking for. Fun and messing around.

The movie paused to show an ad for the upcoming election. “I’m so sick of these ads. Who cares about the election? It makes no difference any way,” Josh said.

“It does, it makes a difference to some people.”

“Well, not to me,” he answered. I felt my forehead wrinkle.

“That’s a very privileged perspective…” I said.

“Oh God, here we go. Because I’m a white guy that means everything is easy for me?” he stood up, “I’ve had a hard life.”

“Yeah, I don’t doubt that, but I – ”

“I’ve got shit to do,” and with that, he stormed out.

I sat on the couch for a few moments, collecting my thoughts. Why did I say that?

The ceiling fan above me turned on, set to the quickest speed. I felt the air rush around my face, my shoulders, fluttering my hair.

“Leave me alone Petra!” I got up from the couch, “if you didn’t scare him off that time this wouldn’t have happened! Get out of my apartment!” I yelled, slamming the door and locking myself in my bedroom. She never followed me in there.

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Did I even like Josh? If I’m honest with myself, not really. The truth is, I was lonely. I would have entertained anyone’s flirting, just for the company. Petra has always been here, even before I knew who she was. Even when she was just a cool breeze or a flickering light globe, she was there for me, in the only way she could be.

Police say she was found early this morning, in a state of extreme decomposition. What could be lonelier than that?

I took the box from the back of my cupboard labelled ‘previous tenant’s crap’. I opened it, getting a face full of dust. It was like a lost and found box, an assortment of random shit that shouldn’t be together. A guitar pick, a book on the industrial revolution, a screwdriver. Finally, I pulled out a pair of tortoise shell sunglasses and a vanilla scented candle. Clean, classy, and feminine, they reminded me of the girl I’d seen on the TV. They reminded me of Petra.

I walked out into the lounge room sheepishly, as if she might jump out and yell back at me. I placed the sunglasses and candle on the bookshelf, shoving some of my junk out of the way carelessly.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “This is your home too. What I said, I didn’t mean that.”

The breeze blew around my face once again. I looked up, nope, it wasn’t the ceiling fan this time. The cold air landed on my mouth, moist and icy, yet somehow soft and familiar. I closed my eyes and parted my lips, just slightly, sucking in the fresh air between my teeth.

I went to bed early that night, the sun was still setting. For the first time, I left my bedroom door open. The cool breeze came through the door and into my bed, settling between my body and the blanket. I felt her arms wrap me up, her nose nuzzle into my hair. I turned my head to look behind me, and of course, I couldn’t see Petra, but I knew that she was there.

As the sun set and the sky darkened, I could see less of the world outside and more of my own reflection in the window. With nothing else to look at, I gazed at myself, saw a look of contentment in my eyes that I almost didn’t recognise on my own face. My eyes started playing tricks on me, and I could’ve sworn that I saw Petra. Her blonde waves, her siren eyes, her thin arms draped around me. With that image in my head, I drifted to sleep.

My apartment was cold. 

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