House Ghost

I groaned, turning on my heel and venturing back into my house. "Where'd you hide the key this time, Henry?" 

Out of the corner of my eye, a bluish, blurry figure in the mirror smiled and replied, "Somewhere."

Another dissatisfied groan escaped my lips, and I started checking all the usual places Henry liked to hide my keys. Under the northeast corner of the couch? Nope. Water tank of the upstairs toilet? Nada. In the air return by the stove? Not there, either. 

I cursed Henry's name. "Henry, unlike you, I need to get to work!"

Henry snickered from the stairs, and I could hear his footsteps following me as I stormed through the halls. 

I checked my watch. If I wasn't on the road in five minutes, I would be late for work. Again. 

It was time to break out the spare set of keys. 

I stomped up the stairs to my bedroom, then felt around the back of my lamp shade. A cool metallic ring glanced off my fingertips. With a defeated sigh, I yanked them off of their wire hook and broke for the door. Henry gave a little gasp, as though I was violating the rules of play. 

I no longer cared. 

Each step down the front porch made me grasp the fact that I had just wasted a perfectly good hiding spot. 

The keys in question sat, very neatly, under the front left tire of my car. With the weather turning warmer, it was no wonder that Henry decided to journey outdoors and find somewhere I wouldn't expect. 

With one set of keys in the ignition, and one weighing like a 'last place' trophy in my pocket, I drove to work. 

"Jesse!" My boss grinned at me as you moved past his desk. "You're not late." 

"You're telling me. Henry hid the car keys outside this morning, the rouge." Or, at least, that's what I wanted to say. 

Instead, I settled for a curt nod and quick strides to my cubicle. 

I got home that evening with a bag of Chinese food and a craving for Earl Grey tea. After putting the kettle on a burner, I sat at the kitchen table, which always had a mirror on the left side. The mirror was angled so that I could sit at one end of the table and talk to Henry. That is, if he took the other seat. 

The kettle whistled, and I stood. I got down two mugs from the cupboard, and two teabags appeared at my elbow. 

"Thanks, Henry," I said to the figment who flitted through the microwave reflection. 

I fixed the two cups of tea and brought them to the table. Thankfully, we both drank our tea black. 

I took my seat and continued digging into my dinner, keeping one eye on the mirror. It was obvious that the steam was being blown off of the top of Henry's mug, but he hadn't shown himself, not yet.

Unconcerned, I kept eating and sipping at my cup of tea. 

When I had finished the carton of rice and had started on the chicken, Henry materialized in the mirror. Through the misty apparition I could see his lanky frame draped in an oversize navy uniform. His eyes, dark as black holes, twinkled. Mischievous crow's feet creased his face. 

“You had extra keys," he commented, steepling his fingers, his voice somewhere between smug and betrayed. 

Lying to Henry was always a bad idea, so I nodded. "They're there if I can't find the keys in time for work. I need money to pay the mortgage, which means that I can't come in late for work every day." 

Henry smiled sheepishly and admitted, "You're a good tennant. It would be nice if you'd stay." 

"That means that the rules of our game will probably have to be altered a little bit." 

He shrugged his shoulders, disappointed. "Emergencies?" 

"I will," I promised, and extended my hand for a shake.

Henry's face split into a smile, and I felt an invisible force grasp my outstretched hand. With a parting shake, Henry disappeared from the mirror and the presence around my fingers disintegrated into a cool breeze.

I went to bed that night, rehanging the spare set of keys underneath my lampshade. Henry chuckled from somewhere in my room. 

“This is the set doesn’t move, okay?” I demanded, jingling the keys in Henry’s general direction. 

With a faux-exasperated sigh, Henry quietly left the room to let me sleep. 

I awoke to a stuffy nose and a pain in my ears. The discomfort was accompanied by a rising of bile in my throat, and I barely made it to the bathroom in time to empty my stomach. 

Trudging back to my room, I picked up the phone on my bedside table and dialed. 

“Hello?” My boss’ secretary sipped at a coffee after greeting me. “Who is this?”

“It’s Jesse. I need to call in sick.” 

“You do sound quite nasal.” She twittered a laugh and scribbled something in the notebook she always had by her desk. “Thanks for letting me know. Feel better!”

“I’ll try,” I groaned, and hung up. 

Shivers raced up and down my back, and my teeth started to chatter. The house, once passive, suddenly leaned in with concern. The feeling wasn't not centered in a specific spot, though. I could not feel Henry. 

I grabbed a blanket from my bed and wrapped it greedily around my shoulders. My body vibrated as long underwear leapt into my hands and I scurried into the bathroom. I didn't bother turning on the fan, and I turned the hot water as high as it would go. Steam poured from behind the shower curtain, cradling my shivering body. 

Thankfully, the hot water soothed the sickness. The shakes subsided to the lingering scent of vanilla soap and steam, and while nauseous and congested, I didn't feel nearly so miserable. 

Henry moved around outside the bathroom door. It was strangely comforting knowing that he was around, somewhere. 

I stepped out of the shower and got dressed in the long-johns, hoping that they would stave of the brunt of my chill. Cursing the office and its flu-spreading tendencies, I dried my hair as best I could with a towel. I shuffled into the kitchen and fixed myself oatmeal and a glass of ginger ale. I thought that such calming foods would have a medicinal effect on my stomach. 

They didn't. 

After a brief bathroom hiatus, I washed out my mouth with water and collapsed into a chair at the kitchen table. I started shaking again. 

I settled for pacing the halls with a blanket-cloak billowing from my shoulders. The blood flow took the edge off my shivers, and as I huffed and puffed my way in an endless relay, I listened to the radio announcers banter over some new political wonder. 

Henry, while present somewhere, didn't follow me. 

Around two in the afternoon my stomach growled. It accepted some saltine crackers with disenchanted rumblings. I set a glass of water down and continued my misery-staving march, stopping at the counter for a sparrow sips every time I completed a round. I set my jaw to keep it from chattering, and stomped across the floorboards more times than I could count. 

My energy was nearing its end. I dragged myself from one room to the next, eventually coming to a stop in the living room, unable to force my legs further. 

A watery grin spread across my face. 

Henry had turned on a floor lamp, casting the room in a warm, golden glow. My favorite armchair in the corner practically glimmered, as it was home to two treasures: my favorite book, and a scarf Henry had managed to scrounge up. 

I took my seat like an honored monarch, setting the tome in my lap and wrapping the scarf around my neck and shoulders. I curled my feet into the folds of my blanket for good measure. Henry looked on approvingly from a picture frame's reflection. 

"Thank you," I said, hoarse. 

He chuckled and dissipated. 

I spent many happy hours reading. Henry slipped in and out of the room as the sun set, his footsteps creaking on the old wood floors. I barely looked up from the story, but noticed after a couple glances that a bloody sunset hand stretched across the sky. It died as quickly as it came. 

I stood in its dying light, staring into the pink-and-golden sunset. I breathed a sigh. It was a beautiful end to a parade of wasted hours. 

My stomach started to gurgle again, and I vacated my living room window in search of something to eat. 

I retraced my weary steps from room to room, following back the path I had carved into the floor earlier that day. Henry flitted from reflection to reflection, as if walking just ahead of me. I managed a small laugh at his playful passes from frame to frame. He giggled back. 

We emerged into the kitchen, and two cups of tea were waiting for us on the counter. Wisps of steam curled towards the underside of my cabinets. The smell of oranges and ginger wafted around the kitchen. 

I took both cups to the table, beginning to blow on mine. Henry did the same, biding his time. I waited, taking burning sips every once in a while. 

Henry materialized, transparent face grinning. "Do you feel better?" 

With a smile, I nodded into my mug. "Yes."