"It's you again."
I froze as he said those words.
He was looking straight at me, his expression neither shocked nor horrified. Just tired. His brown eyes had barely registered any shock of seeing me suddenly behind him. He didn't turn around to face me, just continued to stare at me in the mirror while his own face - long and pale and covered in dark stubble - gazed sullenly back.
I had guessed he was in his thirties, but staring at him in the dim light of the bathroom, he looked so much older. The dark bags under his eyes weren't doing him any favors. How anyone who slept as much as he did could look so tired was beyond me.
He sighed, and turned the tap on the sink again. As he leaned forward to splash his face, I flew upwards, passing through plaster and ceiling and floorboards until I had reached the attic above.
I stood there for a moment to collect myself.
The attic was dark, lit only by what moon-glow came in through the small windows on either wall. Old furniture was set up around the center of the room - my old furniture - some of it covered in dusty white sheets, some not. Other items had been pushed against the walls, a dresser, a hope chest, a dress form and some scattered boxes filled with clothing and memorabilia. I paced around the piles as I tried to make sense of what had just happened.
"What did he mean by that?" I asked myself aloud, "I've never seen this man before in my life. I've only known him since he moved in and started making a mess of my house."
I heard a squeak and looked down. Sitting on top of one of the piles of clothing was a rat. He sat up on his haunches, his little pink paws folded in front of him. The rat had been living in the attic for long enough that I'd given him a name. I called him Jimmy, because something about his big sad eyes made me think of Jimmy Stewart, the actor. You might think it's bonkers to make friends with a rat, but when you've been alone as much as I have, you take what you can get.
"Is he just crazy?" I asked, "Maybe he sees people who aren't there all the time. In that case, he wouldn't be surprised to see me. I've seen those pills he takes every day, so that would make sense. I'll tell you what, it doesn't make me feel any better though; I'd like to know I'm not living with someone who belongs in a looney bin."
Jimmy twitched his nose in agreement.
"I'll have to change tactics," I said, pacing more furiously now as I thought up my plan, "I don't like being aggressive, but desperate times call for desperate measures. I've never been mean, Jimmy, but I think I may have to start being a bad ghost. It might be the only thing that gets rid of him."
Jimmy cocked his head, as though curious to hear the rest of my plan.
"Oh, I'll start small," I said with a wave of my hand, "just sort of movie stuff. Slam some cabinets, lock some doors. I won't do anything to hurt him. Not yet."
Jimmy squeaked in protest, and I threw my hands in the air.
"I don't have much of a choice now, do I?" I asked, "I can't let him stay here and ruin my house, and obviously he's hard to scare. I don't want do it, but the sooner he gets scared off, the sooner another nice family like the Andersons can move in. Then everything will be back to normal and I'll finally be able to relax."
I sat down on the fainting couch and sighed, exhausted from my tirade.
"It's not the best plan, but it will just have to do," I said, as Jimmy scurried beneath a pile of boxes, apparently tired of my company.
I sat there in the moonlight for a few moments, thinking.
I wondered what he was up to now. Had he gone back to bed after our encounter? I got up and drifted downward - through more floorboards and wooden beams and ceiling - into the bedroom.
He wasn't there.
I checked the bathroom, but no dice.
I drifted down the stairs, through the kitchen and down the hall -
There he was. The living room. Asleep on the couch, an empty glass bottle tipped over on the coffee table. Lovely; on top of everything else, now he was an alcoholic. I stepped in front of the couch to get a better look at him.
He was asleep on his side, one arm under his head and the other curled close against his body. His dark brown hair was a mess, and his mouth was slightly open as his chest rose and fell with steady breaths. Though he spent plenty of time sleeping, he always seemed restless while he slept; he'd toss and turn, his eyebrows knitted as though he were deeply concerned with whatever dreams he was having. This was the first that I could remember seeing him look peaceful.
Well, that wasn't going to last long.
I moved over to the other side of the room, to where the radio hung on the wall. I made sure the volume was at full blast, and then tuned it to the late-night talk show. Then with one last, rueful glance at Jordan's sleeping form, I flipped it on.
The sound of a man's booming voice seemed to fill every corner of the room. It was inescapable, raucous, jarring - and it had the exact effect I wanted.
Jordan leaped up from the couch so suddenly that he lost his balance, stumbled, and fell, barely catching himself before he fell face-first onto the carpet. He scrambled back to his feet, covering his ears as he scanned the room for the source of the noise. Finally he spied the radio and rushed over, slamming the off button with all the force he could.
The room plunged back into silence.
Jordan stood as though frozen in place for a moment, his hand still on the power switch. He was standing right beside me, and I could see that he was trembling. Then his body seemed to deflate, as he sagged against the wall and breathed out a sigh that came out like a sob.
He staggered back to the couch and fell back onto the cushions like a sack of potatoes. He scrubbed a hand over his face, looking more tired than ever. His breathing quickened, and his shoulders began to shake. Was he crying? I couldn't tell, as he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and covered his face with his hands.
He sat like that for a long time, his face hidden and his shoulders hunched as though he were trying to make himself disappear. He looked so small, so…alone.
I should have been happy; my plan had worked, after all. In fact, it had gone even better than I'd hoped. I'd scared the daylights out of him, from the looks of it. I should have been proud of myself.
But I didn't feel proud.
And I sure as heck didn't feel happy.
I felt rotten.