End

*Warning: Suicide*

[WP] You discover after buying your first house that it is full of ghosts. However, unlike the traditional haunted houses, they all want you to achieve your dreams and will go to great lengths to make sure you meet every goal. It's great until people you know start to die.

*****

I pressed the button and ended the call to my mother and father. Today, with tears in my eyes, I could tell them that their little girl made it. After their own attempts at getting out of their family cycle of poverty, I had ascended some more steps towards financial freedom.

Not on my own. I don't think I could ever call myself "self made". They sacrificed a lot. So did others around me... And I am brave enough to admit, being in a financial position to afford Lexapro and intensive therapy didn't hurt either.

As the night set in, I slumped up the stairs and across the dark wooden floorboards. The duck feather comforter puffed up as I flopped onto it before getting comfortable in my wire-framed bed. I'd left the original, unlined linen curtains. I had really struck gold with this place, especially the way the market currently is. I guess old Queenslanders go for a bit less in places a little further out. Thank God for telecommuting.

The moonlight that snuck in through the curtains exaggerated the height of the ceilings. I felt like I was in one of those late 80s/early 90s Tim Burton-esque films that were slightly dark and challenged the genre. Not just Tim, could I call him Tim? Would he mind? My mind trailed off... What was the guy that made that other film? Beetlejuice? Beetlejuice...

My thoughts trailed off as the fog of sleep was ready to take over. A problem with Lexapro is the sleep paralysis. To be honest, I'd become a little jaded with the concept. I knew when I was in sleep paralysis mode. My body would move as if the room was viscous honey, if I could move at all, and the shadow people didn't seem to be able to do anything but be menacing.

I found that singing "The Lord is My Shepherd", a song I'd learned by chance from when I played a part in a community theatre production, tended to get them to buzz off.

So as the shadows emerged, I didn't bother trying to move. I just begun, "The Lord is my shepherd... And I want to follow... Wherever he leads me... Wherever he g-"

I was cut off "Oh man, I haven't heard that one for yonks. What a banger."

I sat up, with absolutely no viscosity pushing me back down, "Wait... What?"

"Oh, yeah." The shadow said in a twangy, rural accent, "I'm your ghost. Died out back near the well. That sucks. But, you know, what can ya do? Uh... Wooo or some shit." Long fingers lazily waved at me in the shadows sarcastically.

My eyes narrowed, "If you're a ghost, how do you know what the word 'banger' means?"

"You think those pink curtains that came with your room were the choice of an adult? Do you know how many bloody times I had to listen to Party in the USA by Miley bloody Cyrus with the last family that lived here? I'm dead, not frozen."

"And you're not..." I was trying to collect myself, my brain calculating such an odd occurrence brought to me by such a casual manner, "Evil, or something?"

"I don't think so? I like to think I help. Well, help people get out of my damn house. No one comes here because it's their first choice. Party in the USA kid wanted to become famous on the internet so I called in a few favours from some of the newer ghosts who found themselves out this way. Learned about 'Optimal traffic times' and unplugged the router whenever she'd try to upload a video outside of them. Bob's ya uncle, 10 months later she and her family struck some deal and now she hawks... I don't know, hair bows or sequin shirts or something, I didn't pay much attention. I just knew I had to get her out when she uploaded the 'MY HOUSE IS HAUNTED!' video."

"Uh, ok." I didn't really know what to say after that, "And what should I call you?"

"Preferably, you won't. Just let me know if I can do anything to give you a leg up and outta here."

I didn't run into him again. Each day I would journal. Each day I would work from the office. I would tour the grounds. It was just me and the country. It was just... This. Life was ok. Life had to be ok.

As I thought more and more about that night, I started getting a little less sure of myself. Currently, I was content living alone... But death was the same, apparently. So what was the difference? I didn't feel sad. I didn't feel anything.

Maybe that's what death was like.

Of course, I couldn't do that. I lived for the Christmases I saw mum and dad. I lived for the birthday phone calls that made their day. I lived for the phone calls where I could tell them I got a promotion or a new position or a salary increase. I lived for the letters and post cards I sent them when I went on day-drives to towns a few hours away when I just wanted something to do.

One day I called but they didn't answer.

That was ok. I'd been working through anxiety with my therapist. My parents had lives. My parents had news to tell me and that meant that there were logically times they would not be in their house to answer their phones. We didn't have mobiles as we were all rural and the Telstra rural plans only mattered if you needed to contact other people on a farm or something.

I soothed myself by reminding myself that they always called back.

They always called back.

They always called back.

I called again.

I called again.

They always called back.

I called.

I called.

They always called back.

I began to throw things into an old leather suitcase, ready to drive across the state to get to their door.

"I'll save you the petrol," The familiar voice said flatly, "They're dead. You can go now."

"What?" I looked around with the dim bulb hanging from the ceiling being the only light source.

The figure sat on my duck-down comforter, but no air displaced the feathers around him.

"I have nothing to do all day, and I made my way through most of your library." My pillow hovered slightly over the journal underneath, "This one though... This was an original. No one else has this story. Just you. Just me."

The journal flipped open and floated across to me as I read the passage, "My biggest wish is to simply not exist. Sometimes it feels like I'm only alive so that mum and dad won't be sad."

The entity hopped off the bed and dusted off his hands matter-of-factly, "And now they won't be." His cold hands pushed on my back, "So off you go, chop chop, no more reason to stay here anymore." He ushered me out and closed the door with almost a spring in his step.

I walked dazed and barefoot into the fields shrouded in the mists of the night, with toads at my feet and bats perched in the fruit trees over my head.

"JUST DON'T USE THE WELL!" He called out to me with his elbows resting on the kitchen windows that overlooked the garden, "THAT'S MY SPOT!"

****#

THE END