The Ordinary Haunting

7. The Slow Trip

I settled myself in what I was starting to consider 'my place' on top of New's coffee table. Streams of morning sunlight fell gently into the room and warmed my back pleasantly. I closed my eyes and listened to the birds whistling and crying out to each other, picturing them swooping high and low over the river outside the front door whilst fish splashed a fin above the water just to tease them. The leaves on the trees hadn't yet started to turn, but their skin seemed a little thinner. The neighbourhood cats, too, were getting more active and starting to shed their lazy hot weather weight. I loved the change from summer to autumn. I was glad to be around to see it one more time, even in the state that I was.

Muted footsteps sounded from the hallway and I opened one eye as New entered the living room.

It was my first time seeing him in casual clothes, I realised. My interest piqued. I'd been so occupied with this first week of ghost-dom that I hadn't had the time to consider the more detailed implications -- and opportunities -- of the weekend. If I didn't get a glimpse into New's real personality on his days off, then I might have to accept that he just didn't have one. At any rate, it would all start with his clothes. I opened my other eye and watched him moving about the room with a watering can and peering closely at the leaves of his plants.

He was wearing all black: skinny jeans, a T-shirt, and a bomber jacket rolled to his elbows. Only his socks were different, a plain white with no patterns. I felt sad momentarily that he hadn't discovered the joys of colourful socks. His hair was styled looser than usual, falling over his forehead with some natural texture visible. It caught a piece of sunlight and a few strands within glowed faintly. I couldn't see any identifiable logos on his outfit, so had to assume that it was all bought from a department store.

He looked good, I guess, but as personalities go, there wasn't anything useful I could craft into a narrative.

I crossed my arms exasperatedly and looked down at myself. I'd carked it in my work clothes, of all things. A white button-down shirt and a pair of grey slacks. My usual brown Oxfords. I'd tried putting on the jacket I'd left over the back of my chair the day before I died, and I'd been able to do so just fine, but then Krist walked in from the stationery storeroom, saw a blazer flouncing around by itself and sent an entire box of A4 envelopes and company stamps flying up into one of the ceiling lights above the heads of the graphic designers.

So changing my clothes was a no-no.

"Good morning, Luna."

I darted to my feet and jumped off the other side of the table just as Luna leapt up right where I'd been sitting. She'd done that the last two mornings, and I was starting to suspect that she had a good idea of exactly what would happen if she were to successfully land in my lap while under the observation of her owner. I stumbled backwards and just managed to stop myself before I knocked into a second philodendron beside the television. This one was much smaller than the one in New's room, a recent addition I guess. All up there were nine plants in the apartment, and all nine were in flourishing stages of health.

I'd had plenty of time to evaluate them, believe me.

"Do you think this is okay?"

New shook his hair out of his eyes and spread his arms half-heartedly in front of Luna. I took a safe step away from the philodendron, pressed my feet flat to the ground and hung my hands in my pockets, looking at him. His face was arranged as serenely as always, but there was something of a spike in his usually firm shoulders. His voice, too -- which, admittedly, had always given off more colour than I think he meant to -- was noticeably tense.

"Why am I doing this," he muttered to himself. His arms came to rest limply at his sides again. Luna let out a low meow and he crouched down to scratch her under the chin. "Look after the house for me, yeah?"