House Ghost ONC 2022 LONGLISTER

Chapter 3: The Ghost

POV: Grey

I've been in shock ever since I threw the box down. I didn't even watch to see where it fell; I just ran and hid behind other crates. And when the human screamed, I knew something had gone wrong. I rushed out onto the roof, protected by the dark thunderclouds, and have been huddled in the corner of a gable for god knows how long, shaking from fear and the cold.

"What were you thinking, Grey?" I whisper in panic. I'm too scared to wipe the tears out of my eyes. "You nearly got caught! That human almost found out!"

After all this time, I exposed myself to a load of danger, one careless mistake after another: taking too slow, leaving behind evidence, falling asleep in human territory, and not preparing for an exit strategy in advance. Grey of a year ago, no, Grey of six months ago wouldn't have made such a messy string of mistakes.

I've gotten lax.

Then I remember the scream, and the sickening thud after it. How heavy was the box I threw? Normally ghosts can hardly move stuff, but they are much stronger under pressure. What if the human was d--

No, not dead. I couldn't have killed him, I just couldn't have. But what if he was hurt? If he thought someone attacked, he might bring out his lights and search the attic out. Humans can be thorough when they want to be, he could be scouring my home for hours.

Maybe I should just fly into the woods, and hide out there for... ever? Yeah, yeah, forever.

I never would actually do such a thing. I'm too attached to earthly belongings; they're more familiar to me than other ghosts. One can't really bring blankets into the wilderness, not without ruining them. For me, I'd rather risk danger to keep my few comforts than live on in peace and blandness.

So I wait. I wait until the rain stops and the grey clouds dissipate into the indigo night sky before I slide back through a large gap in the slats and adjust to the dimness of the room. The hatch is closed, which means the human is not dead because I didn't shut it. Still, I sneak the hatch open the tiniest bit and yank the cord, tucking it behind the door. If he doesn't see way to open the hatch dangling there, then he'll be more likely to forget the encounter altogether.

Then, I settle in the darkest corner, wait for my form to stop shivering and hope for some semblance of sleep to take away my worries for a few hours.

Rays of sunlight never actually come into the attic, but I can feel when the sun comes up in the the wind that slips through the cracks. It's warmer, more stifling.

Just like the human.

8:47 AM. That's what the ancient red numbers flicker at me from the darkness. The human should have left ten minutes ago, like every other Tuesday, but I still hear him underneath me, pacing like a panther. Every time he passes by the attic, angry murmurs drift up through the cracks.

He's looking for me. I may have hid the pullstring, but he's going to find a stool and wrench down the hatch with his bare hands. He won't stop until he's searched every corner of this attic and--

"...my keys!?!"

Keys?

For the first time in hours, I let myself breathe. Maybe he isn't looking for me.

I push open the hatch, leaving it intentionally half-open. Don't need another explosive entrance like last time.

In a weird way I've gotten familiar with the layout: the small kitchen taken up mostly by an oversized fridge and a sink; the worn out leather recliner and the oversized TV.