House Ghost ONC 2022 LONGLISTER

Chapter 6: The Human

POV: Justin

No matter how much I toss and turn, I don't sleep at all that night. The noises above my ceiling never stop, scurrying all over the attic and knocking over boxes. After the fourth thump I tear off my blankets and switch on the lamp.

What the hell was going on in the attic? Nothing was there but it sure felt like it. I have no idea why the dresser was so bizarre. I get that it was old, but for it to suddenly get jammed like that, and so hard-- it makes no sense.

My hand stings again at the memory and I grimace, looking down at the purpling ridges across my fingers. I'd put some cold water on them to take down the swelling but they still throb, so I bury my fist in the soft throw to soothe it. How did that get up there, by the way? I know it was down in the den when I went to bed last night, because it got stuck in the recliner. The rips prove that. And I never went into the attic because I didn't have a light and it was late. So how...how did it end up there?

With a grunt, I slide off my bed and head into the bathroom to bandage my hand and splash some cold water on my face. If I'm not going to sleep I might as well be fully awake. It's not like I'm going to have work tomorrow-- oh god, I was fired this morning. That was this morning.

I really look like crap, I notice, catching a glance of the frazzled, bone-weary man staring at me before opening the cabinet. Opening the bandage, I turn back to mulling over the issues of the night.

The only rational explanation is that someone took the throw up there. Taking that theory a step further, that same someone changed my sheets, drank my chocolate milk, and stomped on my nightlight. But why. And no one was there! I combed over the whole space, it's not like it was a large attic.

There's something else, Justin, my brain prods uninvited, You're going over everything you didn't find but ignoring what you did.

Because looking through even more of Kaylee's old stuff on the one year anniversary I lost her isn't relevant to figuring out who this mystery blanket stealer is.

My hand all bandaged up, I check my phone. There's one new voicemail from a private number. I swipe up and listen:

Hello, Justin, this is Dr. Neferstain. I got your voicemail. I'm sorry to hear about your job and I'm fine to put a hold on our sessions if that's what you want to do. However I am a bit concerned stopping right before the anniversary of the trauma that brought you into therapy. Typically the first year is the hardest and will bring up a lot of painful memories... I just want to make sure you have someone you can reach out to if things get too rough. If necessary we can find a temporary sliding scale for your needs.

Even if you would still like to take a break for financial reasons, please don't hesitate to call me if you're feeling overwhelmed. On a practical note, call me back when you can just to confirm some of the details for paperwork. Take care.

The phone hums into silence and I stare blankly at the transcripted message for several seconds. Maybe I should try to get some more sleep.

Before I can climb up the stairs the doorbell rings. Crap.

I open the front door as slowly as civility allows. "Oh hello, Macie."

"Justin! Are you quite alright? You look dreadful."

"I'm alright ma'am." I tuck my bandaged hand behind the door. "Can I help you with anything?"

"Oh I just wanted to check on you. You never returned my call the other day and I wanted to know if something had happened to you."

"Call?" I stare at her for a solid five seconds.

"About the rent? Over the weekend?"

"Oh yeah! That phonecall!" Why it took me that long to remember something that happened less than 48 hours ago is really disturbing but I won't focus on that.