House Ghost ONC 2022 LONGLISTER

Chapter 8: The Human

POV: Justin

After the first second of processing that my computer cut off, my first instinct is to drop to the floor to check the cables. But nothing is out of place. Plus, my nightlight isn't shining and it's plugged into another outlet on a different wall.

Did the whole apartment have an outage? Crap, I should have mentioned that brownout to the landlady earlier. I go out to the hall and flick on the light.

"So this one works," I mutter, glancing back at my room. "But that one doesn't. What would have caused my room to trip out--"

The ceiling light goes dark. I must have flipped it off without thinking. But when I switch it again, nothing happens. I groan in annoyance. The lightbulb couldn't happen to have conveniently burned out just now, completely unrelated to the electrical issues I'm having? Please have that be the case.

Nope, not the case. The lightbulb bursts to life above me less than five seconds later, with no flickering whatsoever. It's as if someone's pushing a button to the electricity. If I go to stop the power, it turns back on, and a few moments later it goes out again. I start flipping the switch quickly, trying to turn it off before the ceiling light gets more damaged, but it's no use. The bulb keeps flashing on faster and faster, until it's practically blinking. What the hell is wrong with this socket?

Then I notice the light on the main floor cut in and out. Oh god, this is an issue across the entire apartment. For a split second I consider bothering my neighbors one more time and ask if they're having similar issues, but I abandon the thought entirely when the power in my room flickers in and out.

"Holy crap, my computer--" If the electricty keeps doing this there's a high risk it could cause a power surge. I run back in there and unplug my devices. "What on earth is going on with this place?"

"Where's that godforsaken circuit box?" I yell to no one in particular. "If it's on the neighbor's side of this freaking apartment, I swear to god--"

All the appliances downstairs are beeping manically, and every single light is flashing like strobes at a rave event. It's too much to handle, and my heart starts pounding against my ribs.

You feel powerless. Because you are. You can't change anything, like you couldn't then.

"No, no, no," I close my eyes. "This isn't then. I'm not trapped in that moment."

Look at you. Couldn't even hold through college. Drifting in and out of jobs, no plans, no career. Nothing. Because you can't do anything.

"Stop it! Just stop!" I clamp my hands over my ears, stumbling backwards, but it doesn't block out the memories. Her screams replay vividly in my head, so clearly I could swear it was right above me.

Kaylee had an actual life ahead of her and you took it away. For what? She would have done something with her life. She had love, a family, a track for her future. Kaylee would have been more for this world.

The flashing lights sear my eyeballs and make my head throb. I hunch my shoulders, screwing my eyelids shut more tightly, and shake my head fiercely. "It wasn't— I didn't... I didn't want that...

You couldn't stand the looks of judgement and pity her friends gave. So you pushed your problems onto everyone else, and then pushed away anyone who wanted to help. It's your fault. Your fault!

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry!" I curl into myself, sobbing. "Make it stop!"

God, I can't breathe. My heart is beating outside of my chest at a hundred miles an hour. Everything's too loud, too bright and chaotic, and it all swirls together into pandemonium, reflecting my spiraling thoughts at every turn. There's nothing I can focus on to anchor myself.

You didn't want to admit the truth. But now you can't get away. No more running. Admit it. Say it!

"It should have been me!" The words tear out of my throat in a scream. Grief and the overwhelming barrage to my sense sap my body completely. I slump onto the floor, curling into a ball. "It should have been me, Kaylee..."

There's a loud crackle and the entire house goes dark all at once.

It should have been you.

The darkness wraps around me, like a smothering blanket. I don't try to move. I stay on the floor, curled in the fetal position, my shoulders shaking from sobs, gasping for breath. Time stops, light vanishes. It's just me, alone with my guilt and the nothingness. Forever.

Then something screeches in the darkness. At first I think it's just more flashes from the past, but after another minute it shrieks again, too jagged and rough a sound to be a memory.

It's the attic hatch.

Someone else just came down the attic stairs.

With a choked gasp, I jerk and sit up. The hairs on my neck stand to attention, prickling at the sense of another presence in the room. My ears strain for a footfall, a creaking board, anything.

Something thumps to the floor a few feet away. The noise is soft but unmistakable. I need to act. Crawling forward, I run my hands around the floor, trying to find my phone. My bruised fingers throb when I try to grasp the device, and I fumble before turning on the flashlight and thrusting it out at arms length, piercing the blackness around me.

Maybe the sleepless nights of the past week are taking their toll on me, or maybe it's due to so many crappy events stacked on top of each other that I don't have the energy to completely freak out when I see a person standing barely a meter away from me.

Or maybe because I've accepted on a subconscious level that I'm going insane. Because there is no way that woman in front of me is real. I'd know those dark eyes anywhere; she's even dressed the exact same way the night it happened.

"Kaylee? Is that you?"

There's no way, no way that this isn't my fractured mind, a sleep-deprived hallucination, or my conscience bringing me to justice for my actions. And yet...

God, what I'd give for this to somehow be real. To be able to tell her everything I've wanted to say for the last twelve months. She'd probably cry, weep over her lost life, beg to know why things fell out the way they did. I wouldn't be able to give any answer that would make sense to either of us. Or maybe she'd scream in my face, curse me out for ruining her future, and tell me how much I deserve karma to screw me in the ass. But at least it'd be something.

I swallow the lump in my throat and try to speak, "Kaylee, I--"

Despite her most likely being a product of my imagination, the woman in front of me does the one thing I'm absolutely not prepared for. She shrieks and lunges for my phone.

"Get that piece of crap out of my face!"

Why does her voice sound weak and whispery? Taken so off guard, and with my bandaged hand, I can't hold onto the phone against her adrenaline grip, and she tears it away. The phone bounces and skids along the ground, reduced a bright silhoutte on the floorboards. I look from the phone back to the woman standing in front of me. If whoever this is really wrestled my phone out of my hands then she can't be my imagination. She's not Kaylee. But why does she sound just like her?

"Who the hell are you?" I ask.

"Who the hell are you?" The intruder retorts.

"Don't you know who I am, Kaylee?"

As if that wasn't bad enough, the woman cocks her head in a painfully familiar manner.

"Who's Kaylee?"