Maria.

Letter 1.

Dear Professor Carse,

                                             You gave me this assignment to prove that keeping track of my time would help more than my medication. I still don't believe you, but I still want to thank you. Writing in this journal, or dairy thing, has helped someone. Not me, but some else I think you would've liked if you had the chance to meet her. Writing in this has helped my roommate, Maria Cheles. 

Maria isn't like anyone either of us have ever met. She's a genus, just not in the way you think. She's clever, a natural problem solver and unlike a lot of people, she cares about everyone. The good, the bad, the Belibers. (Those are fans of Justin Beiber. Who, if you are old enough to have escaped the dreaded "Beiber Fever", would certainly classify under the list of the bad.) Maria is different, more than just the ways I just wrote of. There is something else, something rather amazing, that makes Maria different. 

Maria is a ghost, Professor Carse. Maria was murdered in her own apartment. The apartment we now share. It's hard to believe, I know and I understand why you wouldn't believe me. You may just think that my ADHD controlled mind is just making up a story to explain glances I see in the corner of my eyes and the noises I hear when I'm falling asleep, but I swear to you and everything you've achieved, that I really do live ( if that's the correct term) with a ghost.

I feel like it is important to understand how I have come to this conclusion, but I feel it is more important to understand Maria and I's story. So maybe by telling you it, you can do both. 

The day I moved in, a little less then a year ago, was quite wet. It had been raining for most of the week and I was moving in on a Friday. It was windy as well. Every time a draft would fly down, a new set of water drops fell from the neighboring tree's leaves and their thin branches would shake. Sometimes, later after I moved in, I'd catch one falling off from my bedroom window. Why I moved in on such a poor-weathered day and why I didn't wait till the following Saturday, is still kind foggy to me. I couldn't move back into the apartment I was former resident to and the nearest family member was (and still is) my sister, who lives with her girlfriend two hours away. I had friends, yes, but none I felt comfortable around when I was having a bad day, which I was.

The following weekend and for the first two days of the week, I spent unpacking. Photos, clothes, bedding, plates, forks, knives, spoons, bowls, glasses, mugs, laptop, desk. You pretty much name anything you have in your home, I had to unpack and place were it rightfully belonged. I didn't notice anything strange or ghost-y until a neighbor, who lived below me, came up to welcome me to the building. 

Her name was Miss.Corded. To be frank, she' s one of the reasons it took so long for me to believe I was living with a ghost. She is a short woman, standing only 5'1, but her slight hunch made her look more like 4'10. She has rather wispy, grey and white hair that sticks up in strange places when she doesn't have it in a bun on the center of the top of her head. She has to wear inch thick glasses that seemed to like sliding down to the tip of her nose, but the thing I like best about Miss.Corded's appearance, is the fact that all she wears, is brightly colored and patterned muumuus. I think it brings her whole look together.

She came up to my door and knocked like anyone would have. I was in my bedroom, struggling to hang a painting my sister made for me up straight. Ten seconds after the knocking had ceased, I heard my door click open. It seemed like Miss.Corded had let herself in. By the time I had gotten that damn painting straight, she was sitting on my couch, with a glass of foggy, dark liquid with steam floating out of it. A beat up, home made looking bag took up the other half of the couch. I won't hide, I did think she was... How do I put this nicely? I thought maybe she didn't have all ducks in a row, but she seemed harmless and I didn't really have anything worth stealing so I paid it no mind. 

I sat down on a dinning chair opposite of her and without a word, she placed the glass in front of me, on the wooded table between us. I would write out the conversion, but it was a long one and I don't remember a lot of the words shared between us. I'll just tell you want I learned:

1: Miss.Corded is very strange. 2: A woman had been murdered here and that's why the price of it was down. 3: The café down the street has good coffee. 4: The woman's name was Maria and she was living with me. 5: The foggy, steaming, dark liquid was hot tea she had made on my stove with her own kettle.

That's when things started to happen.

Lights would flicker on and off, glasses would move without anyone touching them, papers would be all over the floor and most interesting, the fridge would be open. Please write back and tell me want you think. If you don't believe me yet, how can I convince you and no, I'm still off Focalin.

                                                                                                                      Best wishes, Arron.