I sniff. Is that…sandalwood? I sniff again. Yeah, that definitely smells like sandalwood. Sometimes ghosts can produce a smell, though I can’t often concretely connect it to them. I sniff my arm. It’s not coming from me—though it could be an air freshener? I pick up the flashlight, turning it on so I can swing it around the bathroom, but I don’t see anything that could be producing the smell.
“I heard someone slipped and hit their head in the shower—Geoffrey. If that was you, I am so sorry. Were you using a sandalwood-scented body wash or shampoo? I can smell it.” My phone is still set to record, I point to it as I say, “If you want to talk, I can’t guarantee I’ll hear you now, but you can speak into this and I might be able to hear you later.” Silence still answers. I’ll poke for a bit longer before I give up. “Have you been here long?”
One knock.
I grin widely then set my face back to stone. “Sorry to hear that. It must be hard, but I bet it’s not lonely. I just met a woman named Violet—have you met her?”
One knock.
I wiggle in excitement—a ghost is definitely answering me. I still myself. “She was very nice. How many other people are in this house? Can you knock the number for me?”
One knock. Two. Three. I keep counting until the number reaches ten. Ten ghosts in this one house. No wonder Kit picked it.
“That’s a full house,” I say, impressed. “I’m sorry you’re all stuck here. I wish I had a way to help. Do you think everyone here will want to chat with me?”
Two knocks. No.
“Well, can’t say I don’t understand why. I appreciate you talking to me.”
The ghost seems done after that, so I move on. I have no more activity upstairs, so I leave my camerawhere I can see into both the main bedroom and a bit of the bathroom before heading downstairs. I head first to the kitchen. I set my flashlight down on the counter, leaning on the opposite counter as I start my standard introduction then ask if anyone is here. No response, typical. I ask a few more questions, but I’m not getting anything. I’m about to give up, but then my flashlight rolls off the counter.
“Was that you?” I ask. “Is someone else here?”
No one responds, but after I check the counter with the leveler app on my phone, I determine it would have been pretty difficult for the flashlight to roll off on its own, so that’s still great footage. I leave the kitchen and poke around the rest of the ground floor. I eye the door to the basement but don’t make a move for it.
Kit says, “I hate basements.”
“Yeah, I’m going to stay out of it. Too many spiders.”
“Are you scared of spiders?”
“Not particularly, but I’m tired of them biting me.”
“Makes sense.”
By the time we finish, it’s four a.m.
“Thank you,” I say to Kit once I gather my things and we head back to the car. “That was so, so great.”
“You’re welcome. Thanks for letting me tag along. You were incredible.”
I pack the car back up and get in the driver’s seat. “You drive,” I say.
He takes the body back, and I settle in for the ride.
twenty-nine
. . .
If I didn’t desperately needto claim my body before, I need to now. I referred to my body asthebody. Not mine. Not even ours, which would have been better. The. Like it’s not even mine, like it’s not evenme.
Kit is the reason I’m still alive, I understand that, but there has to be another way. I’m willing to get an ugly-ass protection tattoo, like he mentioned. I will line my house with salt. I will do everything in my power to keep myself safe—I’ll fight back on my own. He and I need to exist separately, because I will not risk losing myself.
I regard the chalkboard I’ve been marking my days on. There are nine lines as we have entered our tenth day together.
We get back to my apartment, and Kit collapses on the couch. “Not being in control exhausts me.”
When he’s not in control, he’s weaker overall. He’s weaker right now.
