SPIRITS IN THE MATERIAL WORLD
Micah - Present Day
The shower curtain ring sat on the drafting table, and Micah kept expecting it to disappear, to be absorbed back across the veil into the afterlife. But every time he picked it up, which was frequently, it was still as solid and unimpressive as a curtain ring should be.
Photos of it and the marker message on the bathroom mirror didn’t look like much evidence. Maybe he needed to install cameras. But who was he going to show? Everett? Between keyboard clacks and high-definition views of his brother’s sinuses, Everett would tell him the shadow he’d caught on film was simply that, a shadow. Some play of light from a passing car and Micah really was paranoid and did he call any of those therapists yet?
Scrolling through his contacts, Micah pressed the number for the hotline and wedged in his earpiece.
“Thanks for calling, lover. Our operators are aching to talk to you. What gender are you interested in?”
“Surprise me.”
“Hang tight while I find your perfect match.”
Sultry music piped through the earpiece. Micah twirled the curtain ring between his fingers.
A deep baritone rippled in his ear. “Hey there. I’m–”
“Don’t tell me your name. Anonymous is better. But pronouns are okay... How are you tonight?”
There was a pause. “Can’t get enough of me, huh?”
“Mr Satin Voice, we meet again.”
“Looks that way. I’m glad, actually. The stuff you said last night about how everyone’s body is beautiful, and how I probably have nice hands and what not... That made me feel really good about myself, man. You don’t even know.”
Micah smiled. “Good. I meant it.”
The operator purred into the earpiece. “Now, you tell me what I can do for you tonight.”
“If I want to talk about something other than your body, will you hang up on me?”
“Nah. If you wanna beat it while we talk about football or something, I’m not going to judge.”
“I don’t ever touch myself during these calls. But the topic on my mind is rather unusual.”
“It’s your dime, baby. Try me.”
“I think my apartment is haunted.”
He expected the operator to laugh or adopt an “I’m humoring you” voice, but his tone was sincere. “What makes you say that?”
“The same eighties songs have been playing out of nowhere in the middle of the night for three weeks, and yelling at the neighbors has done nothing. There are loud noises, things falling down, and a weird message appeared on my bathroom mirror.”
The operator would be amused now. He’d tell Micah they were unrelated events, that ghosts weren’t real, that someone had to have written that message when Micah wasn’t looking – the same things Micah had been telling himself.
“The last house I lived in was haunted,” the operator said. “We heard footsteps up and down the hallways at night, and we thought it was one of the kids. It sounded like a kid running. But when we checked their rooms, they were fast asleep. And once the bedroom door opened and then slammed shut again.”
Micah glanced over his shoulder at the dark room. “So what did you do?”
“We moved the hell out of there. That house had bad vibes.”
“I can’t move. My lease isn’t up, and I like this place besides. It’s a steal for what it is. Anywhere else would be twice as expensive for half the amenities.”
“You got bad vibes being in there?”
Micah pursed his lips. Maintenance had shampooed the carpets while he was in the hospital – after the police got the evidence they needed, not that it amounted to anything – but it hadn’t removed the bloodstains. Ximena had given him a rug to cover them up.
