This is different. The tall man in front of me takes inconsistent pauses before throwing out questions I don’t know the answers to, and makes me question the script I’ve followed so closely my entire life.
It’s different, but not uncomfortable.
He pushes his glasses back up his nose and grunts. “Which one?”
His face is unmoving. He must realize that if we’re roommates, we’re both in Brookstone’s engineering program. Yet, it has no impact on how he responds to me. It’s completely irrelevant, it seems.
The thought makes me giddy.
“I think I like them both equally. You can call me whichever. Thank you for asking, though.” I throw another smile at him. When the grin isn’t returned, I don’t let myself overthink it.
While my back is turned to him, heading back to the box I haphazardly dumped in the dining area, I ask, “What’s your name?”
There’s a long pause. I push the cardboard against the wall, near the hallway to our left and out of the way, while he takes his time figuring out his answer. When it does come, it’s in a strained voice.
“Locke.”
“Cool. Like, a lock and key?”
“Yes.”
“I like it.”
I throw another smile at him before heading to the front door. It’s to let him know that one-word replies are more than enough, but Locke surprises me with a full sentence.
“Do you need any help with your boxes?”
“That’d be great, thank you!” My excited voice layers with the sound of our doorknob.
It takes three steps, versus my five, for him to reach the front of our shared apartment. He scans over the floor and speaks for the first time with the first hint of emotion in his tone. Concern.
“Did you see a ghost?”
He says something else under his breath, too soft for me to make out, but I wouldn’t have been able to process it regardless. My skin runs cold with the mention of the only thing worse than living with a bad roommate.
I’ve seen hundreds of horror films. Definitely more than any person with a fear of the supernatural should see. Usually, I enjoy them. It doesn’t become a problem unless night falls and I’m on my own, but his worried expression sends panic up my spine.
Alarms blare in my head. This is the perfect opening scene for a straight-to-DVD, 2000s horror film with a debatable three-point-one star rating on Letterboxd.
Slowly, I tilt my head to look at Locke and take a deep, shaky breath. “Are there ghosts in this fucking apartment?”
He doesn’t say much. Which was fine about three minutes ago, before he made me think my phone could ring any second with a demonic voice asking,“What’s your favorite scary movie?”on the other side.
“I meant-”
“Hell no. Nope. No no no.” My thoughts can’t stay on one course when the memories of every horror film I’ve ever seen are rolling around in my head. “I can’t live here if there are ghosts. Nope. I don’t mess with that shit.”
The singular box I’ve pulled into the apartment seems so far away now. It only has a few textbooks and some of my older clothes. I consider going back to get it, before running out the door, but my head shakes. It’s not worth it.
I’m silently saying goodbye to that one box when a sound breaks through my fear. Deep chuckles bounce off the semi-empty walls of our dorm and slowly run my uneasiness away. Either because Locke’s laugh is so jarring from his stoic persona, or because the sound is so infectious.
“Stop!” It’s supposed to come out with serious concern, but I start laughing without meaning to. “It’s not funny! I’ve watchedThe Exorcistenough times to know that the first rule of possession is to get the fuck out of the house!”
He doesn’t stop. Locke laughs harder, bending at the waist and holding onto his stomach. I will myself to put on a serious face because no ghost is going to appreciate being laughed at like this, but my grin won’t fall.
“I’m sorry.” His tone is so much different than earlier. Still deep, but not at all intimidating. A tinge of joy hangs on to every word. “I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you. Promise.”
My arms cross and eyebrows raise. “I didn’t think you were until just now.”
