The ghost had perfected its entrance.
It drifted through the wall with a dramatic swirl of cold air, rattled the picture frames, and even let out a moan it had practiced for decades. A good, resonant moan — the kind that made chandeliers tremble.
Elliot didn’t look up from his cereal.
The ghost hovered closer, offended. It knocked over a spoon. It flickered the lights. It rearranged the magnets on the fridge to spell BOO, then, for emphasis, SERIOUSLY.
Elliot calmly pushed the magnets back into alphabetical order.
“You know I can see you,” he said, not bothering to raise his eyes. “I’m just not doing this today.”
The ghost froze mid‑wail. Not doing this? Haunting was not optional. Haunting was a calling. A vocation. A sacred duty.
It tried again, this time going for the classic: whispering Elliot’s name directly into his ear.
“Ellllliot…”
“Mm‑hmm,” Elliot replied, scrolling on his phone.
The ghost was scandalized. It had terrified entire families in its prime. It had made grown men leap out of windows. It had once caused a priest to faint. And now it was being treated like background noise.
In desperation, it grabbed a pen and scribbled on a notepad:
WHY AREN’T YOU SCARED OF ME?
Elliot finally looked up. “Because I’m tired,” he said. “And you’re not nearly as frightening as my inbox.”
The ghost blinked. It had never been compared to email before. It wasn’t sure how to feel about that.
Elliot sighed, softening. “Look… if you want to hang around, fine. But haunting requires energy I don’t have. Maybe we can just coexist.”
The ghost floated back, confused but oddly relieved. No screaming. No running. No dramatic exorcisms. Just… company.
It wrote one more line:
CAN I AT LEAST RATTLE SOMETHING SOMETIMES?
Elliot shrugged. “As long as it’s not the coffee mugs.”
The ghost nodded, settling into a corner. It rattled a single fork — quietly, politely.
For the first time in a century, it felt… acknowledged.
The CJBuzz 