They were going through my room, again. It was the second biggest in the house, and it definitely had the best view. It was the fourth family today that had come to inspect the house; they were a small family, a single mother and her two twin teenage daughters.
"I want this room," one of the twins declared.
"That's not fair! I want it!" the other complained.
They had been bickering back and forth the entire hour that they had spent here. I wrote them off as two typical siblings. As I thought about it I realized that if these two moved in I would be tortured endlessly with their constant fighting.
Why was I going to be stuck with these two all the time even though I wasn't even a part of the family? Well there is a perfectly good explanation for it. I'm a ghost.
Yup, I died in this very house on August 6, 2005 at exactly 7:42 PM, three days before my seventeenth birthday, in the same room that the twins were now fighting over. Since I died in this house, and I didn't move on to the afterlife, I'm stuck in it for eternity, doesn't that sound like such a Hollywood cliché?
My father killed me. He didn't just kill me, he killed himself, and my mother too, but it's not something I really like to talk about. For some reason, even though we all died on the same day, I'm the only one stuck here. Don't ask me why, I have yet to figure out the reason for my being excluded from the trip to the pearly white gates.
"Brook, Bridget, stop fighting!" the mother, Mrs. Stevenson, ordered the twins. She was talking to the real estate agent. It seemed that she was interested in buying the house, my house.
Now don't get me wrong, I'm not one of those stereotypical ghosts who have possessiveness issues and insist that the house they once lived in over a hundred years ago should be left alone and abandoned just because they're bitter about being dead, and have decided to take out a personal vendetta with the human race. Though I lived in the house my entire life, it wasn't as if I had a strong attachment to it. At first, it was a little weird to see other people living in it, but I got over that quickly. I'm not that bitter about being dead, obviously I would prefer being alive, but it's not really an option for me. As for a grudge against humans, I don't have one, how could I? Only a few short years ago I was a human myself.
All that being said, clearly one would see that I have absolutely no desire to haunt the new inhabitants of the house that was once mine. Unfortunately, haunting people isn't that easy to avoid. It's actually impossible to avoid, and as fun as it would be to go into the mechanics of haunting people, I happened to have a bigger problem at the moment.
One of the twins, Bridget, had her elbow in my stomach. Yes, it was inside my stomach. I went right through inanimate objects without a problem, but when people touched me, not only was it incredibly uncomfortable, it immobilized me. Eventually, if she didn't move this would become painful, I would feel the same way a human who was suffocating would feel. Finally, she moved. I breathed a sigh of relief, yes technically I'm not human so I don't need to breathe, but as the saying goes, old habits die hard.
The family left the house after Mrs. Stevenson decided to put a bid on the house. I guess I was going to have some new housemates. It didn't really matter to me when people came to live here. I wasn't Casper the friendly ghost, but I didn't bother them either. Mostly I just ignored them; the only problem was that they never ignored me.
I realized that someone was standing behind me. I turned around and groaned, him again.
I know it's kind of short, but I do plan on updating soon.