“Do you have any idea where I am supposed to stay tonight?” she said nervously looking around to see who might have heard.
“We have an open room at my house,” he replied quickly looking up and on to the next face in line.
The open room was on the second floor of a worn out, Victorian row house in the Capitol Hill neighborhood of Washington, D.C. There was nothing special about the mattress on the floor or the neighboring room with three litter boxes. But the price was affordable and it was available. She moved in that day.
Slowly, the house began to reveal itself to the new tenant. The creaking floor boards spoke loudly without shame, like an old woman who had long forgotten her social graces. The matted, red velour sofa with squeaky springs in the living room was a reminder of how quality furniture used to be made, still functional after eighty years. Black and white photographs throughout the house had not one of the current four housemates.
One day, while in the kitchen preparing a sandwich, the new tenant turned to get mustard from the refrigerator and saw a tall, slim, elegant woman in a drop waist dress leaning on the door frame, watching her. Frozen with the instant realization that this was the woman’s house, the new tenant regained her composure, got the mustard and finished making her sandwich without introducing herself.
She Was Watching Me: A Ghost Story By L.B. Lewis for October 27, 2016. Copyrighted. All rights reserved. Read more stories here.