My House
by
Bash Ortega
I’m the ghost that haunts this house. I catch glimpses of myself around corners and reflected in television screens. It would make more sense to be haunted by the past, but my future haunts me. I know I don’t get to leave this house.
I moved to this house a while ago for a temporary job but ended up staying here after my contract was extended. Eventually, I was signed on permanently. I had never really intended to stay, but now it seems that I don’t have a choice.
The first time I saw my ghost, I had a date over. We had killed a bottle of wine and finished a movie. I clicked off the TV, and there he was: reflected in the dark screen, standing behind the couch. I leapt up and spun around to find no one there. I don’t think I realized at the time that he was me. My date left quickly after that. I’m sure I had creeped him out.
Pretty soon after that, I stopped bringing guys home. I never knew when my ghost would show up. I have the odd bar hookup, but it’s hard to keep a relationship going if no one can stay over. At one point, I wanted to meet someone and start a family, but what’s the point? This house doesn’t fit those needs, and I know I don’t get out of here.
About a month ago, I was looking for a new job and found a position that better fits my aspirations. I shifted my laptop, and there he was, looking over my shoulder. I closed my computer. I’d have to move for that job, and I knew that couldn’t happen.
I tried, for a while, to stay out of the house. I'd close out bars or drink until they cut me off and called me a cab. I always had to go home eventually and face him. I'd fabricate a reason to party at a friend's house and get too fucked up to go home that night. But morning always comes.
I used to try to get any sort of reaction from him. One night, after a buildup of disappointment, isolation, and alcohol, I burst. I tore into him; I told him how much he was fucking up my life and keeping everyone away. I yelled that he should leave, that I was already here. He continued to stand there, mouth moving with no sound, like maybe he was talking to himself in a dimension I couldn’t hear. I tried to shove him towards the window, but of course, I just passed right through.
The days here are long and lonely. He is my constant companion, going about his business without realizing how much he’s disrupting mine.
Most days, I shut my brain off, but I can't stop thoughts from creeping in. This house will be the death of me, and I feel like I’m just prolonging the inevitable.
I moved to this house a while ago for a temporary job but ended up staying here after my contract was extended. Eventually, I was signed on permanently. I had never really intended to stay, but now it seems that I don’t have a choice.
The first time I saw my ghost, I had a date over. We had killed a bottle of wine and finished a movie. I clicked off the TV, and there he was: reflected in the dark screen, standing behind the couch. I leapt up and spun around to find no one there. I don’t think I realized at the time that he was me. My date left quickly after that. I’m sure I had creeped him out.
Pretty soon after that, I stopped bringing guys home. I never knew when my ghost would show up. I have the odd bar hookup, but it’s hard to keep a relationship going if no one can stay over. At one point, I wanted to meet someone and start a family, but what’s the point? This house doesn’t fit those needs, and I know I don’t get out of here.
About a month ago, I was looking for a new job and found a position that better fits my aspirations. I shifted my laptop, and there he was, looking over my shoulder. I closed my computer. I’d have to move for that job, and I knew that couldn’t happen.
I tried, for a while, to stay out of the house. I'd close out bars or drink until they cut me off and called me a cab. I always had to go home eventually and face him. I'd fabricate a reason to party at a friend's house and get too fucked up to go home that night. But morning always comes.
I used to try to get any sort of reaction from him. One night, after a buildup of disappointment, isolation, and alcohol, I burst. I tore into him; I told him how much he was fucking up my life and keeping everyone away. I yelled that he should leave, that I was already here. He continued to stand there, mouth moving with no sound, like maybe he was talking to himself in a dimension I couldn’t hear. I tried to shove him towards the window, but of course, I just passed right through.
The days here are long and lonely. He is my constant companion, going about his business without realizing how much he’s disrupting mine.
Most days, I shut my brain off, but I can't stop thoughts from creeping in. This house will be the death of me, and I feel like I’m just prolonging the inevitable.