Phantom Limbs: A Spicy Ghost Story

Chapter 2

When my roommate stirred awake at about noon, I was there, watching him. He'd somehow slept through the sunrise and continued to sleep although the bright sun poured through the uncovered windows. It was honestly impressive how deeply the man could sleep, especially for a restless ghost such as myself.

I wandered into the hallway. An undetermined amount of time passed, as it always did. My sense of time was the first thing I lost when I became incorporeal.

Eventually, my new roommate walked down the hallway. He was wearing a pair of black sweatpants and a black shirt with some black metal band's name written on it in white. He grumbled as he walked into the kitchen and made himself a pot of coffee. The smell of coffee caused a memory to flash through my mind: Did I used to work at a coffee shop? That sounds about right.

The coffee shop, as I remembered it, was a small space lined with dark wooden cabinets and stainless steel countertops. A sensation of warmth and stress overtook me simultaneously as the memory flashed and then disappeared as quickly as it came.

That's how my memories always worked. Something had to jog them and, even then, they'd appear ephemerally in a scene and a rush of feeling. It was frustrating – I wished I could grab a memory out of the air and hold onto it, but I just couldn't.

Once my new roommate's coffee was ready, he reached into one of the boxes that remained in the kitchen and pulled out a black mug with the letter J written on it in faded red text.

His name starts with J, I thought to myself. ...what letter does my name start with? What even is my name?

Just then, J pulled his phone out of his sweatpants pocket. This action broke me out of my thoughts and I listened intently as he took a call.

"Hello? Yes, this is Johan. ...no, I'm not coming in today. I'm still unpacking. ...No, I won't be able to. I'm sorry, but, you know, all of this has been pretty unexpected. I'm lucky I even found a place when I did. ...I understand. I'll see you on Friday."

Johan silently put his phone away and took a slurp of coffee. The mug was still steaming, but he didn't seem to mind the heat. He shuffled over to his couch and sat down, staring straight ahead. He slowly and silently finished the mug of coffee before going back out into the kitchen and pouring himself another one, which he also drank in silence.

Johan then grumbled, stretched, and got back to work unpacking. Halfway through this unpacking session, he took his phone out, set it on the counter, and started playing music. I took the opportunity to check out his phone. It was one of those newfangled smartphones with the touch screen. He was listening to music from some app called Spotify.

The music that emanated from Johan's phone sounded cold and depressing. Each song featured a barrage of drums, a squealing of guitars, a wall of bass, and a singer shrieking in agony. It took some getting used to, especially since I hadn't heard music since the last occupants moved out, however long ago that was. However, after about two hours, I realized I kind of liked it.

As I listened to Johan's music, he had been unpacking the remainder of the boxes. To my delight, he did finally make his bed. Outside, rain clouds had settled in and the rain slashed across the windows for hours, further darkening the atmosphere in the apartment.

After quite some time, Johan walked back over to the counter, picked up his phone, and made a couple of taps on the screen. He then got back to work and, some time later, the doorbell rang. Johan cracked open the door and accepted a white plastic bag from the person on the other side. He thanked the person and set the bag on the counter.

He pulled the bag apart with his bare hands, despite the fact that he probably could've simply untied it and kept the bag intact. Inside the bag was a plastic container full of meat, vegetables, rice, and sauce.