4:40 am ghost.
Michael, a cleaner,got up at 4:30 in the morning. There was nothing unusual about his room, but hestill did his OCD checks before leaving it and heading to the bathroom. Underhis desk, under his bed, behind his TV, he silently carved around his room withhis eyes and hands. The curtains lay closed and still, not an icy breathgetting through the tight windows. The walls were cream and clean just asthey've always been. He didn't have the courage to check inside his wardrobe inthe mornings, but no matter where he was in the room, he wouldn't take his eyesoff the wardrobe for more than a few seconds. He left the room to the corridor, half a step quicker than the other,the doors to the other rooms were like they've always been. No one else wasawake yet so quietly he went to the bathroom, turning the light and theextractor fan on the switch outside, it begins to lazily buzz and whirr and heslipped through and sealed that gentle disruptive noise inside with him. Thewhite walls and ceiling, the curling wooden planked flooring, the mirror abovethe sink, the frosted glass to the world of ice outside. There was nothing warmabout this room. He reached inside the glass cubicle and turned the shower on, and the hot water began to flow. He checked eitherside of the toilet, down under the bath, all the top corners of the room andlastly inside the mirror cabinet. Normal. He opened the bathroom window just a crack, to let the steam from thehot water out so it didn't soak into the ceiling and cause more mould. Thewindow puffed and cracked open with a blow of cold air to a frozen sill and noglimpse of anything beyond it as the light tapered off into the darkness.Michael stripped and fled from the wintry draft to the comfort of the shower.The warmth peeled off and extinguished any crispness of his skin, softening itwith heat. In the corner of the room, he didn't trust these walls around him.But less did he like that open window no longer keeping a hand closed off tothe dark. Water drowns the sound of his thoughts, the only ones getting throughwere the ones loud enough to make him feel worried. The shower was relaxing but untrusting, he didn't let himself feel safe.He didn't take his eyes off that open window. The shampoo washed out of hishair and down his face and neck, but Michael didn't even want to blink. Hisfocus of cover was the open window, the mirror, the walls his shoulder bladeshugged. He tried to check one without losing grasp of the others while washing.This increased the time he took to get ready for work, but he couldn't imaginenot doing it every morning to keep his worsening thoughts at bay. He realisedthat maybe he fed his own paranoia. Window, mirror wall-wall-window, mirror,window. He began to wash his body. The steam from the shower steadilydissipated. His eyesight was swimming as water rushed over his face as hetitled his head, obscuring his vision for a couple seconds just as a pale handreached in through the window, something dark and twisted unfolded from theshadows. Michael tore the water away from his eyes to reclaim his sight. Therewas no hand at the window any longer. At first, his reflection seemed denser, but he quickly realised somethinghis height was standing on the other side of the glass in front of him. Beforehe could fully take in what was happening, it leaned forward, pale white facewith burnt off eyelids, circular black soulless eyes, and a smiling jaw twiceas wide aimed straight at Michael. The bathroom light went out. Leaving Michael'sfinal vision imprint of it moving towards him. Michael screamed as he pushedopen the door flinching as he slipped into the bathroom, the hot water poundedagainst the basin, He staggered and moved away, scrambled for the main bathroomdoor on wet feet in the pitch black but it was locked. It wouldn't open. Hescreamed and screamed and throttled the door handle, the noise of the doorrattling in its place made him panic more. He screamed for help through thedoor in the dark as he wrenched at the door handle. He felt the presence of thething behind him. A step creaked by his feet, the weight of the floorboards shifting on the ground. The next scream didn't leave Michal's throat normally, frantic shuffling on the other side of the door accompanied by the light switching back on.
"Michael!? Michael?!" A family members voice. Michael turned his head in the light of the bathroom. Eyes frantically searching. There was no one there with him. The window was ajar exactly how he had opened it. The shower trundled in the aftermath. The wooden boards were soaked with water. Michael's family member on the other side of the door demanded an answer as he laid panting on the ground. The thing about feeding your paranoia after a while, it had gotten to a point where it could feed itself. Michael struggled with knowing what was real and what was fantasy. He had blown it this time. But this didn't make things any easier. It was going to get a lot worse now.
