Invisible

Chapter 1

I watched the men bring furniture in my house. They worked slow, as if someone told them they get paid more if they took their time. They were strong though, not even sighing when they picked up a wooden table and brought it to the kitchen. I sat down on the ugly red couch they put down 5 minutes ago, and watched how strangers walked in and out of my home. It was a strange and sad feeling, but I wasn't angry that they invaded my space. I knew this building didn't belong to me anymore. Now I was the stranger here. Luckily, nobody saw me.

My eyes followed a guy my age, maybe a little older, as he walked up the stairs. I followed him. I avoided stepping on the second step because it was a habit I created. That thing creaked so hard that even the neighbours sometimes heard it. The guy didn't avoid it and heard it as well, but he didn't seem to care. He walked into my room, or the room that used to be mine, and stood there staring at the naked grey walls. Maybe he was planning to hang up some posters or pictures of his family. I know I used to do that too, but now all my pictures were gone.  

The guy, whose name I still didn't know, opened a drawer of his dresser and picked up a black pen. Wow, this family is fast when it comes to unpacking stuff. The guy sat down on his knees and started drawing on the wall. Just when I thought he was going to mess up my sacred room, I saw how he drew the animated version of a female angel. It still looked realistic though. I sat down on the floor, a little bit away from him, and watched his hands work. I noticed a thin line of a tattoo peeking out of his right sleeve. Oh, so an artistic person, huh? 

"Tom! Can you help me for a second? The movers brought a few of your boxes inside!" a voice yelled. 

I startled, not being used to yelling anymore. Why couldn't that woman just walk up the stairs and talk to her son like a normal person? This way, the annoying neighbours will come complaining. 

"Coming!" 

He put his black pen down and ran to his mother. I stayed in my room, wallowing in old memories. It's been 3 weeks since I died and this house has been sold about a week ago. That's how fast some things could change. In those three weeks, I learned that I was dead. Dead but not gone. I still didn't understand how this was possible, and I still had to laugh when I referred to myself as a ghost, but that's how it was.  

I stood up and walked down the stairs, again avoiding that squeaky step, even though it probably wouldn't make any noise even if I stepped on it. The mother was busy unpacking stuff for the kitchen and the guy -Tom was it?- picked up some boxes and walked back up to his room. I hoped this family had respect, because I would be angry if they turned out to be bad people. I let them invade my home, so the least they could do was take care of the house and not do anything bad in it. 

In the beginning, I thought it was funny that they chose a house with a ghost in it. Not that they knew, but still. Couldn't people somehow feel it, if there was anything present? Perhaps it's because I'm not an evil ghost. At least, I don't think so. I'm as harmless and pathetic as I was when I was still alive. Even death didn't change anything, how sad.  

I sat down on that ugly red couch again, and wondered if things were always going to be like this. Will I always be a ghost? Why did I even turn into a ghost? Was I supposed to take care of unfinished business? Was it because of the violence that I became this thing? I sighed and put my head in my hands. It was so lonely. Three weeks and nothing changed. I was still alone and sad and dead. I had searched for other ghosts the first days I was dead, but I didn't find anyone. And where else am I supposed to go, but here? This house, my former home, was the only place that made sense to me. I felt safe here, which was stupid, because nothing can happen to a ghost. Dead was dead, I can't die a second time, right? So why am I still afraid that something bad might happen? How was I supposed to find my peace? I didn't want to live. Or be dead. Whatever you want to call it. 

A few hours passed and the movers had finally finished their job. When they drove away, the little family rested on the couch. I sat there too, but of course they didn't see me.  

"Do you like your room?" the mother said. 

"Yeah. It's pretty big and it's clean too. No mold or anything. I think the previous owners were really clean people," Tom said. 

Of course we were clean. Mom used to vacuum everyday. And when my room was dirty, she always bitched about it. I hated it, but now I even miss it. I wish she could yell at me again. I wish it could be like it used to be. 

"This time no naked girls on the wall, okay?" she laughed. 

"Haha, promise." 

"I'm going to sleep now. It's been a long day and I have to work late tomorrow," Tom's mom said. 

"Okay. I'll be quiet. Goodnight," he answered. 

The woman pressed an embarrassing kiss on his head and went to her room.  

"God, please, avoid the second step! That sound will drive me nuts!" I groaned. 

Tom's head turned my way. For a second, my heart stopped beating (as if it beats in the first place), because I thought he saw me. But he didn't, it was a bird that flew against the window behind me. Stupid bird. 

Tom turned on the TV and watched an old episode of Spongebob. I used to do that too, when I could still hold the remote control. I made myself comfortable on the couch and sighed. At least it's a tiny little bit less lonely now that there are new people living here. I can't talk to them, but at least I'm not alone. It's something. 

"If only you could see me," I sighed. 

Tom's head snapped back in my direction and his eyes were huge. 

"Huh? Can you see me?" 

                                                Will Be Continued...