The Not So Scary Haunting of My Apartment

1

The shattering of another box on the ground is what really set me off.

It was my dads idea to hire his friends to help me move, but with every box they carelessly tossed around I wondered if my relationship with my father would be damaged if I told them how I was feeling about their carelessness.

It wasn't like I had a lot. I had just moved into this cute apartment near my university. The rent was surprisingly cheap, and when I had showed up for the tour I half expected it to be run down and dirty, but it was clean and neat.

I've convinced myself that it must be haunted, an apartment this nice for this cheap in this economy?

I'm snapped from my side tracking by another crash, and I can't mentally catch myself before I yell to the movers: " Is it that hard to just carry a fucking box and drop it lightly?!"

They all pause and look at me, before nodding quickly and darting outside with a chorus of apologies.

I instantly feel bad, they probably didn't notice how hard they were doing it, and they're probably rushing since it's so cold outside. Maybe I'll make them something warm.

The only boxes of food that I have in the house include a box of Cheerios, some hot chocolate, and a microwave dinner I picked up because I still haven't bought a cooking set yet. I take the bag of hot cocoa and shake it a bit, before running some tap water into a bowl and placing the combined ingredients into the microwave. I sit back against the counter and watch the bowl spin in simple circles before the microwave dings, signaling the end of our short relationship. I grab the mug and internally scream at the hot handle, before separating it into two Styrofoam cups and walking it to the door, waiting for them to come up the elevator.

It's in this time that I notice most of the boxes they threw in have been neatly moved around. I don't know when they did that, most likely when they came up while I was in the kitchen, but I'll have to make sure to thank them. The boxes seem organized based on what was written on them. Boxes labeled bedroom are pushed into the corner, bathroom into another, and the bags of clothes are tossed on top of the bedroom pile.

Heavy footsteps in the hall signal the return of the movers, also the recipients of the hot beverages in my hands. As they place boxes down I hold my hands out, apologizing for my outburst and telling them to take a break and warm up before going out again. They thank me and sit on some cushions, since I also haven't gotten a living room set either. I pad over to the heater and turn it up, since the landlord offered to pay off my heat and water until I was fully settled.

I'm telling you, this place has to be haunted.