THE LANDLADY by Jay Jay.

Ghosts.

Jess was amazed by the quality of the trip she was on. Their supplier had outdone himself this time! She felt off-balance, true, and there had been a bad patch when her throat had ached and she was begging for water, but it passed. 

The loft was looking strange, blood red sometimes, all white and the walls, floor and ceiling disappeared sometimes, mainly the colours were all trippy and cool and she could fly through them. But she couldn't leave the room. Why couldn't she leave the room? Then she would panic for a while, an awful feeling, guilt would wrack her, she was awful, selfish, just all the things her foster mother accused her of being, why couldn't she leave the room? But the colours came back, it was cool, she was happy. Very happy. There was Jacob, drooling like an idiot, red liquid drooling from his head, oh, she loved him so so much. Why couldn't he join her on this marvellous experience she was getting from the drug?

Jacob was locked in his own private misery. 

He was sure that Jess could see inside his head. She could see him withTracey. Man, what a fool, why would he risk losing Jess? He tried to cover his head, so Jess couldn't read his mind, but his arms were heavy and wouldn't work. His brainwaves were flowing all over the small room, for anyone to see. Horrible, just horrible.

Jacob was sure that he could hear someone sobbing downstairs. He should really have a look. But his legs wouldn't work either. Oh, what he would give for a glass of water. His throat was on fire. Jess seemed happy enough, enjoying her trip, drooling happily red all over the pillow. But soon, she would read his brainwaves, know his most private thoughts, know what a shit he really was. Horrible.

Downstairs, in the green bedroom by the front door, Tom was sobbing so loud, everyone could hear him. "So embarrassing!" Candy muttered. She was in the girly bedroom across the hall. Pink walls, cute homemade butterflies dotted around the dressing table. She frowned. Sometimes the room appeared to be very messy. Her make-up strewn around the floor, clothes tumbling out of the wardrobe. 

But if she concentrated, and Candy was very determined when she put her mind to it, she could see how tidy the room actually was. Silly to think her room could be messy. Wasn't SHE the only ORGANISED person in this damn flat?

Definitely moving out soon. As soon as Dean got his act together, they were moving in together.

Then she could whip Dean into shape. Then he would suceed at university, with her to help him not get distracted by his mates. His mates were no good for him. She'd encourage him to hang out with the right sort of people. She'd make sure he got the right sort of high paying job, so's the two of them could live a great life together.

Candy knew she had picked a potential winner in Dean, if only she could get control over his bad habits.

Dean should have been back by now. How long did it take to drive a few people down to the beach, for heck's sake!

Bloody Tom, what was wrong with the man?

"Can't he pull himself together?" Candy said aloud to herself. She was of the firm opinion that men, real men, did not show their emotions like a little kid, the sobbing made her clench her teeth, want to pack and leave, but somehow she couldn't get out of her room. She was trapped here, waiting for that damn sobbing noise to stop.

Tom, stuck in his room, was feeling mightily sorry for himself.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, come back. PLEASE!"

Sherry had said she was never coming back, and stormed off with her friends. And he had been fine with that, at the time. But it had been hours now, and she still wasn't back. And he couldn't get out of his room, he couldn't go look for her. 

And the room was awash with his tears. He was standing ankle deep in salty water.

The house was full of ghosts, all trapped in their own private miseries. The house had collected many, many ghosts, starting from the time it was built, maybe even before that. Ghosts were thick on the ground, inside the house and outside, in the large garden.

Over time, the weaker ghosts faded away. Collectively, they made a sort of white noise backdrop to the house, spiritually speaking. Strong personalities, strong emotions, especially rage and guilt, the ghosts with those tendencies hung around much longer than the others.

The strong bad ghosts, they were the ones the house loved to keep.  

Ghosts that displayed nobler outlooks, well, one hoped that the beyond eventually recognised their predicament, gathered them up and took them on to where-ever they were meant to be. If there was no justice in the after-world, where else could it be?

Not that the house cared about noble ghosts. They were just nuisance value. Got in the way. Hardly ever any fun to keep around, though, the house had to admit, fun to catch.

The ghosts that were trapped in the house from the latest tragedy were doomed to hang around the house for quite a while yet.

The house had not managed to catch them all. A few souls had escaped.

The house felt very annoyed by this. The house promised to itself that it would do much better next time. 

The bodies of the dead had mostly been taken away, the premises cleaned so not a spot of evidence remained of the tragedy that had happened. The house was updated with fresh paint and repairs were undertaken.

The house felt fresh and alive. Eager for new occupancy.

Yet The Landlady made the house sit, empty, waiting. Just the captured ghosts to keep it amused.  

The house stood empty, for twenty years, by which time people seemed to have moved on from wondering about the house and the myseries within.

It was time to go back on the market.