The Haunting Assignment

I feel like a shaken-up can of soda, fighting to contain my ebullience. The stars seem to twinkle brighter than usual against the onyx sky and there’s a rare crispness in the air on this summer night. The jittery anticipation makes me feel so alive. I’m practically floating down the maple tree-lined street.

I look down at my feet hovering a few inches off the ground and remember that I am floating, and I am definitely not alive. I’m totally and completely dead.

--

I’ve been dead for four months. I was bummed out about the whole death thing at first, and for good reason. I was a 19-year-old college freshman with straight A’s, amazing friends and incredibly shiny hair. Everything was going my way until that idiot decided to drive home after downing five vodka cranberries, crashing into me while I, ever the law-abiding citizen, was in the crosswalk. And just like that, poof. Life over.

Or so I thought, until I woke up in an empty room to the sound of papers sliding under the door. I skimmed them, seeing something about a second chance, and couldn’t sign on the dotted line fast enough.

I eventually learned that the offer wasn’t exactly another chance at life, but it would get me back into the mortal world. I enlisted as a haunter. When I was alive, I assumed all ghosts haunted people, but apparently that’s not the case. Some want to live out eternity lounging around with the other undead, but others, like me, sign up to go back into the mortal world with a singular mission – haunt the hell out of someone.

I spent three months in training, learning how to properly terrorize the living. I threw myself into the lessons, dreaming of the day I would get to haunt that drunk asshole who ended my life.

So, imagine my devastation when we got our first assignments and my victim was a man in Iowa named Ted. Ted wasn’t my killer; Ted was just…a guy. I felt utterly uncompelled to haunt him.

When I went to complain to the boss, I found all my fellow first-timers waiting at her door, armed with the same gripe. We crammed into her office, and she announced that none of us would be haunting someone we knew, for now.

It was too risky, she reasoned. Our inexperience paired with the raw emotion of haunting the ones who wronged us left too much room for error. For our first few assignments, we would be given people at random. She explained that some of our assignments were people who earned their hauntings through evil doings while others merely needed a shake-up.

I was furious at first but managed to channel my anger into motivation. One day, I will haunt the man who took my life. For now, I’ll use Ted to learn how to make someone truly miserable.

--

I float down his street until I reach the address on my assignment. I look up and frown at the dilapidated condo in front of me, which appears to be held up only by tape and the fervent prayers of a landlord. I was hoping to set up shop somewhere a little nicer, but that’s not important. I won’t let anything quash my first night excitement. I spot an open window and float in.

“Oh my God,” I blurt, quickly covering my mouth. One of the first things they taught us was to keep quiet. Even though humans can’t see us, some can hear our voices, depending on their sensitivity to spirits. Only a few seconds in and I’m screwing up. In my defense, anyone would react the same way if they found themselves in this kitchen.

Kitchen feels too generous a word for this space. It’s more like a hallway with a few outdated appliances crammed inside. A fluorescent lightbulb illuminates the dishes piled in the sink, each caked with its own disturbing substance.

Every direction I look uncovers a new horror. Flies swarming unidentifiable old fruit. A TV tray set up as a dining table, littered with opened mail. A suspicious brown stain on the ground that I swear is growing by the second. I’m supposed to be the scary one, but this Ted guy is already giving me the heebie-jeebies.

I need get out of the hellscape and see what else I’m working with. I float quietly through the small space, taking in my surroundings. There’s another TV tray in the main room, set up next to a faded green recliner. The crusty-looking shag carpet has me thanking my lucky stars that I float. There’s nothing on the walls – no pictures, no art, no personal touches.

I hear heavy breathing and perk up. I follow the sound to the next room and see a man asleep on a mattress on the floor. Yet another room with barely a scrap of furniture. I don’t know much about being an adult (considering the whole ‘dead at 19’ thing) but I’m pretty sure grown-ups should at least have a bed frame.

I back away from the bedroom to get my bearings. My excitement and enthusiasm are waning every second I spend in this cursed bachelor pad. I pull out my assignment and reread the little information I have on him.

Name: Ted Williams

Age: 36

Fears: heights, loneliness and goats.

I should have known how difficult this could be from my first read of the brief description. There's nothing about a fear of feeling watched or the darkness. And now that I’ve looked around his place, it feels even harder. There’s nothing hanging on the walls that I can knock askew. I can’t even get under his bed and rustle around considering his mattress is on the floor.

Disappointment weighs on my chest, but I won’t give up that easy. I may not be able to press on his documented fears, but there are a few basics we learned in training that can startle anyone.

I go back to his bedroom, and take a deep, calming breath. I put my hand up to the door and slowly drag my long nails across the fake wood. This move is a guaranteed spine tingler. Unfortunately, my training didn’t cover what to do when we encounter a particularly plugged-up sleeper. The second I scratch the door, Ted lets out an earth-rumbling snore. I sigh, and reset, but it happens again. And again. And again. I finally give up on the fifth perfectly timed snore.

I’ll just have to try something a little less subtle. I enter the bedroom and crouch down next to his face, finally getting a good look at him. He has thick brown hair that’s graying around the temples and patchy stubble covering his cheeks. His mouth is wide open, and his cheek is resting in a deep pool of drool. He snores again and I jump, suddenly aware of how close I am.  

I move to the other side of his bed, now looking at his back. This next tactic is nerve-wracking, but I need to try. I lean close and softly blow on the nape of his neck, hoping the tickle will startle him awake. I blow until I’m blue in the face, but the man doesn’t flinch.

After this, I’m utterly dejected and opt to call it for the night. My amateur status is no match for his comatose-like state. He seems to require daytime haunting, which is riskier, but I’m getting nowhere. I’ll just try again in the morning.

For now, I decide to poke around and see what else I can find out about Ted. I start by flipping through his mail, though that quickly gets boring. Each piece of mail is bleaker than the last - phone bill, internet bill, electricity bill, hospital bill. Being an adult seems expensive.

I move over to his desk, hoping for something a little more exciting. There’s a laptop, a monitor and a big manila envelope. I peek inside the envelope, see the words Petition for Divorce and groan. I thought the snooping aspect of being a ghost would be exhilarating, but this is downright depressing. If this is what adulthood looks like, I’ll take being undead. His life seems more frightening than anything we could conjure up on the other side.

With nothing left to snoop through, I settle into the recliner. Tonight may have been a bust, but I won’t give up. I’m here to do a job, and I will succeed. I’ll scare the daylights out of him tomorrow; I just know it.

--

By noon the next day, I’m ready to throw in the towel. The man cannot be scared. I’ve tried everything – flickering the lights, looming over him, tapping on the walls. Through it all, he was practically catatonic. He sat at his desk, staring at his laptop, barely moving a muscle. The biggest reaction I got was him pulling on a sweater after I created a chill in the air.

I know I’m new to haunting, but I won’t accept that I’m this ineffective. Ted must be blocked from feeling anything from the spirit realm. After watching him this morning, it seems like he’s blocked from feeling anything at all. Between the blank expression, permanently slumped shoulders and the divorce papers I found last night, it seems I’m the least of Ted’s problems.

--

A few hours later, Ted’s phone rings. I float closer, desperate for entertainment.

“Hello,” his voice is heavy, like speaking requires a Herculean effort. It’s the first time he’s spoken today.

Ted listens with his head resting in his hand.

“I just think we should talk about this more,” he finally replies. “In person. Please. I can’t…I don’t know how to be without you.”

The pain in his voice pierces my undead heart. Why was I sent here to haunt him? He seems haunted enough.

Suddenly, phone still to his ear, he starts looking around frantically.

“Now? I mean, I’m still working,” he shoots up from his desk.

“No, I meant it when I said I wanted to talk in person,” he continues. “You can come over. Just give me an hour to finish up some things. I can’t wait to see you.”

Ted hangs up and looks down at his outfit – still in the pajamas from the night before. He gives his armpit a sniff and nearly gags.

“Oh God,” he mutters to himself. “Jen will never take me back if she sees this.”

He races into his room, and I’m struck by an idea. I know I wasn’t sent here to help him, but I’m bored and Ted needs all the help he can get. If being in his apartment for less than a day has already sucked the life out of my lifeless soul, then I can only imagine how he feels. It sounds like he needs this Jen in his life. And he’s right – no woman would step foot in this place and agree to take him back.

As the shower turns on, I head to the kitchen. I start small, organizing the mail into neat piles, before braving the overflowing sink. I try to avoid looking too closely at the dishes as I load them into the dishwasher. I don’t know if ghosts can throw up, but I would rather not find out today.

Once the sink is empty, I wipe down the counters and give the floor a quick sweep. I stand back to admire my work. It’s not great, but it’s passable. And that sour odor is finally gone. Speaking of, I need to check on Ted.

I find him in his bathroom, standing in front of the mirror with a towel wrapped around his waist. He washed his hair, but left that patchy mess on his face. Must I do everything for him?

I spot clippers on the edge of his sink and slowly make my way over to them. As he turns his back to leave, I knock them off the counter. He whips his head around, eyes wide and walks over to pick them up. He looks at the clippers, looks in the mirror and shrugs before starting to shave his face. I wish he could see my eye roll as I leave the bathroom.

I tidy up the main room as much as I can, but there’s only so much polish I can put on this turd. Ted finally emerges, looking like a new man. A clean face and a little bit of hope did him wonders. He looks around the room, trying to figure out what’s different. I lean against the wall, waiting to see if he’ll notice my hard work.

“Maybe it didn’t look as bad as I thought in here,” he says before moving to the kitchen.

“What the hell?!” he exclaims.

I trail behind and try not to laugh when I see the befuddled look on his face. He carefully scans the room when suddenly his eyes land on mine. He tilts his head. I freeze and hold my breath. He can’t possibly see me, right? Every muscle in my body tenses as he takes a step toward me.

A sharp rap on the door pulls his attention briefly, but then he turns back to me. He holds my gaze for one painstakingly long second before shaking his head and answering the door. I let out a sigh of relief and head for his bedroom, needing a moment to hide and collect myself after that close call.

Before turning into the bedroom, I sneak a glance at Jen and I can see why Ted is so lost without her. Her honey blonde hair and sage green eyes pop against her cream sweater. She looks around and doesn’t seem utterly horrified, which I take as a win. When I get into the room, I press my ear against the wall. I may be hiding out, but I can’t miss this. A confrontation between a couple teetering on divorce is easily the most exciting thing that’s happened since I got here. I want to hear every word of it.

--

An hour later and my suspicions are confirmed – adulthood is terrifyingly boring. I expected yelling, fireworks and drama. What I got was two rational adults digging into the minutiae of every disagreement from their relationship, taking exhaustive measures to be respectful of the other’s feelings. It was all about boring stuff like money, having children, and the division of household tasks. Eventually, the boredom tuckered me out, so I retreated to his bed and dozed off.

I must have slept through the official reconciliation because I wake thirty minutes later to the sound of laughter. Intrigued, I float to the bedroom door and see Jen sitting on Ted’s lap in the lumpy recliner. And for the first time, I see Ted smile.   

“So, what do you say?” Ted asks. “Can I come home?”

“I think I’d like that,” Jen replies.

“Thank God. I’ve missed you and our house. I’ve been dying in this depressing little condo.”

“It is bleak,” Jen says, looking around. “Though, I have to admit; I’m impressed with how clean you’ve kept it.”

Ted blushes and I can’t help the smile creeping across my face.

“Well, I know my cleanliness, or lack thereof, bothers you, so I tried my best,” he says sheepishly.

--

Two days later, Ted is waiting outside with his belongings packed into four measly boxes. Jen pulls up, and together, they load his things into the car. Before they close the trunk, I dart in, settling among the boxes. Ted may be moving, but I’m not going anywhere. They start the car and my initial spark of excitement and anticipation from a few nights ago returns. Maybe their house is bigger. Maybe Jen is jumpier. One thing I am certain of is that my work here isn’t done. It’s just getting started.