Francis the Lonely Ghost

 Francis was bored. And quite frankly, Francis was lonely. He had died nearly a century ago, and thought that would be the end of his journey. But here he still was, lingering on as a ghost. One would imagine that it would be interesting to watch the ever-changing world develop over the years. One would be wrong.

Francis was anchored to the very same desk he had worked at as a young man. Oh, he fondly remembered the days when he had a burning passion to make a name of himself. But as he lingered beyond the grave as a ghost, he lost that zeal. Although his body’s form remained the same, being a ghost, he felt much older.

But being stuck in one place, he couldn’t leave the house he had lived in when he was alive. At first, he tried to communicate with the various residents who lived in his house after his death. Unfortunately, nobody heard him. He then had the bright idea to act out the various horror stories he had heard from his friends, minus the blood and gore of course. 

That had provided quite a bit of entertainment for about half a decade. But nearly ten residents later, it too grew stale. Once again, Francis yearned to talk to a fellow human. During his life, he had cut off all contact with his family. He regretted it in the afterlife, and wished he could turn back time. But Francis knew very well that dreams never translated to reality.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts. A new resident was going to move in that morning, and he had to be ready. Really, Francis wondered why anyone still decided to live in the house, even after hearing about its haunted nature. But that didn’t matter. He took his familiar position in front of the main door, ready to greet his new guest, even if they couldn’t see him.

Francis’ booted feet hovered a few inches off the carpeted floor. He folded his gloved hands in front of him as he heard a car enter the driveway with the rumble of an engine. When his top hat was adjusted atop his head and the wrinkles were brushed off his coat, he knew he was ready.

The door opened with a creak, and Francis cringed. A hundred years, and that creak still remained. But he was distracted from his lamentations when he noticed the focus of his new resident’s eyes. 

The girl was younger than he had expected, looking to be around twenty years old. She wore strange, ripped clothes with many spikes. The garments were black, which Francis found distasteful. Proper young women should wear bright colours. But none of this crossed his mind when he looked at the girl, who he later found was named Michelle.

Her eyes were outlined with thick smudged mascara, making her look rather like a raccoon. But those eyes looked straight at him. Not through him, as was usually the case, but like she could actually see him. Her next words confirmed Francis’ thoughts, and made a little flame of hope flicker after being extinguished for many years.

“So, you’re my new roommate? Just don’t make too much noise at night when you’re haunting people, and we’ll be golden.”