“What the fuck is your problem?” I yelled as a plate flew over my head, smashing on the wall behind me. “Stop it! You’re making a mess!”
Another plate flew past, then the bowl of fruit from the counter. It seemed like everything from the other side of the room was being thrown at me. I gritted my teeth, furious abotu all the nice things I had bought and carefully placed in the house. I opened a cupboard next to me and grabbed the french rolling pin my mother had bought me. I stood up as a chair came through the air.
Quickly dodging the chair, I threw the rolling pin where it had come from.
“Blimey!” a voice said, “What’d you do that for?”
“Stop throwing things in my house asshole,” I replied, my eyes seraching for the source of the voice.
“I lived ‘ere first,” the voice replied. “Why’d you move in? This is my house.”
“I bought this house fair and square,” I replied. “Where are you?”
“Over ‘ere,” the voice said as I watched a piece of paper wave through the air.
“Do you realize that I can’t see you?” I asked.
“Maybe,” the voice replied. “I’ve been ‘ere a long time, mate.”
“Can we talk about this?” I asked.
“Talk about what? The fact that I’m dead, you’re not, and we share a flat together? Sounds like one of them sitcoms that the last lady always watched. Drove me bonkers listening to all that fake-whatever it is,” the voice replied.
“So, you know that you’re dead?” I asked.
“There you go, mate. You know that you’re dead?” the voice imitated me, “You living people are all the same. You don’t listen. I been trying to tell people for years, but even when I say I’m dead, people still ask, ‘you know you’re dead?’ What kind of sense does that make? Of course I know I’m dead! I wouldn’t bloody say it if I didn’t know, would I?”
“I suppose not. Why do you keep breaking things then?” I asked leaning against the table.
“Cause I got noffin else to do, do I?” it replied, “I don’t go to work. I don’t eat or sleep. Hell, I don’t even need to eat. I’m bored.”
“Sounds pretty boring,” I agreed, nodding my head. “Have you ever tried to talk to the people that move in here?”
“I tried once, man was stubborn and the wife was a whore,” the voice replied. “The wife was sleeping with all his friends behind his back. They didn’t care for me much when I told him, as you can imagine.”
“I suppose not,” I said. “So what are you going to do now?”
“I dunno, probably go back to breaking things I suppose,” the voice replied as a picture frame flew from a shelf and shattered on the opposite wall.
“Wait!” I said, putting my hands up.
“What now?” the voice replied.
“Have you considered surfing the internet?” I asked.
“The what-it-what?” the voice replied.
“The internet, it’s something that came about a few decades ago. It was supposed to be to share information with the world, like a digital library, but now it’s mostly pornography and cat videos,” I said.
“I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re talking ’bout, mate,” the voice said.
“Gimme a second,” I said as I walked to my bedroom and grabbed my laptop. I booted it up as I walked back down the hall. I could hear more glass breaking in the kitchen, though it seemed less intense and more sad. “Here we go. What interests you the most?”
“I dunno, not a whole lot going on in my current state,” the voice replied.
“Alright, well, here let me show you a few things with this,” I said, pausing, “as long as you promise not to throw it.”
“Whatever, mate, don’t really care one way or the other. You have no idea how boring it is to be me,” the voice said.
“Let’s start with you then, what’s your name?”
“Frank Gestro,” the voice said. “Born 1844, died 1879. Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too, Frank,” I replied as I typed his name into the search engine in the browser. “My name’s Thomas Gilrane. Ah, here we go. Is this you?”
I turned the laptop in the last direction from which I had heard him speak. On the screen was a picture of a man straightfaced man in black and white holding his jacket regally.
“Yeah, I can’t remember the last time I seen that picture. How’d you do that?” Frank asked.
“It’s the internet, You can just type on the keyboard and spell out things you want, the internet finds what it can out there and returns results,” I said.
The keys on the keyboard depressed and returned one by one in a slow pattern. The search bar on the screen blinked out the letters M. A. R. I. A. N. L. A. V. O. Y. and then sat there.
“Why isn’t it doing anything?” Frank asked.
“You have to press this button when you’re done,” I said, pointing to return.
The button depressed and the screen flashed to various links and listings.
“Where is she?” the voice asked.
“Marian?” Frank asked. “my granddaughter. I want to find her.”
“You have family still?” I asked.
“Well, maybe. My granddaughter was born in ’84. I’m hoping she’s still around.”
“You died before she was born?” I asked.
“Yeah, what’s it to you? My family still lived here at the time.”
“No worries, just thought it was weird. I could try to find her, but it will likely be her grave. She would have been born 136 years ago. It’s doubtful-”
“She’s alive, trust me,” Frank replied. “Last I heard, she was in Boston.”
“How often do you hear things?”
“I heard you, just now,” Frank replied.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know what you meant. Ghosts talk every now and again,” Frank said. “I haven’t heard anything in forty years or so, but she’s alive still. I know it.”
The mouse moved seemingly on its own and clicked through a handful of links to various sites that listed people. Each time the mouse would move a little faster than before.
“You’re getting the hang of this,” I said, smiling.
“Wipe that smile off your face,” Frank said, “there’ll be none of that.”