text: The ghost of the mysterious dead woman sobbed in the guest bedroom, but Rico ignored it to the best of his ability. He felt sorry for her, whoever she was. Whatever her troubles were. He often wondered, what could be so sad? She cried heart wrenching sobs of inconsolable grief every single day, for hours on end. He wasn’t frightened of her, just pitying, at this point. She never did anything worse than pour any alcohol he bought down the sink drain while he was at work, for some reason. He had given up on trying to keep a bottle of wine in the apartment. He searched for the cast iron skillet, but it wasn’t in the kitchen. She had taken it, again. He went to the guest bedroom and knocked on the door. The crying abruptly ceased. He entered. The room was frigid, but empty. A search turned up the skillet on the floor underneath the bed. “I’m sorry, but I use this skillet every morning to make bacon and egg hash. Please stop taking it and hiding it from me.” He returned to the kitchen, washed the skillet, and made breakfast, in a routine that was becoming normal to him. He ate, did the dishes, and went to work. That evening, a girl he’d dated for a while texted him that her roommates were driving her insane, asking to come over. He reluctantly told her about the ghost, knowing from experience with his friends and family that there was a 50/50 chance that she would either think he was crazy, or want to come over immediately to experience the haunting for herself. “Can I come over now?” She texted. “Yes, but I promise you’re just going to flip out and leave.” He replied, with the certainty of having an apartment none of his relatives would visit now. She knocked on the door twenty minutes later. She had barely stepped into the apartment when she heard the ghost. “Oh my God!” She exclaimed. “I can hear it!” She backed towards the door in sudden panic. “She doesn’t do anything except cry, pretty much,” he tried to explain, “nothing bad will happen if you stay.” “No way!” she exclaimed. “I’m sorry, but I am never talking to you again. I can’t come here, and you’re sure not ever coming to my apartment and bringing that thing with you. You’re nice, but I have to go!” She left. He sighed. He’d try to talk to her when she’d had time to calm down. He thought: move to the city, Rico. Pretty much the whole family lives there - you’ll see everybody all the time. You’ll have much better job prospects. You’ll meet so many women... Not for the first time, he wondered about the identity of this spirit who was keeping everyone away. With the limited knowledge he had of ghosts from horror movies he supposed she must’ve died here, but how long ago? The apartment he lived in was new - he was the first person to live there. He’d been able to find out that the area had been rezoned residential recently, and that formerly the site of his building was a drag queen dress and accessory store. He hadn’t been able to find out anything pre-dating that. He had ten months left on his ironclad lease, and breaking it wasn’t an option. He was going to have to continue to tolerate the specter. Other than the ghost, it was a perfect apartment. It was a mostly level fifteen-minute walk from his job, affordable enough that he’d even been able to get two bedrooms (which he now found amusing), was spacious for the price, and had a well-maintained building laundry room downstairs. He decided to try something different. He went to his book case in the living room and got his Bible, settling in the recliner in the living room to read aloud. Psalms 42:11: “Why, my soul, are you downcast? Why so disturbed? Put your hope in God.” Rico continued with scriptures from his past. Jerimiah 6:16: “*Stand* at the *crossroads* and *look*; *ask* for the *ancient paths*, *ask* where the *good way* is, and walk in it, and *you will* find rest." He continued with verses and stories he felt were in any way relevant, feeling a bit silly, but doing his best. He had no idea what effect, if any, this was having on the ghost. The apartment was silent for the rest of the night. That night, he dreamed feverishly. He awoke in the morning with a start, sitting up straight. Reading the Bible had caused the ghost to invade his dreams. He wasn’t sure if she was responding negatively, or positively. There was something about a medium sized, pale brick house, with color appearing to be projected on it like a planetarium light show, changing in a kaleidoscope he couldn’t process as it undulated across a spectrum of every color he’d ever seen. There had been ancient trees in a row in front of the house going all the way down the street, swept up in a strong wind that seemed to be carrying him, helplessly paralyzed and levitating, across the landscape. There was the feeling that he’d been through an entire night of odd experiences. And there had been her, with him. A presence, a vague form beside him, but he couldn’t turn his head. She had been urgently telling him something. Upon waking, he only remembered a few moments of this experience. Within a few minutes of waking up, he only remembered the presence of the ghost in his dream, and that there had been weird colors. He had no idea what to make of it. While he was at work, his sister called. She’d gotten fired from her job because she stopped dating her boss, and needed a place to stay. She’d been renting a room informally from a friend, but money burned a hole in her pocket, and now she was reduced to her last paycheck. Everything she owned was stuffed in her SUV. She’d needed to stay with him before when she got fired from her last job for getting arrested after going ninety-six miles per hour in her company car, and another time when she’d quit without savings or another job lined up because her coworker annoyed her by playing talk radio too loudly. His sister was the reason he had gotten a two-bedroom apartment. She knew through the family grapevine about his situation, but didn’t care. “I’m as brave as you,” she told him on the phone, “I can deal with it, if you’ve been living there for months.” “A lot of people have told me they won’t be scared, and then they all are.” “I really need a place to stay. I’m so glad you’re letting me stay with you, thank you. I can put up with a ghost if it means having a roof over my head.” “All right...” “I’ll be over after you get home from work.” Beatriz arrived after he’d eaten dinner, her gloomy expression contrasting the cheerful neon pink of her duffel bag. She’d managed to get a parking spot on the street nearby. They watched TV and talked for hours, and Rico learned more than he ever wanted to know about her failed relationship. He was angry at her former boss, but annoyed with her continual poor decisions, and had no problem expressing this to her. She needed to hear it from someone. He expected her to be upset with him, but she was so exhausted she simply accepted his criticism and said that she knew she needed to try harder to keep jobs, and that everyone had faults they needed to work on. They left it at that. He offered to let her sleep in his room, and sleep on the couch himself, but she declined. She didn’t mind sleeping in the living room. He went to sleep around nine-thirty because he had to get up early for work, and she got on her laptop to apply for jobs. He woke up when Beatriz screamed five hours later. He rushed to the living room, where she was stood hyperventilating and staring at the ajar guest bedroom door. “I saw her!’ She exclaimed. “She was carrying something heavy she could’ve used to kill me!” “What did she look like?” Rico asked. “Like a scary effing ghost!” She practically yelled. “Was this something she was carrying my skillet? She steals that pretty much every night. She wasn’t going to use it as a weapon, she just hides it in the guest room.” “Yes! She could kill someone with that thing! And she was super scary! I don’t know. I don’t think I can stay here, if she’s running around with things she could hit you with like that. I think I’m going to sleep in my car until I get a job. I just can’t sleep here! That’s so scary.” “Calm down, it’s ok. I should’ve warned you about the skillet. That happens all the time. But tell me what she looked like - I’ve never seen her.” “I’m getting out of here! I’ll call you tomorrow and tell you what I’ve figured out. Maybe one of my friends will let me stay with them, or maybe I can afford to stay in a motel or something for a little while. Bye.” She had been stuffing all her scattered belongings into her bag. She zipped it up and was out the door thirty seconds later. “That’s it.” He said to the spirit, not knowing if she was listening or not. “Either you pay rent, or figure out other arrangements.” He went back to bed, and tried to go to sleep. The ghost started crying. He unplugged his cell phone, went to the door of the guest room, and recorded her crying for a few minutes. The next day, he composed an email to the closest Catholic priest, including the recording of the ghost crying. That was all he knew to do with his limited horror movie education. Within three hours, the priest replied. He wanted to come over Tuesday afternoon. Tuesday morning, Rico told the ghost that the priest was coming at three o’clock. He was startled to feel her hug him.