<div class="floatright">(http://i893.photobucket.com/albums/ac135/PhotoFaerie/Just%20Write/JessieJamesjesse_james131.jpg)</div>Julie pushed the F5 button over and over.  She had not left her computer since she finally broke down and sent the e-mail sometime in the middle of the night.  At least she thought it had been the middle of the night.  She wasn't sure anymore.  She had not slept in...she checked the calendar on her desktop...three days.  She knew she was going to start hallucinating soon, or maybe she already had.<br/><br/>Julie had thought her landlady was kidding when she told her the rent was so cheap on the apartment because it was haunted.  You see, Julie Hart didn't believe in ghosts.  She had been in the apartment a full week before anything weird began to happen.  At first she thought possibly she was just overly tired from work.  She has been putting in twelve, fourteen even eighteen hour days trying to get her photography business off the ground.  It wouldn't be the first time she had worked so hard that she forgot moving her keys or a photo or even her pile of clean laundry.  But then a few days later the radio or television would randomly turn on.  She had called an electrician to check everything out.  When her toilet began making odd noises, she called a plumber who heard no noises and found no problems.<br/><br/>She was at the end of her rope.  At the beginning of the week she thought she was hearing voices.  But last night, she had seen him.  Julie made it home from her office and as per her usual dropped her purse and camera bag on the couch.  She showered and when she looked up into the bathroom mirror the face looking back was not her own.  It was a man, in his mid-life she guessed, with a full beard.  The only problem, she could see herself through him.  Julie had run screaming from the bathroom and when she entered the living room, there he was sitting on the couch.<br/><br/>She locked herself in her bedroom and he's just floated right through the door.  The ghost, a man who had been murdered in the apartment, told her about Marcus.  She figured e-mailing what she thought was a hoax website was better than anyone who might send the funny little men in white coats after her.   Her e-mail had been simple.  "I don't know if you're the real deal or just some dumb teenager with a hoax site, but I need help.  There's a ghost in my apartment.  He won't shut up.  He won't leave.  HELP!"  And listed her contact number and address.<br/><br/>She now sat on her living room floor hitting F5 repeatedly waiting for an answer to show up in her inbox.  Sitting on the floor next to her was the handgun her father had insisted she get a license for, register and learn to use when she moved from their small town to the big city of Chicago.