Chapter 05: An Encounter in the Hallway
Their eyes met, and Tom blinked stupidly, mouth agape. He felt strange, dizzy, as if he was on the verge of passing out. There could only be one logical answer to this: he was still as high as a kite. Ripped out of his fucking mind. The dreadlocked man opened his mouth to say something, but quickly closed it again without a sound. He was still too shocked, scared, and confused to be able to form a coherent sentence.
The man, the ghost, whatever it was, took a step closer, his fluid movements much too graceful for Tom's liking. The nineteen year old took a step backward, feeling his back press against the cold, solid wall behind him. The brunette standing in front of Tom placed one hand on his hip, a smug, mocking grin on his lips. And then he was gone.
Tom exhaled, his heart pounding in his ears. He shut his eyes momentarily, opening them again to gaze around the now empty room.
"I know you're still here," Tom said, trying to keep his voice level. "Whoever the hell you are, whatever you are, I know you're in here." He was greeted by nothing other than silence, which was soon broken by a soft, tinkling laugh.
"Scared yet?" The voice was melodic and somehow beautiful - in a cold, haunting way, but a pretty sound nonetheless. Tom shuddered. He couldn't see the source of the voice, but it sounded close by. Despite the situation, the slightly mocking tone of the voice irked Tom. The small, dim lamp that was set on the end table next to the bed slid off, the bulb shattering against the floor and engulfing the room in thick black darkness. Tom recoiled, feeling a swift breeze of icy air float by him that scattered goose bumps across his skin. He could feel the presence of the ghost extremely close to him, and barely dared to breathe. He really couldn't figure out if he was hallucinating or not.
A dull thump sounded in the next room, and Tom knew that the ghost was continuing to make a mess of his place. The dreadlocked man clenched his hands into fists at his sides; anger and annoyance beginning to drive the fear out of his system.
"Are you done destroying my shit now?" Tom said aloud, folding his arms across his chest. With a sudden swish, the blankets and sheets were ripped off the bed, falling to the floor in a crumpled mess. The dread-head swore he heard the tiniest hint of laughter from somewhere in the room, and that angered him even more; this ghost, this thing, seemed to be mocking him. Tom decided that he was not going to take this kind of shit from something that wasn't even human, probably wasn't even real.
Tom turned and slipped out of the door way, entering the warmth of the hallway. He sank down to the ground, leaning against the wall and holding his head in his hands. He suddenly felt the air turn to ice yet again, and swore loudly.
"You've gotta be fucking kidding me!" Tom snapped angrily, repeatedly banging the back of his head against the wall. "Leave me alone!" The ghost appeared in front of the dreadlocked man again, this time, mere inches away from him. Tom noticed that he was somehow faded and blurred at the edges, oddly colorless.
"I was just messing around," the ghost muttered in that sweet, musical voice, looking hurt. "I didn't mean any real harm."
"Are you fucking serious?" Tom hissed, eyes rising to look at the ghosts face fully for the first time. He couldn't help being startled by his beauty, and it almost made Toms anger dissolve. Almost. "Trashing my place and scaring the shit out of me is your idea of 'no real harm'?"
"Well…" the ghost faltered, at a loss for words, and looked slightly hurt. Tom found himself, unwillingly, somewhat regretting his choice of words. The dread-head groaned and put his hands over his face again.
"Can you fuck off now, and go haunt someone else or whatever the hell it is that you do?"
"No," the ghost replied quickly. "I'm not leaving this building, and you're the first person to move in in four years. There is no way I'm going anywhere."
"So what, that means you're going to stick around and screw up my life even more until I leave?" The ghost didn't answer, and Tom suddenly frowned. "Wait, why am I even talking to you? You can't exist; you must be a figment of my imagination, because I've finally went off the deep end."
"I can so exist. I do exist." The ghost pointed an accusing finger at Tom. "Just because you're too close-minded to accept the fact that ghosts are real doesn't mean you can decide whether I exist or not. In fact, I can prove to you that I'm real." Tom swiped at the ghost, irritated, but let out a yelp of fear when his hand went right through the brunettes shoulder. It was an odd sensation; so cold that it seemed to burn his skin.
"C'mon." The ghost drifted lazily into the doorway. "I'll show you."
Tom followed the ghost back into the apartment, confused, and figured that he had no other choice.
***
Tom watched as the ghost knelt down next to the bed, sliding his arms underneath. He pulled out a small stack of old newspapers, yellowed and torn around the edges, and tossed them onto Tom's lap. The nineteen year old picked the first one up curiously, eyes scanning across the main headline in bold, black letters that read Madgeburg Man Dies in Apartment Struggle. Underneath the headline, there was a picture identical to the ghost standing in front of Tom. Tom looked up at the him, a little shocked, and read a bit of the article.
"'Bill Kaulitz, 18, was discovered dead outside of his apartment in downtown Madgeburg on the evening of December 22nd," Tom read softly out loud. "It appeared that Kaulitz had fallen from the window of his third-story apartment room, although investigators have not released at this time whether it was a suicide attempt or accident.'"
Tom stopped reading and looked up at the ghost, Bill, who was now sitting Indian-style on the floor in front of him.
"So, did you really kill yourself?"
"Of course not," Bill frowned, then added, as if it were obvious, "I was pushed."
"Really?" Tom asked, bewildered. "By who?"
Bill didn't answer, and Tom took the hint not to ask about it any further. And then it suddenly sank in: he was sitting here, in his apartment, talking to a ghost.
There has to be something wrong with my head. Andreas was right; I think I need help.
Tom looked down at Bill, who was staring back at him with a piercing gaze, and shuddered.
"Is it always this cold when you're around?" he asked grumpily, hugging his arms around himself. Bill shrugged carelessly and floated toward the window, the aura around him glowing brightly, reflecting the city lights in front of him.
"If it bothers you, put on another sweater and shut up," the ghost replied, amusement lacing his voice. Tom groaned loudly and flopped back on the bed, burying his face in the mattress.
If he wasn't already insane, then surely he would be by the time Bill was through with him.
o hai ghost!bill.
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