Episode 2

The following morning, El woke to the distinct scent of burnt toast. Her eyes snapped open, and she sat bolt upright in bed, heart pounding. Fire? Was her impossibly small kitchen on fire already? Then she remembered. Jasper.

She stumbled out of bed, pulling on a worn dressing gown. The smell intensified as she reached the living room, which doubled as a kitchen. Jasper stood by the ancient toaster, looking utterly bewildered, holding a charcoal-black slice of bread on a plate.

“Good morning,” he said, looking faintly sheepish. “I was attempting to… prepare breakfast. It seems I’ve rather overdone the toasting.”

“No kidding,” El mumbled, still half-asleep. “You know, toast is usually supposed to be brown, not a geological specimen.” She peered at the toaster. “And how exactly did you even manage to use that? Did you phase through the switch?”

Jasper shrugged, a very un-ghostly gesture. “It was rather difficult. My hands kept… slipping. As if the particles weren’t quite aligning. But then, for a moment, they did. And then the bread became… this.” He gestured to the blackened offering.

El sighed. Day two of living with a ghost. Her logical brain was still screaming, but the sheer absurdity of the situation had begun to dull the edges of her panic. She’d spent half the night Googling "ghosts and ectoplasm" on her phone, finding only cheesy paranormal sites and dubious theories. No manual for "What to do when a centuries-old phantom crashes in your flat and wants toast."

“Right,” she said, walking over to the kettle. “Stick to observing, Jasper. Leave the kitchen appliances to the living.”

He looked genuinely disappointed. “But I wished to be helpful! And sustenance is vital for a living being, is it not? I recalled its importance from my own time.”

“It is,” El agreed, flicking the kettle switch. “But so is not burning down the building. You’re lucky it’s just toast. Yesterday you almost gave me a heart attack.”

Jasper winced. “My sincerest apologies. My ability to… manage my state of being is still rather… unpredictable. One moment I’m quite solid, the next I might be a fleeting shimmer. I merely wished to transition into the next room without disturbing your rest, and then I found myself… walking through the wall.” He gestured to the brick wall adjacent to the kitchen, a faint, translucent outline of his hand still visible for a split second before fading.

El watched the spot where his hand had been. “You walked through the wall?” she asked, incredulous.

“Indeed. It was rather exhilarating, actually. A true sense of freedom. Until I realized I was in the building’s main conduit pipe.” He shuddered. “Rather cramped and unsanitary. Not at all what one expects.”

This was her life now. A ghost who made bad toast and got stuck in plumbing.

Over the next few days, Jasper became a permanent, if often invisible, fixture in her tiny flat. His presence manifested in subtle, bewildering ways. Doors would creak open when there was no draft. Her keys, left on the small table by the door, would mysteriously migrate to the top of the bookshelf. A faint, inexplicable scent of lavender, then sometimes pipe tobacco, would waft through the room.

He learned to manipulate small objects with varying degrees of success. Her phone charger would unplug itself from the wall with a gentle pop. Her books would occasionally levitate an inch or two off the shelf before clattering back down. Once, she found all her socks meticulously paired and folded, a small, thoughtful gesture that was both endearing and utterly unsettling.

“Jasper,” she’d said one evening, finding him solid and perched precariously on her only armchair, intently watching a documentary about Roman ruins on her laptop. “Did you do my laundry?”

He looked up, startled, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “I merely observed your distress over the mismatched hosiery. And it seemed a logical solution to the chaos. One likes order, you see.”

El pinched the bridge of her nose. “I appreciate the thought, really. But you’re a ghost. You don’t have to do chores. You’re supposed to… haunt. Or something equally ethereal.”

“Haunting seems rather… impolite,” he mused, looking back at the screen. “And one does get terribly bored, simply observing. There is only so much wandering one can do before one yearns for a purpose. Or at least a useful distraction.”

His curiosity about the modern world was boundless. He’d spend hours watching nature documentaries, utterly fascinated by the planet’s ecosystem. He loved the news, particularly anything historical, often commenting with surprising insight on the political landscape of the present, comparing it to eras long past. He’d tried to use her laptop himself, but his fingers kept phasing through the keyboard, leading to bursts of frustration that manifested as flickering lights in the flat.

“It’s like trying to grasp smoke!” he’d exclaimed one afternoon, after failing to type a simple search query for the tenth time. Her internet connection had promptly dropped out. “Such ingenious devices, yet so elusive to my touch.”

“Just… leave the Wi-Fi alone, Jasper,” El had pleaded, trying to reboot her router. “I need that for job applications.”

Job applications. That was a constant, frustrating reality check. How was she supposed to convince a potential employer she was a stable, reliable candidate when she kept having conversations with thin air, or finding her hairbrush inexplicably in the fridge?

One Tuesday morning, she had a phone interview for an entry-level marketing position. She’d meticulously prepared, dressed in her best (and only) smart blouse, and had even tried to mentally banish Jasper for an hour.

“Now, remember, Jasper,” she’d lectured the empty room beforehand, “no levitating pens, no cold spots, no ancient curses, okay? This is important.”

He’d remained unseen, but she felt a faint whisper of a breeze, almost like a ghostly sigh.

The interview started well. She was articulate, confident. “And why London?” the interviewer asked.

“Well,” El began, “I just felt it was time for a change of pace, a new environment, a place where I could… grow.”

Just then, her mug of lukewarm tea on the desk slid a full inch to the left. Then back. Then forward, as if a child was playing with it.

El froze, her eyes widening. She subtly glanced at the mug, then darted her eyes around the room. No one there. But the mug definitely moved.

“Ms. Vance?” the interviewer prompted.

“Right! Sorry,” El stammered, trying to regain her composure. “Just… the desk is a little uneven here. Old building, you know.” She shot a glare at the ceiling, where she imagined Jasper was silently cackling.

Then, an old, tinny waltz tune, barely audible, began to play from the direction of her wardrobe. It sounded like something from a faded music box.

El’s jaw tightened. “And, uh, it’s a very… musical building. Lots of character. Lots of… ambient noise.”

The interviewer cleared her throat. “I see. And what would you say is your greatest weakness, Ms. Vance?”

Just as El opened her mouth, a stack of papers on her desk – her carefully prepared notes – suddenly shuffled themselves into a completely different order, then promptly erupted into a small, silent flurry of snow-like dust that wasn't dust at all, but rather shimmering, iridescent motes that danced in the dim light before fading.

El slammed her hand down on the desk, startling herself. “My greatest weakness,” she stated, perhaps a little too loudly, “is an inability to tolerate… unexpected logistical challenges.”

The interview ended shortly thereafter. She did not get the job.

“Jasper!” she yelled, throwing herself onto the sofa later that day. “What was that? The papers? The music? My tea mug? I just lost a job because of your… your shenanigans!”

He materialized beside her, looking contrite. “I apologize, El. Truly. It was an involuntary reaction. You see, when one is experiencing… heightened emotions, particularly frustration or excitement, it seems to affect my ability to remain… unnoticed. The tea mug was an attempt to ‘help’ you with your precarious beverage. The music… I believe I was humming a tune I vaguely remembered. And the papers… well, your notes were quite disorganised. I merely attempted to… assist.”

“Assist?” El practically shrieked. “You made me look like I was having a poltergeist attack!”

“Poltergeist,” Jasper mused, a thoughtful look on his face. “An interesting term. The Germans, I presume. Literally ‘noisy ghost.’ A rather accurate description of my current predicament, wouldn’t you agree?”

El buried her face in a cushion. This was her new normal. Living with a very charming, very helpful, very chaotic spectral entity.

Despite the disruptions, a strange routine began to form. El would leave out new magazines for Jasper to "read" (he’d sometimes leave them open to interesting articles). She’d talk to him, even when he was invisible, explaining her day, complaining about job hunting, or simply narrating what she was doing. He, in turn, would manifest to offer surprisingly insightful commentary on her problems, or to share fascinating tidbits about London’s past. He was a walking, talking (and sometimes floating) history book.

One evening, as El sketched in her notebook, depicting the gloomy brick wall outside her window in charcoal, Jasper materialized beside her, looking thoughtful.

“You have a talent for capturing essence,” he observed, his voice soft. “Even in the mundane, you find the underlying character. It’s… admirable.”

El looked up, surprised. “Thanks. I used to do more. Before… well, before life got in the way.”

“Life has a way of doing that,” he said, a hint of melancholy in his tone. He watched her hand move across the paper. “I remember… a time when creation was a more celebrated pursuit. When artistry was intertwined with daily life, not a separate endeavour.”

His gaze drifted to her hands, then to the drawing. “You have very steady hands, El. The hands of a craftsperson.”

“I’ve always liked drawing,” she admitted, a rare moment of vulnerability. “It’s the only time my brain really shuts up.”

He nodded, a flicker of something she couldn’t quite decipher in his eyes. He seemed to be searching for a memory, a connection to her words. “A quiet mind,” he murmured. “A precious thing.”

There were moments, too, when the mild chaos morphed into something else, something subtly unsettling. It started with a specific cold spot in the hallway, not the general chill of Jasper’s presence, but a sharper, localized drop in temperature that lingered even after he’d moved on. It felt… different. Heavier.

One afternoon, El was walking past the old grandfather clock in the building’s communal hallway – a relic the landlord insisted on keeping, despite it being broken for decades. As she passed, she heard it. A faint, almost imperceptible tick-tock. She stopped dead. The clock hadn’t worked since she’d moved in. She peered at it. Silence. She shrugged, attributing it to her imagination.

But then, a few days later, she was making her way up the stairs, and a strong scent of coal smoke, mixed with a faint, metallic tang, hit her. It was overpowering for a moment, making her cough. Yet, there was no source. No fireplace nearby, no cars idling. It simply appeared, lingered, and then dissipated.

“Jasper?” she’d called out, a knot forming in her stomach. “Are you doing that?”

He’d materialized, looking confused. “Doing what, El? I merely observed your progress up the steps. A rather tedious exercise, I must say. Why don’t you simply phase through, as I do?”

“The smell, Jasper! The coal smoke. And the clock the other day. Are you messing with me?”

He looked genuinely hurt. “I assure you, I am not. My own presence is usually marked by a mild coolness, perhaps a faint shimmer if I’m struggling to maintain cohesion. But these… sensations you describe… they are not of my doing. Unless my own instability is somehow manifesting in new and unwelcome ways.” He paused, his brow furrowed. “The coal smoke… and a metallic tang? Curious. One remembers that particular scent from the factories. But it’s been… decades since they filled the air.”

He seemed genuinely puzzled, a hint of worry in his expression. El, however, dismissed it. He was a ghost, after all. Maybe his own existence was just causing random atmospheric disturbances. She was still trying to rationalize the ghost part; attributing new, strange phenomena to him felt like the path of least resistance.

The mild chaos of Jasper’s presence also extended to her social life, or what little of it she had. She’d managed to reconnect with an old university friend, Chloe, who was also living in London. They’d planned a quiet evening in, a takeaway and a movie.

El spent half an hour trying to discreetly warn Jasper. “Look, Chloe’s coming over. She’s… normal. No floating, no disappearing acts, no levitating remote controls. Can you just… chill? Be a very quiet, very un-ghostly ghost for a few hours?”

Jasper promised solemnly to be a “perfectly decorous and unobtrusive specter.”

Chloe arrived, bubbly and full of chatter about her new job. They settled on the sofa, takeaway boxes balanced precariously.

“Oh my God, El, your flat is tiny!” Chloe exclaimed, laughing. “How do you even breathe in here?”

Just then, a faint, almost imperceptible tremor ran through the floor. The cutlery in the takeaway boxes rattled. Then, a framed print on the wall, a cheap reproduction of a Victorian street scene, tilted dramatically to one side.

El coughed, grabbing the print and straightening it. “Yeah, old building. Settling, you know. Probably just a Tube train going by.”

Chloe frowned. “I didn’t hear anything.”

A moment later, as Chloe reached for a spring roll, the small, decorative cushion she was leaning against suddenly rotated 90 degrees on its own.

Chloe blinked. She picked up the cushion, examined it, then put it back. “Did… did that just move?”

El forced a laugh. “Nope! Just the fabric. Slippery stuff, you know.” She shot a furious look at the ceiling.

Then, the lights flickered. Once. Twice.

“Okay, what is with your flat?” Chloe asked, a nervous edge to her voice. “Are you sure it’s not haunted? Because I’m getting some serious spooky vibes here.”

El, exasperated beyond belief, finally snapped. “It’s fine, Chloe! Just… old wiring. And a very drafty window. Everything’s fine!” She then kicked an imaginary spot on the floor where she imagined Jasper was lurking.

Chloe’s eyes widened, and she looked at El with a mixture of concern and mild alarm. “Right. Sure, El. Everything’s… fine.” She looked around the cramped room as if expecting something to jump out at her.

The evening eventually passed, but Chloe left earlier than planned, citing an early start. As soon as the door clicked shut, El whirled around.

“Jasper! What was that? You promised!”

He materialized by the window, looking genuinely crestfallen. “I did try, El. Truly. But her energy! It was so… vibrant. Such a contrast to your own quieter emanations. It seemed to… excite my own particles. And I confess, the ‘spooky vibes’ comment was rather amusing. I merely wished to… enhance the experience.”

“Enhance the experience?” El repeated, throwing her hands up. “You almost scared her off! What if no one visits me because my flat is full of ‘spooky vibes’?”

“Then perhaps you would not require so many social engagements,” Jasper said thoughtfully. “And we could spend more time discussing the fascinating origins of modern plumbing, as you promised yesterday.”

El stared at him, then let out a helpless laugh. He was impossible. Utterly, wonderfully, infuriatingly impossible. He was a ghost in the gears of her new life, constantly throwing off her carefully planned routine. But in a strange way, he was also the most interesting thing that had happened to her since moving to London.

“You know, Jasper,” El said, picking up the remote control that had mysteriously appeared on the top of the fridge. “You’re a terrible ghost. You’re too polite, too helpful, and you have absolutely no self-control when it comes to materializing. And you’re definitely not discreet.”

Jasper floated a few inches off the ground, a mischievous glint in his pale blue eyes. “One tries one’s best, El. But discretion, as you’ve observed, is rather difficult when one’s very existence defies all natural law. And besides,” he added, dropping back to the floor with a soft thud, “is it not more interesting this way?”

El looked around her impossibly small, chaotic flat, then at the very solid, very present ghost beside her, who was now humming that ancient waltz tune again.

“Interesting,” she admitted, a small smile playing on her lips. “Definitely interesting. But if you try to organize my socks again, Jasper, I swear I’m calling a priest.”

He chuckled, a melodic sound that filled the cramped room. “Noted, El. Noted.”

She still hadn't gotten a job. Her flat was still cramped. And now, she had a permanent, spectral flatmate who was rapidly becoming less of a terrifying anomaly and more of a terribly inconvenient, yet strangely endearing, part of her new life. London, it seemed, had far more secrets than she had ever anticipated. And Jasper, the ghost in her gears, was just the beginning.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***