Page 5 of A Guide to Ghosting (Monsters of Moonvale #3)

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T here wasn’t anything in the bathroom with me. The curls of steam may have looked vaguely like the shape of a woman, but it was only my exhausted mind playing tricks on me. The towel rack probably was coming loose, which is why it fell after I put something on it.

I repeat those logical explanations to myself as I return to the bedroom. They don’t stop me from rounding the corner into the room like I’m a member of a SWAT team. I immediately feel ridiculous when the only thing that greets me is an empty bed and wet spots on the wood floors from where I raced out of the bathroom without drying off properly.

I close the door and yank off the towel around my waist, dropping it on the floor to mop up the water before it warps the floorboards. Just what I wanted to do the first night in my house —run around half naked because of the absurd thoughts Emma put in my head about this place being haunted.

That nonsense stops now. There’s no ghost and I’m not going to play along with her, because as embarrassing as it is to admit, it’s messing with my nerves. It’s a good thing she headed back to her place in the city after dinner, because I can only imagine what shenanigans she would’ve tried. Probably would’ve cooked me breakfast and claimed the grandma ghost did it.

A slight smile spreads across my lips at the thought. Honestly, it wouldn’t be the worst thing to be haunted by a breakfast making, cookie baking ghost. Though Emma would undoubtedly make me host boos and booze brunches. I snort and make a mental note to text her that dumb joke in the morning. Hopefully, it will help make up for how dour I was today.

I regret being an asshole to my sister, who took time out of her busy schedule to not only help me find this house, but to move my shit when I was too stubborn to hire people to help. She told me she’s not upset and hugged me the same way she always does when she says goodbye, but I know I need to get the stick out of my ass.

I don’t want to be a humorless jerk. The problem is, I’m not sure how to go back to the version of myself that would’ve played along with her. I don’t even know if that’s possible, but I need to try.

My muscles scream at me as I gingerly slide into the bed, and the cheap, squeaky bedframe sags a little under my weight. It’ll have to do for now.

I’m only sleeping in here until I can take down that godawful wallpaper in the master bedroom. I can’t stomach the thought of spending my first night of this new chapter of my life in a room that reminds me too much of Granny banging on the door at 6 am to wake me up each morning the summer I spent at her house.

I shudder thinking about her shrill voice. Yeah, I’ll sleep on the crappy bed until that wallpaper is taken care of. If my body allows, I’ll tackle stripping it off tomorrow.

In response to that thought, my back spasms as I roll onto my side. Great. The wallpaper might have to wait. I groan and attempt to massage a knot out of my back, digging in as hard as I can, as if I can jab my muscles into submission.

Emma told me I should relax tomorrow. Go into town and grab some coffee, check out the cute shops, maybe even find a place to get a massage. But that’s her idea of a perfect day. I don’t think I can relax until I get things more settled here, and I definitely don’t want to be living out of boxes when I start my new job in a few days.

At least my furniture is getting delivered tomorrow. I wasn’t stupid enough to think I could move that on my own, thank god. I don’t have much from my old shoebox apartment, but it’ll be better than the odd mix of remnants of the old lady’s decor and cheap, lifeless furnishings. If I can get some familiar stuff in here, hopefully it will cut down on the weird vibes of the house.

Because yes, as much as I hate to admit it, this place has an odd energy. Emma said that the house is meant for me, but I’m not convinced. If anything, I can’t help feeling like I don’t belong here. Probably a holdover from living somewhere tiny, and the fact that I can’t shake my worries that it was a colossal mistake to spend so much money on something I didn’t truly need. I would’ve been fine to move into another small, shitty apartment. What if I need that money?

Anxiety flares to life in my gut and I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing myself to take a deep breath before I start to spiral into thinking about worst-case scenarios.

Calm down.

Dad finally got the settlement from his shitty ex-employer, and that will cover his living expenses and medical bills. Emma can take care of herself with her new gig. I have enough saved to be fine for at least a few years, even if the new job decides they hate me and they fire me right away.

Everyone is okay. Everything will be fine.

The past three years have proven that I can handle anything that comes my way. If I can deal with death, debt, and drudgery, I’m not about to let some weird vibes and sore muscles keep me from enjoying that there’s finally something good in my life.

The smell of sizzling bacon and hot syrup rouses me the next morning. My eyes blink open to a strange, sunlit room, and it takes me a moment to get my bearings and remember where I am.

I was dreaming about brunch with Emma and a beautiful blonde woman who I was shocked and overjoyed to see again, but I can’t remember who it was now that I’m awake. I wish I hadn’t woken up, because it was the first time I felt relaxed and happy in ages.

Glancing at my phone, I see it’s after 10am, and I’ve missed two texts from the movers. The last one says they’ll be here by 10:30 at the latest.

I scramble out of bed, almost tripping over the towel I left on the floor, hurrying to throw on some clothes, tame my hair, and brush my teeth. At least my body doesn’t protest too much as I race around, the pain far less intense after my first good night of sleep in ages.

I’m heading out into the hallway as I hear the moving truck pulling up outside. Shoving on a pair of shoes, I get to the front door just in time to greet the movers. I’m in the middle of showing them around inside and giving directions on where to put things, as well as what things I’ve hired them to haul away and donate, when one of the men inhales deeply and pats his flat stomach.

“Damn, I should’ve eaten more for breakfast. That bacon smell is going to drive me crazy.” He turns to his fellow mover and grins. “You think we can stop over at the diner on 46 when we’re done?”

“Sure thing, as long as you’re buying,” the other man replies with a chuckle. He asks me a question, but I don’t process what he’s saying because I’m too busy finally registering that the scent of delicious breakfast food didn’t go away when I woke up.

What the?

The mover looks at me expectantly, and I nod my head, which seems to satisfy him. I turn toward the kitchen as they head off back to the truck.

Did Emma come back with a surprise breakfast? Damn, if she wasn’t already the best sister in the world, this would win her the award.

A smile spreads across my face. “Emma, you’re amazing. I can’t believe you did?—”

I round the corner into the kitchen to find a full spread of waffles, bacon, and fresh fruit covering the island in the center of the room, but no sister.

“Emma?” I call out in confusion. There’s no reply.

I frown and head back down the hall, scanning the living room, and shouting out for hiding my sister. “Emma, you’re ridiculous, you know that? You can come out and eat with me. I’ll even pretend that it was the ghost grandma, and not you.”

The door to the office is the only one closed, and there’s a light on inside, so I creep up to it and yank it open, hoping to get the drop on my sister. “Got you!”

There’s no one there.

I check behind the door, in the small closet, and even under the couch, though there’s no way she’d fit there.

“What the fuck is going on?” I mutter to myself.

I stand and almost shit my pants when I see a figure looming in the doorway, for a split second thinking it was… no, I’m not even going to admit that. There’s no way I thought it was the fucking ghost.

The mover looks down at me crouched on the floor. “Uh, sorry for startling you. Just wanted to double-check that you wanted to get rid of all the things with the blue sticky notes on them, right?”

My face heats and I pretend to pick something up off the floor, shoving the non-existent item into my pocket as I stand. “Yeah. You didn’t see a woman outside, did you? Curly black hair, same coloring as me, similar face, but not as ugly as me?”

His brow furrows. “No man, sorry. I didn’t see anyone outside.” He pauses and gives me an assessing look. “She must be really cute though, if she’s better looking than you. I’ll let you know if I see her.”

“Oh, uh, thanks?” He chuckles as my brows shoot toward my hairline at his flirtation. I stare at him as he leaves, flustered both by being hit on and dumbfounded that Emma brought me breakfast and left.

I look out the office window at the street. Her car isn’t out there.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I grumble as I pull my phone out of my pocket to text her.

Noah: Why the hell did you bring me food and not stay?

I delete the message and start over. I told myself that I’d be more chill. If it makes her happy to be a fucking weirdo who leaves me breakfast under the pretense of it being a ghost, then I’ll let her have it. What does it really hurt to go along with the bit?

Noah: Emma, you’re not going to believe this. The ghost made me breakfast.

Heading back to the kitchen while avoiding eye contact with the movers as they haul in my desk, I sigh and dig out a plate from one of the nearby boxes.

Damn, this food looks great. Emma went all out. I wonder how early she had to wake up to come back here and set it up? God, she’s so weird but sweet.

I get a text back from her as I’m shoving a strip of bacon into my mouth.

Emma: What?! No way. Don’t tease me, dude.

Noah: I’m not.

I snap a picture of the food on my plate and send it along with my reply.

Emma: How do I know you didn’t make that yourself? Or get it delivered?

My brow furrows. I’m trying to play along with the ghost thing, but her forcing me to convince her I’m being haunted when she’s the one doing it is annoying.

Noah: You know I didn’t. I could barely move last night. Thanks for the food, by the way.

I don’t send that message, deleting it with a sigh.

Go along with it. Be fun.

Noah: I swear I didn’t! I woke up late, and it was sitting here waiting for me.

There’s a long pause before I get a text back.

Emma: Holy crap. The ghost made you breakfast. That’s so cool!

Noah: Yeah. It’s strange, but I can’t complain. I won’t get my hopes up about more breakfasts, though. Don’t want to become reliant on ghost grandma.

There. Emma’s happy thinking she’s fooled me and I get to eat her nice breakfast without feeling like a jerk. I still don’t understand why she needed me to convince her about the “ghost”, but I’ll admit there’s a rare smile on my lips as I set my phone back down and dig into a waffle.