Page 1 of Ghosted AF (At First #4)

one

~ Rylee ~

M y footsteps echoed hollowly through the stairwell as I trudged up the concrete steps to my third-floor walkup. Dodging empty beer bottles and suspicious puddles, I took slow, shallow breaths, trying not to gag from the stench of garbage that saturated the air.

Approaching the door to my unit, I slowed, my tennis shoes crunching over the snack crackers that littered the ground. Attached to the frame—faded and cracked from years of neglect—a slip of pink paper shined like a beacon of anxiety.

My mind immediately started racing.

I knew I had paid my rent on time and in full. I didn’t play loud music or have rowdy parties, so no reason for a noise complaint. The complex didn’t assign parking, but I always chose a spot across the street from my building to leave the closer spaces open for other residents.

Even though I knew I hadn’t done anything wrong, my hand wobbled a little as I reached for the paper. As soon as I read it, however, the air whooshed from my lungs with a groan.

It wasn’t a complaint. Rather, a notice reminding me that someone from the maintenance team had been by to replace my faulty smoke alarm.

With a shaky laugh, I tucked the sticky note into my pocket, retrieved my key, and slid it into the deadbolt—only to realize the door wasn’t locked.

I pushed my way inside, grumbling under my breath about the carelessness of the maintenance workers, and engaged both locks behind me. After hanging my backpack on the hook inside the tiny entryway, I kicked my shoes off and shoved them against the wall with my foot.

Flicking on the light, I shuffled through the living room on my way to the kitchen, but paused at the end of the sofa when a flash of white caught my attention.

In the center of the coffee table, the new smoke alarm gleamed brightly, a sharp contrast to the threadbare carpet and second-hand furniture.

A single 9-volt battery with a fluorescent blue label had been placed beside it, still inside its shrink-wrap, and the open box had been discarded on the floor in front of the sofa.

I frowned. Surely, they didn’t mean for me to install the damn thing myself. If that had been the case, they wouldn’t have needed access to my apartment.

Glancing around the room, I looked for anything else out of place. My eyes immediately landed on a small canvas tool bag on the floor, partially hidden by one of the table legs.

More confused now, I crouched down to inspect the bag, recognizing the name embroidered in red thread just below the zipper. Mykal.

I’d met the shadeling during a couple of other maintenance visits since I’d moved in, and he had always been pleasant and efficient. For him to leave a job unfinished didn’t feel right, and he certainly wouldn’t have left his tools behind.

Rising to my feet, I glanced at the empty kitchen, then to the short, dark hallway that led to my bedroom and the guest bathroom. Maybe he had needed to use the toilet in the middle of the job. Or perhaps he had wanted to check the other smoke detectors while he was there.

I moved toward the hallway, straining to hear anything out of place.

“Mykal?” I called.

Nothing.

Even though I didn’t see any light shining from the hall bathroom, I still knocked before pushing the door open.

Empty.

Three more steps brought me to my bedroom, the space dark apart from the slivers of moonlight that filtered through the blinds. I called for the shadeling again, but still, I received no response.

Maybe there had been an emergency. If he had left in a hurry, that would explain the scene in the living room, as well as the unlocked deadbolt. I didn’t know how the maintenance notice fit into the equation, but I figured he might have stuck it to the frame before starting his work.

While all completely plausible, I still couldn’t shake the unease that prickled at the back of my neck. I didn’t have any evidence one way or the other, but something felt…off.

The main office had already closed for the evening, so I would have to wait until morning before contacting someone. Not to complain, of course, but to let them know that Mykal had left his tools in my apartment.

If they wanted to volunteer more details about what had happened, I certainly wouldn’t try to stop them.

With nothing to do in the meantime, I retraced my steps, bypassing the living room and going straight to the kitchen.

After popping a ready-made meal into the microwave, I hovered at the counter, drumming my fingers against the chipped laminate.

My gaze flickered over the narrow bar toward the sofa, my mind humming with possibilities.

If Mykal had received an emergency call from another resident, he would have taken his tools with him. I wondered if he had left to retrieve a forgotten part, and he would be back soon. Maybe I had just missed him.

That didn’t really make sense, though. The smoke detector didn’t require any special equipment. Hell, I could install it myself with nothing more than a stepladder and opposable thumbs.

I didn’t know if the shadeling was married or mated, nor did I have any information about his family. A frantic call from a loved one would certainly explain why he had dropped everything and disappeared, though.

The microwave beeped, pulling me out of my contemplations, and I shook my head, forcing myself to put the thoughts out of my mind. Whatever had happened, I couldn’t do anything about it, and worrying wouldn’t change anything.

I retrieved my meal—a sad but passable beef lasagna—from the microwave, grabbed a fork from the drawer, and carried my dinner into the living room.

Placing the plastic tray down beside the smoke detector, I shuffled around the coffee table, pausing when my foot struck the empty box that had been left on the floor.

When it disappeared beneath the sofa, I considered leaving it. After a heartbeat of hesitation, however, I sighed. Either I wouldn’t be able to think about anything else, or I would end up forgetting about it completely.

Squeezing into the narrow space on my hands and knees, I felt around in the darkness, finding the box easily and sliding it out from under the couch. I tossed it onto the cushions and started to push to my feet, but paused when a faint glimmer caught my eye.

At the end of the sofa, half hidden behind the wooden leg, a single feather gleamed in the overhead light. Stretching my arm out, I picked it up, frowning as I rolled it between my fingers. Long and delicate, impossibly light, it was unlike any feather I had ever seen before.

For starters, the shaft burned a bright scarlet, while the quill itself appeared almost metallic, ranging in color from dark copper to pale gold.

I ran my fingers along the edges of the feather. Only, it didn’t really feel like a typical feather at all. More like hundreds of tiny silk tassels, but with just enough structure to hold their shape.

It reminded me of a peacock feather, only thicker and without the familiar eye spot at the end. Still, I couldn’t begin to guess what species of bird it had come from, nor did I have any idea how it had gotten into my apartment.

It was pretty, though, and too unique to simply toss into the trash.

Struggling to my feet, I brushed the dust from my knees, then headed down the short hallway to my bedroom once again. There, I set the quill down on the flimsy nightstand while I dug inside the closet for the small box hidden in the back.

Made of pewter and encrusted with plastic gems, the container itself wasn’t anything special. The felt-lined interior, however, held all the treasures I had gathered over the years.

A four-leaf clover preserved between two pieces of clear packaging tape. A chewing gum wrapper a co-worker had shaped into a crane. A pretty shell I had found on the beach. A decorative white rock that sparkled in the sunlight.

Nothing inside the box was worth anything. In fact, most people would probably consider it junk, but every piece had a story, and I took pride in my little collection.

Carrying it over to the bed, I added the feather to my treasures, nestling it gently on top so it wouldn’t be crushed. With a faint smile, I closed the lid and tucked the box back into its hiding place in the closet.

Returning to the living room, I finally settled down on the sofa and reached for my dinner. Cold now, the cheese had congealed, and the sauce had turned thick and syrupy, but I was too tired to reheat it.

Reaching for the remote, I pointed it at the small flatscreen across the room, but when I pressed the power button, nothing happened. So, of course, I did what every person on the planet did when something like that happened. I pressed the button harder and in rapid-fire succession.

Still…nothing.

Groaning under my breath, I started to push to my feet, intending to go find some fresh batteries. I made it only to the edge of the cushion when the television flickered to life, the volume set to max.

Startled, I grabbed the remote again, aiming it at the display as I frantically jabbed at the buttons. Thankfully, it seemed to work fine now, and within seconds, the din had been reduced to a respectable level.

At the same time, a sudden rush of frigid wind swept across the back of my neck, rustling my hair and sending a shiver down my spine. Goosebumps erupted over my skin, and I whipped around, though I don’t know what I expected to find.

My laugh was a little shaky when I saw nothing but a blank wall behind me.

Chalking it up to exhaustion and an overactive imagination, I returned my attention to the flatscreen. It had probably just been the air conditioner kicking on. Nothing strange about that.

I had barely exhaled when all three bulbs in the light fixture of the ceiling fan started to flicker in sync, surging and dimming before briefly plunging the room into complete darkness. Though they steadied quickly, this time, I couldn’t pass it off as a trick of my mind.

Still, it was an old building and not well maintained. Maybe something had happened to the wiring. The fact that no other lights or appliances had been affected didn’t mean anything.

I took a couple of calming breaths before reaching for my lasagna again. Then I jerked my hand back when my fork started to vibrate. I watched, heart pounding, as the shaking grew more intense until the utensil eventually launched itself across the room.

Another gust of wind swept across the floor, lifting the instruction pamphlet for the smoke detector and setting it adrift. It floated lazily at first, then shot upward, plastering itself against the wall as though held by invisible hands.

A low rattle came from the hallway—the sound of my bedroom doorknob. At the same time, the television’s volume swelled again, this time with crackling static as the screen glitched and flickered.

The lights stuttered once more, causing shadows to leap from the corners like living things.

Objects danced across the pair of rickety shelves that bracketed the TV, some toppling over completely to bounce across the carpet.

The microwave in the kitchen powered on by itself, and the windowpanes trembled violently in their frames.

Panicked, I bolted to my feet and rushed for the front door. It wouldn’t budge. The locks wouldn’t disengage. The knob wouldn’t turn.

Heart crashing against my ribs, I stumbled back to the living room on unsteady legs, reaching the sofa just as my entire apartment plunged into inky blackness. Not even the streetlights beyond the windows seemed to penetrate the darkness.

Falling onto the sofa, I pressed myself into the cushions, into their illusion of safety, and fumbled for my phone. The screen flared to life when I bumped it with my fingers, though the blue glow didn’t extend beyond the device itself.

I snatched it up, my thumb hovering over the emergency call button in the corner.

Yes, I had an emergency. Yes, I needed help. I couldn’t call the Circle City Police Department, though. What the hell would I even tell them? That a ghost had broken into my apartment?

At best, they would laugh at me. At worst, they would send me for a psych eval—or worse, arrest me for misuse of emergency services. While I wanted the problem solved, I didn’t want to end up in jail because of it.

But who the hell did I call?

After a brief argument with myself, I bit my bottom lip, exhaled sharply through my nose, and opened the MNSTR app.