By the time Homeowner Number Six moved in, Cerise had established a haunting check-list. Scaring off the first five had been easy enough. She’d start small, creaks in the night, slamming doors— classic ghost stuff. That did the trick for One and Four. Three left once things started moving from room to room in the house. When it came to Two, she messed with the lights, turning them off and on, until he ran for it. If physical interference failed, Cerise would use direct communication. Whispers in the ear, messages in various reds (typically lipstick or ketchup), phrasings selected to inspire fear. There were the standard memos like “Get Out” or “You’re next” alongside more specific anecdotes​​. The death date prediction that got Five to leave was her best work. Cerise figured if she kept this up, eventually one of her little tricks would work, and she’d move on to striking fear into the heart of Homeowner Seven, then Eight, then Nine, and so on, until people would wise up and stop moving into her house.

Six didn’t scare easily. In fact, she didn’t scare at all. Cerise had gone through all her usual tricks by week one, desperate for something to work. She’d thrown things to the ground, left little notes, she even shut off the power entirely. It wasn’t subtle, but Six was completely unfazed. Stranger, Six hardly left the house, not even for work. There were never guests over or neighborly conversations. Her life was void of all potential social interaction— she didn’t even call and order takeout. She was always home alone, surrounded by screams and bumps in the night. Yet somehow, Six was perfectly content. She slept a solid eight hours at night and went about her day relaxed, reading, as if nothing was wrong. That was the worst part of it. Six was mindnumbingly boring. 

/ / /

“I thought I told you to leave those poor people alone,” Grey said, appearing behind Cerise in an oversized button-up flannel shirt and beanie, smoothie nestled in her hand. Cerise didn’t turn to face the Specter, instead keeping her attention fixed on the house window. She had been staked out for the past two hours, hoping her absence would get some sort of reaction. To her dismay, the homeowner continued to read by lamplight, doing little of anything, and driving Cerise insane.

“She hasn’t moved. In two hours,” Cerise remarked, the words hissing out of her clenched teeth.

“Well, you’re not doing much of anything yourself at the moment.”

“I’m trying to figure out what her deal is.”

“She’s boring. Why don’t you go do something fun. Go somewhere more exciting.”

“I told you. I don’t want to go anywhere else. I’m sorry I died in your district, but you’re not going to convince me to move. I picked here. This house. This street. I’m staying.”

“You were two feet from the border! If you died in the kitchen you’d be Joseph’s problem, but no,” Grey exclaimed, dragging out the o in exasperation. “It just had to be in the hallway!”

“I was going into anaphylactic shock!” Cerise exclaimed, recalling her death by pineapple. She didn’t know she was allergic until it was too late. She hadn’t planned on dying as she rushed towards the phone to call for help. She wasn’t even thirty yet, she wanted to live.

“I had a good thing going here before you. No one died in my stretch in sixty years. Sixty!” 

“Well, you're responsible for me now. It doesn’t matter if I leave.”

“Out of sight out of mind. Chances are you’ll be less of a nuisance somewhere else. Here you cause all sorts of problems. You're not supposed to haunt without a permit, you know.”

“And who needs to bring a permit request to the council? Hm?”

“I’m not doing that paperwork,” Grey retorted. Since Cerise’s death, Grey had been popping in and out, doing the minimum to ensure the newly anointed ghost wasn’t ruining her chances of transferring to Antarctica once Randy Jenkins retired. She’d been waiting for the old fuck to throw in the towel since she was hired. He had the life down there! No one lived there, so no one was dying. This had been the next best thing. The area had a much larger population when the districts were drawn, warranting a sector barely stretching three miles on the riverbank. Since then, most people had up and left, making it perfect for someone with Grey’s interest in doing practically nothing. She’d only chosen to be a Specter for flexible hours and the promise of an early, eternal retirement, one that Cerise and her antics might just ruin.

“Exactly,” Cerise said, her gaze still intent on Six who had slightly adjusted her legs on her chaise lounge. Aside from the fluid flipping of pages, this was the largest movement of the night. “Ugh! How is she still sitting there!”

“She’s just reading.”

“She’s done nothing but read for three months. No one likes reading that much.”

“A bit weird, but harmless.”

“You don’t get it.”

“Clearly not,” Grey replied, through with Cerise for the night and disappearing to wherever it was she liked to go.

Alone, Cerise placed her head in her hands and tried to refocus. If she wasn’t so annoyed, she might have been impressed with Six’s commitment to the monotonous. She took a breath and collected herself, returning her gaze to the now empty chaise. Six was gone. 

“You’re fucking kidding. All night, one spot. Now she decides to move,” Cerise grumbled, poofing her way back into the house. She found Six seated at the kitchen table reading another book. 

That did it. Cerise’s anger popped, fizzling her ghostly-essence into a translucent full-body apparition seated at the opposite side of the round table. Six glanced up briefly before looking right back down at her book. 

“Really? Nothing?”

“Would you like me to scream?” Six asked, lifting a “World’s Hottest Pharmaceutical Salesman” mug to her lips, one of the various items Cerise had leveraged against Three. He’d abandoned it in the cabinet when he left, just in case Cerise decided to follow the gas station commodity.

“Don’t bother.” Cerise frowned.

Six continued to examine the page, resting a silver ribbon where she found a decent place to stop. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“Leave,” Cerise said, any manners she had left disappearing.

“I’m sorry?”

“Leave. Leave, right now,”

“Is that all?” Six blinked, her expression unchanging.

“I mean, yeah…” 

“Good,” Six answered. “No.”

“What?”

“No. I’m not leaving. Why don’t you leave?”

“This– this is my house!” Cerise sputtered, completely taken aback by the audacity. Six clearly didn’t realize all the work put into this place. It was nearly collapsing when Cerise had bought it. It was all the time she’d spent painting and antiquing and gardening and tiling and un-tiling and then retiling and then un-tiling again and then retiling that made it rustic and cozy. Six had no idea the crises Cerise had in the paint aisle picking colors. She didn’t know about the penny-pinching budgeting or the panic of buying the wrong color wood. Six didn’t do shit to this place. When she bought it, it was thirty-thousand dollars cheaper than listing (a result of Five’s desperation) and it came with brand new appliances.

“Ghosts can’t own houses,” Six reasoned.

“We certainly can!” Cerise protested.

“Ok, fine. Go find another house to own. This one’s mine, I’m not moving out just because you want me to. Someone else would move in and then we’d both be miserable. Now, if that’s all, I’d like to finish this chapter.”

“No,” Cerise said, snatching the book off the table and tossing it down the hallway. 

“Was that necessary?” Six asked, rising leisurely to collect the book which had landed half-open against the wall. 

“I’ll throw it in the river if you don’t leave.”

“I’d prefer if you didn’t, especially considering it won’t change anything. You’ve been trying to get rid of me since I moved in. It’s been what? Two months now?”

“Three.”

“Wow. Time flies. You see, I can do this forever,” Six said, locking her eyes with Cerise’s as she took her seat at the table again. “It doesn’t matter how hard you try. I’m not leaving this house. The sooner you realize that, the better it'll be for both of us.”

Cerise was at a loss for words, something scarcely said of her. She prided herself on quick quips— there was always something to be said. The sheer shock of an empty mind was enough to destabilize her, causing her corporeal form to shatter into air.

Six, happily alone, reopened her book, a smug smile neatly placed on her face. 

/ / /

Cerise no longer had the desire to simply scare Six. Now, she was out for vengeance. She wanted her house back and she was going to get it. Maybe attempting a murder shouldn’t have been her first instinct, but Six had gotten under her skin. She was pissed. And out came the sword.

It was an older blade, one that once belonged to Five. He’d left it behind in case it was the source of his haunting. If he knew anything about swords he would’ve known it’d never been used. The metal was too pristine. Chances are, some rich asshole had displayed it in their house, died, and it was sold in an estate sale, eventually leading it to Cerise’s not-quite hands.

Typically, it was much easier to slink around unnoticed, but now Cerise was brandishing a very large, seemingly floating sword, which naturally drew itself quite a bit of attention. 

The approach was important. If Cerise was seen, she would lose the advantage of surprise, making things much more difficult. 

Six was following her typical routine. Cerise had been haunting her long enough to know the steps she’d take around the house: laundry, breakfast, reading. She came at Six from behind during the dishes stage. She took a deep breath, then thrust the weapon forward, plunging it directly through Six’s stomach. She regretted the choice when she heard the skewered guts and watched the blood leak down on her carefully placed tile. She’d never thought she was the sort of person who’d impale someone. Even as a ghost, the morals were questionable at best, but the damage had already been done. Six was moments away from collapsing lifeless to the ground, leaving Cerise to live the rest of eternity knowing what she’d done—

“Did you just stab me?” Six asked, turning around, wiping the gurgling blood from her mouth with her sleeve.

“Huh?” Cerise appeared, gaping. 

“You just tried to kill me!”

“No…” 

Six stared at her, then down at the metal sticking out of her chest, then back at Cerise. 

“I wasn’t thinking straight!” 

“Clearly not. If your little plan succeeded then I would be a ghost too, you know.”

Cerise paused. She hadn’t thought of that.

“You’re not the first person to try to kill me.” Six continued. “It doesn’t work.”

“What?” 

“You can’t kill me. I’m immortal. I can’t die, even if I want to, and trust me, dealing with people like you makes me want to.”

“Do… Do you need to go to a hospital or something?”

“And say what?” Six asked, reaching behind her back and grabbing the sword handle, pulling it out of her stomach, revealing a gaping wound. “It’ll heal eventually.”

“Right, uh. Sorry about that, gotta go now…” Cerise managed, disappearing suddenly. So fucking embarrassing. 

/ / / 

“What do you know about Immortals?” Cerise blurted. She’d been attempting to slip the question into their conversation casually for about a half-hour, but Grey was fully fixated on discussing the Middle Ages and would have gone on for weeks if Cerise let her. Ever since her house had first been occupied by strangers, Cerise had taken up residence in the attic, which is where she summoned Grey to chat after the incident. 

“Immortals? Not too many of those. We don’t interact very much, they’re like anti-ghosts. Although, we do have a flag football match against them during the spring retreat.”

“They definitely can’t die? Like, there’s no loopholes?”

“I do believe that is the entirety of the concept, yes.”

“Shit,” Cerise cursed, laying flat onto the ground, hiding her face in her hands. Waiting Six out wasn’t an option. 

“What exactly brings this question to mind, Cerise?” Grey asked, her suspicion rising. 

“Six. She’s immortal.”

“Wow. How the hell did you find that out?”

“I may or may not have stabbed her. With a sword.”

“You did what?” Grey demanded, staring down angrily at where Cerise lay at her feet. 

“I didn’t know it wouldn’t work!”

“You’re fucking lucky it didn’t work. We aren’t allowed to kill people! How would I explain that to the council? Do you have any idea how much work it is to cover up a ghost-related murder?”

“You cover it up?”

“Obviously we cover it up, Cerise. How many cases of people murdered by a fucking ghost do you know?”

“I didn’t mean anything by it!”

“You were trying to kill her!”

“But I didn’t,” Cerise offered, half-shrugging.

“Thankfully. You know what that means, don’t you? Unless you leave, you’re stuck with her. Immortals won’t move location for years if they don’t have to, centuries even.”

“No, no,” Cerise protested. “She’ll get sick of me eventually. I just can’t scare or stab her. There are plenty of other options!”

“Two feet from the border,” Grey clutched her aching head. “Two feet.”

/ / /

After her failed attempt at murder, Cerise decided it was best she keep her distance, holing up in the attic and beginning to plot her next move. It had only been about three days before a sudden doorbell coaxed her out. It’s chime rang once, twice, three times, each ding more annoyed than the last. In between the buzzes, Cerise slipped down to the staircase, making it in time to watch Six open the door. 

Standing on the porch was a short, rather smug looking man, the wrinkles on his face like melting wax. In his hand, he held a black briefcase with a lock, grip firm around the handle. 

“Jonathan…” Six greeted. “I thought we agreed on one…” 

“I like to be early. Keep the spirits on their toes,” Jonathan said, stepping past Six’s guarded stance and entering the house. Once he was inside he paused, craning his neck to examine the room. “Remind me again of the problem.”

“I have a ghost. An angry ghost. She wants me to leave.”

“Yes. I can sense her.”

Cerise made a face. That fucker wasn’t sensing shit. 

“The previous owner died in the house a year and a half ago. The realtor mentioned it might be haunted. The old owners claimed they experienced supernatural occurrences. I don’t believe, so I figured I’d be fine, but it’s happening again.”

“She was a lonely woman, wasn’t she?” Jonathan asked, closing his eyes as he raised his arms out in front of him.

“She lived alone. I don’t think she had any friends. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to spend time with her,” she continued, glancing up at the space Cerise was crouching, almost as if she could see her. Cerise’s fists clenched around the supports for the banister.

“Is there any reason she might want to stay here? Any unfinished business of sorts,” 

“Don’t care. I just need her gone. You can manage that, right?”

“Why’d you hire me?” He grinned cockily. “Of course I can.”

“Let’s get on with it then,” Six replied, annoyance lurking in her otherwise sweetened tone.

“Can’t rush the process, hon. You want a spirit gone for good, you take your time,” Jonathan said, walking further into the house, up to the kitchen table, just outside of Cerise’s view. “This is the main area, correct?”

“Right,”

“Interesting,” he mused, setting his briefcase down flat onto the table. “It must have had some sort of significance to her in life… If we could contact her perhaps—”

“No. I’ve had enough contact as it is.”

“Very well,” Jonathan said, unlocking the case with a click. Cerise, who had tip-toed down the stairs and was peeking around Six to get a clear view of the items held inside the case: a small piece of paper, some sage, and a red ribbon. 

“We begin by cleansing the area,” Jonathan explained, pulling a matchbox from his pocket and lighting the sage, waving it slowly as trudged around the room.

Cerise, relieved and unaffected, broke out into a grin. She hopped up on the kitchen counter and willed herself into an apparition while Jonathan’s back was to her. Cerise gave Six a little wave before disappearing again.

“It’s not working.”

“Why, we’ve only just begun! This takes time,”

“The sage isn’t doing anything. Do you have anything stronger?”

“This is the process,” he retorted, frowning as he continued his walk, waving the sage mindlessly as he went. Six let out a sigh, containing her annoyance. Cerise took this as her cue to appear once more, winking before poofing out of view.

Jonathan made a motion for Six’s hand to proceed while Cerise made her presence known. She sent an antique vase to the floor with a sharp swipe. The noise made him jump, his eyes wide as he searched around for what had caused the fall.

“Get out,” Six demanded. 

Cerise walked over to the light switch and began to flick it off and on for added drama. 

“The spirit is still very clearly here, Ma’am! The lights! Please, let me help you. The negative energy in this room—”

“Get. Out.”

Jonathan scrambled to collect his little items as Six backed him out the door. 

“There is still the matter of payment…”

Six slammed the door in his face.

/ / /

“If you were smart, you would leave,” Grey advised. The young ghost was lying flat on the floor, miserable as ever. She had changed into floral-patterned basketball shorts and an old oversized Canadian-themed 5k shirt (courtesy of Three) hoping to rid herself of the sage stench. 

“I told you, I’m not leaving,” 

“It’s just a house, Cerise. You can go anywhere you want, anywhere in the world.”

“But it’s my house,” Cerise exclaimed. “I promised myself that I would have a home one day. I wasn’t given one, I had to make one. And I did! I found it. I designed it. I restored it. It’s mine.”

“Isn’t someone else loving it rewarding?” Grey asked, crouching down to be closer to Cerise, her voice warm. 

“Hell no!” Cerise jolted upright, looking at Grey with disdain. 

Grey stood, letting out a small sigh.  “We recommend you relocate after someone tries to kill you. But if you want to stay, then stay.”

“Thank you… really.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Grey said, offering a hand to Cerise to help her stand. “Whatever.”

/ / /

“What the hell?” Six exclaimed, peeking her head behind the curtain to see the bus herself. “Ghost!”

Cerise willed herself into an apparition. 

“I have a name you know,”

“Did you do this?” Six demanded, ignoring the snark. 

Cerise peeked outside herself, seeing the double-decker bus parked out front, its side hosting a banner reading “Boo-tacular Tour” in green Papyrus font. Atop the second layer were rows of tourists, addressed by a woman with a megaphone and a witch hat. 

“Not me.”

“Are you lying to me? I swear to God—” 

“The idea is kind of ingenious,” Cerise mused. “But it wasn’t me.”

“This can’t be happening,” Six placed her head into her hands. “These things run like eight times a week.”

“Eight times a week? That can’t be right.”

Six opened her mouth to retort, but was interrupted by Grey appearing between them. 

“Cerise!” Grey’s voice demanded not to be fucked with. 

“It wasn’t me!” Cerise exclaimed, waving her hands defensively. 

“Well, my boss sure was interested in the haunted tour showcasing the house my ghost died in. Apparently, you’ve been on their radar for a while, but some professional told them about an encounter here and, boom, you’re on their map.”

“Jonathan…”

“Which gave my boss the impression that you’re haunting, not only without a permit, but to a degree that warrants outside attention.”

“Shit.”

“I played dumb, but they’re watching extra closely now.”

“Shit, shit, shit.”

“May I ask what’s going on?” Six interrupted.

“Cerise needs to knock-it-the-fuck-off,” Grey replied, glaring at the ghost. “I’m going to pull some strings and hopefully get you taken off as a stop.”

“Oh, thank you!” Six said, relieved.

“After that, they’re reassigning me.”

“What?!” Cerise exclaimed. “But you didn’t do anything!”

“Exactly. I didn’t do anything. They’re kinda mad about that. I had to watch over one ghost and I didn’t do it.”

“No, they’ve got it all wrong! You did,” Cerise protested. 

“They disagree.”

“But you love it here!”

“So do you. And one of us has to go.”

“No, no, we can both stay! I’ll be good. I’ll be so good. They won’t have to worry about us.”

“One of us has to go… I have to go.”

“Wait, wait no! You can’t just leave! Who’ll help me understand all this bullshit ghost stuff? Who’ll help me? I can’t do it alone. Not again. Please. We can fix this!”

“I’m sorry,” Grey said, offering a sad smile. “I’ll miss you.” Then, she was gone.

/ / /

The house had been quiet for a few weeks. Thanks to some sudden bridge construction, the tour had stopped coming by. Cerise had laid on the attic couch the whole time, motionless. She was still in that position when the hatch cracked open, light streaming into the space. 

Six ascended the ladder, setting a cardboard box onto the floor before emerging into the attic and pulling the string for the light. 

“Package for you.”

Cerise groaned, shifting and stretching as she sat up. Six thrust the box onto Cerise’s lap. For a moment, Cerise stared at it blankly. Her name and address were scrawled onto a white label in thick permanent marker. 

“Open it,” Six instructed. 

Cerise nodded, beginning to tear at the edges, struggling with the packing tape. 

“Here,” Six said, picking up the sword from the floor and handing it to Cerise. Cerise cringed before using the blade to slice through the tape, careful not to stab through the box. Once she could, she raised the flaps and lifted out the small snow globe. Inside, its scene showcased an iceberg and two happy penguins. A note haphazardly stuck to the bottom. 

I made it. It’s cold. Thanks for helping me look incompetent.

“It’s from Grey, isn’t it?” Six asked.

“You don’t get tired of being alone, do you? You don’t bother with anyone. You just sit alone all day.”

“It’s easier. Most people die. I spend a few years with them and then, they die. People don’t stick.”

“They do!” Cerise protested, looking up from the paper at Six. “They have to.”

“I’ve known thousands of people. At a certain point they all blend together.”

“That can’t be it! You have to remember some of them. Someone, anyone.”

“I’m too old for that. When you get older, it starts to fade.”

“But you’re not human.”

“I was gifted immortality at twenty-four. I didn’t know what it meant, I had to learn. By the time I did, I’d already lost so much. I have lived a hundred lives, I didn’t write them down. I don’t know names, or faces, or years.”

“You have to remember. You have to.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t,” Six said, sighing. “I wish I’d saved everything. I wish I knew who to thank or who’s ancestors to visit. I don’t know the details, but I know the feeling.”

“Is it a good feeling?” Cerise asked, hope creeping in. 

“Sometimes.”