Diary of a Haunting

by M. Verano

  But the best part is my brilliant response is to be like, “Oh. OH. Oh. So . . . wait. Are you? Gay?”

  “No,” says Raph, “I just told her that for shits and giggles.”

  “Oh,” I say, and AGAIN my brain starts reeling before finally he figures out that I am a moron and need sarcasm explained to me.

  “Paige,” he says. “Yes. I’m gay. So your mom doesn’t need to worry. And neither do you.”

  Hahaha FML. Ferreal.

  SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 1, 10:28 A.M.

  Flies: About the same, I think. No more or less. Except they seem . . . bigger, somehow. Maybe they have taken my suggestion after all and started to eat the spiders?

  Spiders: 4 in the shower, 6 in my bedroom, 1 in my bed.

  The less said about that the better.

  Moving on. This is weird. Mom was freaking out last night (but not over spiders, which any reasonable person would freak out over) because she couldn’t find her striped sweater. Not just any sweater, her *favorite* striped sweater. Which she suddenly needed to attend some department function. As if those eco-geeks care what anyone wears, as long as it’s made from hemp.

  Anyway, she came into my room and accused me of stealing her sweater. Unfair! Okay, yes, I have borrowed it on a few occasions. True. But in my defense, it looks better on me than on her. And anyway, I didn’t take it! It’s not like I’ve got anyone to impress here in Idaho—not even eco-geeks. Well, I guess there’s Raph, but . . . yeah, it would have to be a pretty magical sweater to turn him straight, so. Point is, I did not take her sweater. Swear to God.

  And I told Mom this, but she didn’t believe me, so she opened up my closet to look for it, and in very dramatic fashion she turns around, holding up the missing sweater like she’s Sherlock Holmes or something.

  And that’s weird, because I swear I have not even seen that sweater in months. But what’s even weirder is that I notice over her shoulder . . . there are three other sweaters. Three other striped sweaters. That are totally identical to the one in her hands.

  I pointed this out to Mom, and she agreed that it was weird, but idk, she deals with this stuff better than I do. Because while my whole body went cold and clammy, she just laughed. “Guess our astral roommates were a little bored tonight,” she says in a too-loud voice, as if she figures they are listening. And I just cannot deal with that. I’m like, MOM. This isn’t funny, this is seriously freaky. Isn’t it?

  But all she says is, someone just gave you free clothes, honey. Are you really going to complain?

  Point: Mom.

  WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 4, 5:20 P.M.

  Flies: Big

  Spiders: 16 since my last entry. I think.

  I might have missed a few. I’ve been keeping track of them on a sticky note next to my computer, but that mostly only works for the ones I see in my room, or else I have to remember them until I get back to my room. You would think a person like me would have no trouble remembering seeing a spider, but sometimes other events do push them out of my head.

  For example, it snowed again. A lot this time, so it’s really deep. It’s pretty when it falls, but I am getting a little sick of dealing with it on the ground. Guess I shouldn’t complain too much, though, because when I got home, Raph was shoveling our porch and front walk. Glad I don’t have to do that.

  He looked really cold—he was all bundled up, with only his eyes and the tip of his nose visible, and his nose was pink—so I asked if he wanted to come inside for some hot chocolate. He pulled the scarf down to uncover his mouth.

  “Inside,” he repeated. “Your place?” Like, duh. He looked up at the house, then back at me without answering. I sighed a little.

  “It’s just a warm drink,” I said. “I get it, you’re gay. Look, I don’t bite.”

  At that, his cheeks blushed to match his nose. “It’s not that,” he said, “it’s . . .” He broke off, huffing white vapor as he got his breath back from shoveling. “I used to spend a lot of time alone in that house,” he said at last. “It . . . kind of got to me. The basement feels okay, but . . .”

  “Really?” I said. “Not you, too. Am I the only person not convinced this place is haunted?”

  “You mean Chloe?” he says. And I explain no, not just Chloe—Mom and Logan are always saying it too. And this, I guess unsurprisingly, does not seem to make him feel less uneasy. At last I roll my eyes and tell him I’ll just bring it out to him. Which I do.

  So then I’m handing him the chocolate and feeling like I have to make conversation now, so I mention that I don’t think I’ve ever seen him out of his apartment before. He just nods at this, so I follow up with, “When do you go to class?”

  Instead of answering, he takes a big gulp of hot chocolate and winds up choking on it. Adorably, but still pretty dorky. Anyway, he tells me he’s taking a “light schedule this semester.” So I ask what his major is, and he says history. “I mean, English. It was English, and then it was history. I guess.” Which is kind of a weird answer.

  “Oh,” I say. “And now?”

  “Now it’s . . . I don’t know. I guess not history anymore.”

  This conversation seems to be derailing fast, so I struggle to get it back on track. “So . . . English, then, or . . . ?”

  “Maybe? We’ll see. Technically I don’t have a major.” He takes a deep breath and looks out at the snow. “Technically I’m not a student.”

  This is odd and unexpected. I only just met the guy, and practically the very first thing he said to me was that he was a student at the university. And now he says he’s not . . . Kind of awkward to catch someone in a lie within, like, the first hundred words they say to you. So now I don’t know what to think. Or say. Luckily, he goes on.

  “Medical leave of absence. Technically.”

  “Oh,” I say, suddenly feeling like a huge jerk for mentally calling him a liar. “So you’re like . . . sick? What’s wrong with you?” Which is the most appallingly rude thing I could possibly have said, but he doesn’t seem fazed. He just taps his forehead with one finger. “Oh God,” I say, “brain tumor?”

  He laughs. “No . . . I’m not dying, just crazy. Or so they tell me. Something happened last semester. I was working on this project with a professor, and . . . things got weird. Or I got weird. Or—I don’t know. Anyway, it was decided that I needed some time off. To regroup.”

  I nodded sagely as if this all made complete sense, even though not any of it did. “What was the project?”

  Raph just looked up at the house, as if something in the peeling gray paint was suddenly very fascinating. “I should get to that one of these days,” he said. “It could cause problems down the road. If it’s not repainted.”

  So I’m like . . . uh, okay. Why are we talking about paint now?

  “You were about to tell me about the project?” I prompt him.

  “I wasn’t, actually.” Raph gives me one of his long, intense looks, which—gay or not—still make me feel a little trembly. “You’re pretty dense, aren’t you?” he says. “When someone changes the subject like that, it’s a way of saying ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ Got it?”

  “Right,” I say. “Sorry.”

  Guess someone’s got a secret.

  THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 5, 5:40 P.M.

  Flies: About the same

  Spiders: 8 since yesterday, I’m pretty sure.

  I wonder if anyone has created an app to help people keep track of their spider infestations. If I could enter the sightings on my phone, I could keep my data more precisely, which I am told is important for science.

  I suppose it wouldn’t have to be specific to spiders. You could use the same app to keep track of all sorts of things that happen to scare the bejeezus out of you. Snakes. Rats. Clowns. Maybe there is someone out there right now writing an app to keep track of how many clowns he runs across every day, in hopes of calming his irrational fear of them. If so, I hope he makes it publicly available.

  Not that it would do me much good thes
e days. My phone is being a complete bastard.

  God, why can’t things just work? The Wi-Fi is sort of working now, since Mom called the ISP. I mean, the signal looks good, but there are weird dead spots all over the house, most particularly in my room! Which is really annoying. So basically if I want to be online at all, I have to hang out in the kitchen or one part of the living room. It’s the strongest in Logan’s room, which is weird because his room is, like, on the opposite side of the house from the router. I don’t even know. And I hate going in there because of that buzzing noise.

  But when I try to use my cell phone to go online, that’s no better—my signal craps out at the randomest moments. Is this what it means to live in the middle of nowhere? It’s fine when I’m at school, though. Raph says it has something to do with where the house is, but that makes no sense to me because we’re at the top of a hill. Shouldn’t that make the connections clearer? But then he says something about the wind.

  Mom and Logan are even worse. If I bring it up with them, they just giggle that it’s our “invisible roommates” messing with us. I can’t tell if they really believe that, or if they just know it annoys the heck out of me. I’m leaning toward the second.

  And the really annoying thing about the dead spots is that the minute I walk into a live spot, my phone gets flooded with all these messages that I obviously haven’t been getting. I had three from Dad the other day, which I felt terrible about, because as mad as I am at him, I don’t want him to think I’m giving him the silent treatment or whatever. Just because of some technological glitch. Missed a bunch of texts from Chloe, too. Oh, and I think I also got some actual friend requests but my stupid phone won’t open them, so I can’t even tell who they are from. So much for making any friends outside Chloe, since this is only going to confirm everyone’s suspicion that I am stuck-up.

  Then the other obnoxious thing is that when they do come through, I get a lot of double (or even triple or more) texts . . . so I’ll feel like, woo, my phone is blowing up, but when I go to look at them, it’s, like, five of the same text from Logan, asking if I know when Mom’s going to be home. And sometimes the double text will come much later than the original text, like I’ll get one every hour. Oh, and the latest nuisance is that I’ll get texts from people but they show up blank. Or garbled, like maybe it’s an autocorrect problem. But sometimes it looks like such gobbledygook that it’s like they didn’t even have autocorrect on. So I think it must be a virus or something. That reminds me, Chloe mentioned that some of my texts to her had come in garbled too. Gah, just what I need.

  I don’t know, should I try to download a virus scan thing? Or wipe the phone completely? Or make Mom call the service provider again?

  Sorry, this is probably going to win some award for the most boring entry ever. Since I am the only person reading this, I will bestow the award myself. Hear ye hear ye, I hereby declare this journal entry an utter waste of electricity and pixels.

  FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 6, 3:10 A.M.

  Flies: About the same

  Spiders: 8 since yesterday, I’m pretty sure.

  I wonder if anyone has created an app to help people keep track of their spider infestations. If I could enter the sightings on my phone, I could keep my data more precisely, which I am told is important for science.

  I suppose it wouldn’t have to be specific to spiders. You could use the same app to keep track of all sorts of things that happen to scare the bejeezus out of you. Snakes. Rats. Clowns. Maybe there is someone out there right devil now writing an app to keep track of how many clowns he runs across every day, in hopes of calming his irrational fear of them. If so, I hope he makes it publicly available.

  Not that it would do me much good these days. My phone is being a complete bastard.

  God, why can’t things just work? The Wi-Fi is sort of working now, since Mom called the ISP. I mean, the signal looks good, but there are weird dead spots all over the house, most particularly in my room! Which is really annoying. So everyone basically if I want to be online at all, I have to hang out in the kitchen or one part of the living room. It’s the strongest in Logan’s room, which is weird because his room is, like, on the opposite side of the house from the router. I don’t even know. And I hate going in there because of that buzzing noise.

  But when I try to use my cell phone to go online, that’s no better—my signal craps out at the randomest moments. Is this what it means to live in the middle of nowhere? It’s fine when I’m at school, though. Raph says it has something to do with where the house is, but that makes no sense to me because we’re at the top of a hill. Shouldn’t that make the connections clearer? But then he says something about the wind.

  Mom and Logan are even worse. If I bring forgets it up with them, they just giggle that it’s our “invisible roommates” messing with us. I can’t tell if they really believe that, or if they just know it annoys the heck out of me. I’m leaning toward the second.

  And the really annoying thing about the dead spots is that the minute I walk into a live spot, my phone gets flooded with all these messages that I obviously haven’t been getting. I had three from Dad the other day, which I felt terrible about, because as mad as I am at him, I don’t want him to think I’m giving him the silent treatment or whatever. Just because of some technological glitch. Missed a bunch of texts from Chloe, too. Oh, and I think I also got some actual friend requests but my stupid phone won’t open them, so I can’t even tell who they are from. So much for making any friends outside Chloe, since this is only going to confirm everyone’s suspicion that I am stuck-up.

  Then the other obnoxious thing is that when they do come through, I get a lot of double (or even triple or more) texts . . . so I’ll feel like, woo, my phone is blowing up, but when I go to look at them, it’s, like, five of the same stone text from Logan, asking if I know when Mom’s going to be home. And sometimes the double text will come much later than the original text, like I’ll get one every hour. Oh, and the latest nuisance is that I’ll get texts from people but they show up blank. Or garbled, like maybe it’s an embodied autocorrect problem. But sometimes it looks like such gobbledygook that it’s like they didn’t even have autocorrect on. So I think it must be a virus or something. That reminds me, Chloe mentioned that some of my texts to her had come in garbled too. Gah, just what I need.

  I don’t know, should I try to download a virus scan thing? Or wipe the phone completely? Or make Mom call the service provider again?

  Sorry, this is probably going to win some award for the most boring entry ever. Since I am the only person reading this, I will bestow the award myself. Hear ye hear ye, I hereby declare this journal entry lies an utter waste of electricity and pixels.

  SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 7, 9:17 A.M.

  Huh, that’s weird. I just realized my last entry posted twice. I must have hit the post button funny or . . . but it’s weird because the time stamp is hours and hours later than the original post. How would that even happen?

  Anyway, just logged on to record my bug tracking.

  Flies: The cloud seems denser today.

  Spiders: 10 this morning

  WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 11, 3:22 A.M.

  Woke up to the sound of screaming.

  At first I thought it was me, waking myself up from a nightmare with my own shrieks. But even after I lay in bed a moment, letting my heart rate calm, I could still hear it. Feel it like it was coming from inside me, but my mouth was closed.

  It’s just the wind, I think. There’s another massive storm raging outside, shards of lightning splitting the empty landscape outside my window, whirling gusts of snow billowing against a purple sky. And when the wind picks up, it pierces every crack in this old house and howls and moans like a dying animal.

  And under it all I can still hear that buzzing from Logan’s room. It’s getting worse, like it’s drilling in my head, making my teeth vibrate. It doesn’t even feel like it’s separate from the wind. Maybe it’s because my head is still fogged with sle
ep, but somehow the sounds feel linked, or like one is a version of the other.

  I guess while I’m up, I might as well tell the funny story of the missing packages. So a couple of days ago, Mom busted a taillight on the car while backing out of our driveway. I’m going to remember that next time she gives me a hard time during my driving lessons. Anyway, rather than trust an actual professional with the repair, Mom got it into her head that she could just order the new taillight off the Internet and install it herself. So she paid extra for the one-day shipping, but the package didn’t come. And didn’t come. And didn’t come, so finally she sent a complaint, and they said they would send another one out right away. And that one didn’t come either, so she sent another complaint, and they apologized again, etc. etc.

  Well, the upshot is, yesterday we got SEVEN taillights delivered to our house. And guess what—every one of them is

  Okay, that was weird. Logan just came into my room, and we had a seriously oddball conversation. I couldn’t even tell if he was awake or asleep, to be honest . . . although he has never been a sleepwalker. Insomnia is his gig lately, which I knew from my mom, but I guess this was the first time I was up in the middle of the night to experience it firsthand.

  Anyway, he came in and sat on my bed and stared at me. I was sitting up with my laptop in my lap. And I was like, Logan? What are you doing? Go back to bed. He didn’t say anything, but he sort of shrugged, so I think he heard me. Normally if he comes into my room, I tell him to scat in no uncertain terms, but he seemed so weird that I tried to be gentle . . . I told him he’d feel better if he went back into his room and got into bed. And then he goes, “I can’t go back in there.” And I’m like, why? And he’s like, “The wall.” And I’m like . . . wha?

  “There are words in the walls. Or some kind of . . .” He looks around. “Your room doesn’t have them.”