Touch of a Ghost

Drew smiled to himself as he placed his shopping bag on the counter and went in search of the remote. He eventually found it down the side of the sofa and switched on the football match, eager to watch his favorite team's game. The game hadn't yet started, and the commentators were discussing the opposing team's star player who was unlikely to play following an injury. Figuring he had enough time to quickly put away his groceries, he hurried back to the counter. He tossed most of the groceries into the cupboard, fridge, and freezer without much thought. His mother would never have put up with such untidiness, but this was his place and he took pleasure in rebelling in even the smallest of ways.

When nearly everything had been put away, he grabbed the last remaining items. He tossed the contents of a jumbo packet of crisps into a bowl. With a beer in hand, and more cooling in the fridge, he was ready for a nice, normal night in front of the telly.

Food--check. Beer--check. Ghost--check.

Drew almost swore out loud when his mind caught up with what his eyes had already seen. He stopped himself just in time. The building had been built during the Second World War, but he hadn't seen a ghost in his flat until now. He shouldn't have been surprised.

The young man looked to have been in his early twenties when he died, maybe even younger. Judging by his clothes, the James Dean wannabe had clearly been lingering on the ghostly plane for a while.

Just ignore it, Drew silently ordered himself. This would be his first real test in his new home. The unwelcome spook had obviously settled down for a night in front of the television, and Drew couldn't let on that he could see it. Once a single ghost learned he had psychic abilities, word would get around, and his life of normality would be over faster than he could say ectoplasm.

Drew carried the bowl of potato crisps and beer over to the coffee table and set them down. He made sure he didn't look directly at his uninvited guest and took a seat at the opposite end of the sofa.

"Looks like it's going to be a good match," the ghost said conversationally.

Drew knew the spook didn't expect him to answer. Ghosts tended to talk a lot; it seemed to be something of a habit. They didn't expect mortals to hear them.

The match started, but Drew found his concentration hindered by his ghostly guest. His gaze kept drifting to the right, much as it had done back in school when he found himself in the presence of a boy he fancied.

The ghost had black hair with a messy fringe hanging down over his eyes. His clothes were from the fifties, yet his hairstyle didn't seem to be from the same era. Or maybe he simply didn't have access to the hair products he needed to keep the style? Drew snickered to himself at the idea of a ghost needing tips on hair maintenance. Chances are, he'd just been having a bad hair day when he'd died and was now stuck with it for eternity. Drew had witnessed worse fashion disasters from the ghostly realm, but permanent bedhead always made him chuckle. A little perseverance on the part of the ghost could fix the mess but only for as long as he held his concentration. Had the ghost known Drew could see him, he'd no doubt have fixed his wayward tangles before visiting.

Bad hair or not, Drew couldn't help admiring the handsome young spirit.

He wondered what this ghost would think about his sexuality and then chided himself for even caring. Just because he found the ghost attractive, he couldn't lose track of what was important. He wanted to keep his life as normal as possible, and that meant keeping his libido under control. Thinking with the wrong head had already got him in enough trouble.