The Ghostly Haunting

of the

Two Cups of Coffee

by Anonymous

 

 

Premise Tags: Ghosts, Writers,

Paranormal Fans, First Meeting,

Depression, Stupid Jokes,

Awkward Flirting, Haunted Houses,

"Ambiguous Open Ending"¹(you will get this joke once you read till the end).

Content Warnings: Mild Dark Humor.

 

 

 

The flash of a photo camera brought Kevin out of his reverie.

He lifted his head from the laptop screen. His fingers stilled over the keyboard, dissatisfaction at his chain of thought being broken rising from within.

Who took his picture? Huh?

This was his house, for chrissakes. Could a person not feel safe enough in his own home?

The rosy afternoon glow flooded the room from the window above the desk. Honey-colored oak leaves just outside the window swayed before his eyes, and past them – at the opposite side of the street, he finally saw him.

The perpetrator. And his stupid digital camera he was still pointing right at Kevin's window.

"What a creep." Kevin stood up in a huff. With regret, he abandoned the steaming mug of coffee beside the laptop and didn't close the laptop either.

This wouldn't take long. The coffee wouldn't even cool down, and he'd be back again.

 

 

👻🍁👻

 

 

"This is private property, and you are being inconsiderate," Kevin told the perpetrator the moment he emerged on the porch of his house.

The guy was skinny enough that Kevin didn't feel intimidated. Some artsy amateur photographer, probably? Nothing to worry about. In the chilly October air, the guy wore a sensible trench coat and a newsboy cap, and overall looked like an investigator from the nineteen twenties... Tall, dark-haired. But with his stalkerish tendencies, the good looks didn't save him.

That said, Kevin received a few of people like him here all the time. New England was heaven for autumn photographers, and Kevin's garden and house in particular – were a great Instagram picture spot.

But this guy...

It was one thing, to have people take pictures of the oak trees and the porch, and wholly another for some creep to take a shot of Kevin himself.

Yikes.

"???"

The camera guy froze with his camera panning down from the windows upstairs to Kevin's level. Then he frowned and lowered the camera entirely.

His reaction was delayed as though he had a hard time even noticing Kevin in front of him.

"Oh!" he gasped, smiling so warmly  that Kevin almost forgave him immediately. But then the guy dared to point the camera at him again. "I'm just taking pictures, don't worry about it."

And Kevin could not keep his frustration in. What a dense guy.

"I live here, and you took a picture of me just now," he explained. "This is unbelievably creepy."

The other guy nodded as though not listening. "Yeah, the place is giving me the chills, too."

...

Kevin felt like exploding. "Please remove yourself from my property, or I am calling the cops."

Finally, something registered. "You are the landlord?" the guy asked, more and more excited by the moments. "Oh my god, sorry. I thought nobody owned this place anymore. With the... you know..."

Visibly, he suppressed a shudder – and then Lo and behold! -- pointed his camera at the house once again and took another shot.

Kevin could only gape.

"May I ask to go inside and take a few shots there?" the guy asked while shooting. "I can pay, too!"

"I am not the landlord," Kevin said through gritted teeth. "I live here. It's my home. And I have the right to kick you off my property any moment now. STOP your damn shooting. Now!"

The guy didn't lower the camera, but he did turn his face to Kevin. A faint crease appeared on the guy's forehead.

"On that same note, please delete that photo of me you took earlier," Kevin added spitefully. "Thanks."

"I didn't take any photos of you," the guy replied, getting just as annoyed as Kevin. He flipped the camera screen on to check the contents of the pictures. Swift, his fingers began back-scrolling. He did that for a long time.

Just how many photos had he taken?

Then he stopped. His mouth quirked down in the expression of genuine disappointment.

"Oops. I did take one, it seems," he told Kevin. At least he had enough decency to look somewhat apologetic. "Sorry. I had no idea. I will delete it now."

It was a nice day. Though chilly, so sunny and colorful in the bright background of all the autumn leaves.

Kevin's good moods were returning. His mug of coffee and the rest of his unwritten chapter were waiting for him. He sighed with relief.

"I appreciate it," he said to the "creep" and wanted to stroll back into his house.

"I could have sworn there was nobody in that window while I was shooting," the guy mumbled, still lost for whatever reason. "But hey, mad props to you. You're really hardcore, compared to a paranormal amateur like me."

...

"Mmm?"

Kevin stopped without reaching his door.

The guy was done with deleting the photo and was seemingly leaving, too. He still gave Kevin a sorry smile as he shrugged at the house.

"Renting a haunted house? That's seriously next level," he breathed, giving Kevin an admiring up-and-down. "With how gruesome the murder here was? Oooof. My skin would creep just to go inside for a few minutes."

"My house isn't haunted."

What the hell are you even talking about, guy?

"Eh? This one? Yes, it is! Some writer dude living here was gutted by a killer clown sect gang, or something like that?" the guy said, somewhat confused now. "Unless I'm mixing stuff up."

...

Killer clown sect gang?

Kevin's eye began twitching. What kind of concept even was that?!

"You are definitely 'mixing stuff up'," Kevin promised, his voice becoming steely.

"Shit. I am? Oh man..." The guy gave the whole street a desperate look, then fumbled in his pockets, searching for his phone. "Which house is it, then? It has to be this street... Do you know which house number, please?"

"None of the houses on this street are haunted! Hey, I am a writer myself. If there was a ridiculous murder like that here, do you seriously think I wouldn't have researched the hell out of it already, for inspiration?" Kevin exploded.

Just quit snooping around here, you dimwit. First cannot find their locations, in this day and age of GPS navigation, then bother the innocent locals about it?

Sheesh.

"Wait, which house is this, again?" the guy complained under his nose and hopped sideways to check Kevin's house number on the mailbox. As he finished studying his Google maps or whatever the app he was using, he let out a victorious "a-ha!"

"Oh, my dude, I have some bad news about your real estate agent then," he told Kevin. "If you were sold this house without being told about what happened here... you got scammed. Hard."

And before Kevin could protest, the other guy flashed him the screen of his smartphone. On it, plain and clear, was the image of Kevin's very own house. A small, quaint and rather cozy-looking place. He loved it so much, he almost felt defensive about the fact that its image was online. And with such a menacing title underneath it, too:

 

"Local Writer Gets Brutally Murdered in a Ritual by a Bunch of Killer Clowns".

...

Kevin blinked at the phone, not knowing what to say.

Had he truly been scammed by Erica that badly? What the heck? Who sells shit like this to an unsuspecting customer?!

"Didn't you say you are a writer, yourself?" the other guy asked him as he turned his phone back and began looking over the Google Images related to the house. "Shouldn't writers know how to use search engines before moving into a creepfest? I mean, come on... there's so much information about this house here, even the poor massacred dude's bio and stuff."

Kevin was too absorbed in pondering his life choices. He stepped down from his porch and gave his house a skeptical look. Thus, he didn't note how the other guy's voice dwindled down.

"..."

But the silence from the other one did seem weird after another minute. He had been such a chatty one. Why the sudden mute button?

Kevin turned and found the other guy slowly... ve-e-e-ery slowly inching away from the house and from Kevin.

The moment Kevin caught his gaze, the other guy froze.

The look he gave Kevin – and then his phone – and then Kevin again was...

...peculiar, to say the least.

"What," Kevin grumbled, frustrated.

"Um... Huh? Nothing," the other guy said. His voice was uncharacteristically meek. "No. Just... I have things to do, and um... you hated me being here anyway. Ha-ha... Mamma mia, look at the time! I have an appointment, so..."

Kevin arched an eyebrow. "Mamma mia?"

The other guy choked in fake laughter. Now that Kevin paid him more attention, he realized that the guy's face color had gotten noticeably paler. And that his hands holding the phone were shaking?

"Bye," the guy mouthed at him and turned away.

He ran away so fast, Kevin even found it amusing enough to put in his next book, perhaps.

And now that he realized he was alone with his old, haunted house, he also found himself regretting the guy's fast escape.

...

The autumn wind chased the leaves down the road, and a feeling of hollowness and eeriness overcame Kevin. He shivered, looking at the dark windows above and the empty gap of his porch door.

A haunted house. Really?

He didn't want to go in there now.

 

 

🍁👻🍁

 

 

"Um... kind sir?"

Kevin lifted his face from his knees. He hadn't dozed off, he had merely become numb with chill and boredom as he waited.

He was sitting on the porch of his house, never having mustered enough courage to go back in.

How long had he sat here like that? A couple of hours? The street was looking somber, dusky on the oncoming night, with only the last bright redness of sunset giving it color. The air was much, much colder than it had been when Kevin had walked out last.

What an odd behavior for me, he thought detachedly. But this guy returning after leaving in such hurry? Even odder.

The same guy. The camera-stalker from earlier.

For some reason, Kevin found himself smiling at him.

"You came back?"

The guy looked either stunned or scared. His eyes flicked from the house and to Kevin's face. In his hands, he was holding a paper cup of coffee from the cafe down the street. And overall, he seemed to never have gone too far after leaving.
Had he been hanging around all this time, drinking his coffee?

Kevin didn't care much. He just couldn't bear to be alone now. And he couldn't even explain to himself why.

"I... I just wanted to ask," the guy began sheepishly. "Do you have some unfinished business, by chance? Kind sir?"

Kevin suppressed a chuckle. "Why do you keep calling me kind sir? I'm not calling police on you, don't worry. My name's Kevin, by the way. What's yours?"

"..."

The guy stared at Kevin over the cup, his expression blank. He took a sip, then stared some more.

"Rayleigh. But... that doesn't have to do with anything, does it? I just got worried. Ever since I left, you've been sitting here on the porch without moving. You seem to be so preoccupied that... I dunno. It's like you have an unfinished business on this earth, so... I thought to ask what it was. Are you okay, man?"

"So you are a stalker, huh. Watching me from afar all this time."

"Dude, your behavior is not normal for a ghos-- um, I mean – for anyone. I am just looking out for you. I would for anybody else who seemed in such a horrible situation as you."

Aww. A kind person, too.

Kevin was feeling more and more endeared to this weird stalker guy.

To Rayleigh.

"I'm in a horrible situation?"

Rayleigh nodded at the house, and even pointed there with his cup. "You're not dressed for the weather, and shouldn't sit here for so long. Just go back inside, and I'll feel secure knowing you're safe enough to be left alone."

This time, Kevin felt his color draining from his face. He fidgeted.

"I... don't want to go inside. I'm honestly scared."

"..." Rayleigh narrowed his eyes. "Huh?"

"It's a goddamn haunted house! Would you go inside if you were me? I'm not a madman. Ghosts are terrifying."

There was a beat of dead silence. Rayleigh could not have made it more apparent that he found the entire situation preposterous.

"Aren't you a horror writer?" he finally asked.

"Yes, but what does it have to do with this? Also, wait... did I ever tell you I was the writer of horror?" Kevin lifted his face, his chin tilted.

He hadn't.

He preferred to keep his exact genre of writing to himself, with how few people respected it and made immediate beat-up references to Stephen King novels whenever Kevin brought it up.

"I don't know if I'm more scared to be here outside with you, you weird stalker, or in my haunted ghost-mansion." Surrendering, Kevin shook his head. "How do you know what I write and why... why do you look like you want to run every time I speak? What's going on? You start freaking me out!"

"I'm freaking you out?! I'm talking to a dead guy, trying to convince him to go back inside his stupid-ass haunted mansion instead of bothering me with his miserable looks and huge, pitiful eyes. And I'm the one scaring you?! Sure. Makes sense."

And as if to stress his annoyance, Rayleigh took another sip of that delicious, steamy coffee.

What had he just said about Kevin looking miserable? Kevin could swear he was looking more and more so every time he took a glimpse of that paper cup in Rayleigh's hand.

He was freezing out here, after all. And that steam over the coffee...

Ah.

"Dead guy?" Kevin asked instead.

On some level, he already suspected. But he wasn't reaching for the truth that rushingly.

He didn't want to voice it out to himself and didn't want to keep it down either. He just wanted to pretend, or at least to prolong the idea of... not knowing for sure.

Why rush such a revelation?

"I see," he said at last.

His voice didn't falter. And he didn't sound all that miserable, at least to himself. Actually, he sounded only numb. And maybe a bit sardonic.

Death found its ways to make people not care much about it. Postfactum, that is.

"Killer clowns, huh?" he added after a moment.

"Dude, I'm so sorry," Rayleigh sighed.

"It's okay. It's not your fault."

It was nobody's, really. Not Rayleigh's, not the several other people that Kevin had tried to talk to while he waited here on this porch for the past two hours.

There had been about five people walking beside his house in that time frame. But when he had tried to ask their help – to stand guard at his porch door while he would go inside to get his coat and maybe his laptop and his coffee mug from upstairs because he was too scared to do it alone – nobody responded.

Nobody had even seen him or heard him, it seemed?

That was when he'd begun suspecting something.

It all made sense now.

Not that it made it easier to digest.

"Are you really that scared to go in if you are the ghost haunting this house?" Rayleigh asked cautiously.

Kevin nodded.

"I don't want to see... anything about the murder. What if there are those killer clown afterimages in there? What if there's my body, gutted and... whatever else had been done to it, upstairs? I'm not sure I want to see any of that."

"True, true. Hmmm... If you want, I can check if there's anything like that there. And I will call you if all is clear."

Kevin lifted his eyes. As though not being able to control his own words, Rayleigh already shut his mouth and looked every bit as though he wanted to take all he'd just said back.

"I regret suggesting it already," he confessed.

He should, Kevin agreed. Because Kevin couldn't really say no to such an offer.

And with how Rayleigh's expression changed from cranky to a commiserating one within seconds, Kevin knew that the guy just couldn't resist Kevin's "pitiful eyes" and "miserable face" again.

"Ugh, cut it out. Stop looking so pathetic.You break my heart," Rayleigh grouched, taking his first decisive steps onto the porch.

"I swear I won't abuse this. I will be a very good ghost, Mister Stalker."

"I didn't stalk...! Tsk, forget it. Where is the light switch in this hallway?"

 

 

👻🍁👻

 

 

"Um..." Kevin said the moment they walked into the dark, narrow corridor. "I don't think anyone owns this house, so... probably nobody is paying for the electricity, either."

"Great. Just great."

 

 

🍁👻🍁

 

 

They ended up using the flashlight on Rayleigh's phone, but not without a lot of cursing and fumbling in the pitch-black hallways and stairs even with the faint light guiding them. And not without Rayleigh almost spilling the rest of his coffee onto Kevin in one of their screaming competitions to find out who could shriek louder when another of the old floorboards creaked underfoot menacingly.

But they did make it outside again.

And they did survive the haunted mansion trip, too.

Kevin was honestly embarrassed how of little help he was inside even though it was supposedly his house. But with his odd memory fog that prohibited him from remembering his exact death or anything that had led to it, also came the inability to orient himself inside the house or guide Rayleigh through it with any sort of efficiency.

He didn't know if his foggy memory was a blessing or a curse. He gladly accepted it if it protected him from any flashbacks to the killer clowns, though.

"Thank you," Kevin told Rayleigh once they emerged outside again.

They were both out of breath and shaken through. But they were alive... Well, Rayleigh was, and at least Kevin could still communicate with him. Which, for Kevin, was a definite win.

"No problem," Rayleigh croaked, swilling the rest of his coffee in his hand as he watched the paper cup.

Kevin also watched it, hungrily. Freezingly.

"We didn't manage to find anything, though, so not sure why you are thanking me," Rayleigh went on, oblivious. "I thought we could at least get you your laptop and your coffee that you said you wanted so much. Or better yet a coat to put on you on such a cold day... But yeah."

None of those things were inside the house.

And none of the ghostly elements either, aside from Kevin himself. He might have imagined working on his latest chapter and drinking his favorite coffee this afternoon. Because the house was empty.

The police and the landlord had taken everything from here after the murder.

And though Kevin still technically lived in this place, it didn't feel like his usual cozy home to him either.

Seriously, not even his laptop? Nothing of his own was there anymore?

He didn't know whether to cry or laugh hysterically about it.

Homeless, while having a home. Jobless while not needing one to survive.

Alone while... next to a person. Because right after this short conversation, this other person would probably leave him forever.

...

Yeah.

"At least I felt a bit of warmth when you spilled that half a cup on me in the dark," Kevin sighed, drawing his shoulders in to stave off the cold. "As far as ghost things go, that's not nothing."

Rayleigh stirred.

"You can feel the warmth of the coffee?"

"Yeah, and smell its divine coffiness. All this time. Why do you think I ventured into a haunted mansion in the first place? I just wanted to get my own mug. Tch."

Without another word, Rayleigh stretched his hand to Kevin. With the paper cup inside it.

And Kevin honestly didn't even know how to take that. From the few of their previous touches of each other in the house, it was pretty clear Kevin couldn't actually make contact with physical objects.

Coffee notwithstanding.

"I can tilt the cup and spill it on you again, and you just position yourself underneath it so that... like... some of it can drop on your tongue, maybe?" Rayleigh suggested awkwardly.

"On it," Kevin mumbled, already crawling on his fours to get into the best possible position.

What wouldn't a freezing sad ghost do for a taste of lukewarm coffee?

"You know, I also wanted to thank you for not possessing my body at some point inside the house," Rayleigh told him later as they sat side by side and absorbed the last of the autumn sunset glow from beyond the tree line in the garden.

The coffee was pooling on the porch where Rayleigh had spilled it to give Kevin a taste. It had tasted heavenly, by the way. Each and single drop Kevin had managed to catch.

It was gone now, but not the lingering warmth it left on Kevin's spectral body. And not the conversation that ended up being not so short, in the end.

"I thought you tricked me to go inside because you would totally possess me. Ghosts can be evil like that."

"Why would I possess you?"

"Because I'm hot? Ha-ha..."

Kevin gave the other a dry look but couldn't really deny the claim. That somehow made the aftertaste of coffee feel even warmer, inside him.

"Sorry, I tend to make stupid jokes when I'm nervous."

"Don't worry. Nothing will beat the stupidest joke I've heard today. Or ever." Kevin took a long breath before letting it out. "My life, ending so dumbly to a gang of killer clowns."

"... come on, don't..."

"A failed writer. A complete loser. A lonely nobody dying in his own house to a blood ritual made by clowns. Funny as hell. Just my life, I guess."

At first, Kevin thought Rayleigh stopped listening to him because of how awkward he was making the conversation with his lame depression about dying. But Rayleigh was merely busy with scrolling through his phone.

Not for himself, and not to ignore Kevin.

"Hey, look at this, you 'complete loser'," Rayleigh said with the promise of something truly wonderful in his words.

Then he showed Kevin something.

It was a page on a reading app. A page about Kevin. And all his books he had failed to publish during his life. Half of his unfinished one, too!

Oh shit, a panicked thought pierced Kevin as he watched the covers in horror. Someone published that crap?! I haven't even edited it yet!!

How embarrassing.

And the amount of reviews and star rating and the links to some wikias about Kevin's novels and their shared multiverse?

If Kevin wasn't dead already, he might have had a stroke right then.

"What? Huh? So many people read the shit I wrote? Why?"

He didn't know whether he should be happy about it, though. Where had all these people been when he was still alive?

"I guess being killed by cultist clowns has its benefits," he groaned, shaking his head in disbelief.

"I'm sorry your talents had to be found out like this," Rayleigh said weakly. "But at least it's something? You're not a nobody. And people even say you're pretty good. I wouldn't mind checking your books out now! Horror BL? That sounds so cool. And so underrepresented..."

Kevin had to clear his throat for the fear of choking on his question.

"Horror what?"

"Horror BL." Now slightly pouting, Rayleigh let out an ashamed laugh. "Your protagonists were mostly gay, so your books are categorized as BL, too. Mainly horror, of course. But the BL stuff. It caught my eye, so... that's what I remembered the best about it."

"BL? You mean gay guy romance?" Kevin couldn't help but give Rayleigh only a slightly-judgmental look. "You read those kinds of books?"

"..." Rayleigh pondered a long, long time before answering. "Yeah. And you do too, clearly. Because you, um... write it?"

"I just write what I know," Kevin laughed, giving up. "Oh my god, I can't believe it. That's the stuff I write, huh. Horror BL. I mean, what is BL about my books, even? You do know that all of them have bad endings for the poor gay guys inside? It's horror! How else do you think it would end for them if not in heartbreak, one way or the other?"

"Like I said, it's an underrepresented genre. I guess some people are just hungry for any bit of writing that's good and resonates with them," Rayleigh said with a defensive shrug before putting his phone back in his pocket. Somber, he turned to Kevin once more. "All bad endings? Really?"

…

Really.

"Alas. One of the guys usually ends up dead, and the other alive." Kevin trembled on the cold night air as the street around him and Rayleigh was gradually becoming swathed in the velvety dark. "Nothing can ever happen between them, see? Bad ending."

They sat in silence for a while before Rayleigh began rising to his feet. Clearly needing to leave.

To go away.

...

Kevin's eyes burned as he realized this might be the last time he was not only talking to another human being that could see and hear him – but to this specific person, as well.

To Rayleigh.

And he had just met this guy several hours ago...

Where had this guy been all his life, instead?

Where?

"I wish I wrote some happy endings, too," Kevin said grimly instead of a sappy goodbye.

The quicker this weird farewell between two people who had nothing to do with each other would end – the better. Why prolong something so uncomfortable?

As casual as ever, Rayleigh gave him a smile. "I'm not sure what stops you even now."

Kevin turned aside to hide the quaver of oncoming tears in his eyes. "Some things you only realize when it's too late to change them."

"For sure," Rayleigh said and took a few steps away.

Then, before Kevin could drop his head back into his knees for warmth, pretending he wasn't looking at Rayleigh's departure, Rayleigh turned around and gave Kevin a quizzical look.

"What are you waiting for?" Rayleigh asked.

Kevin gawked, lost.

"Mmm?"

"You're not staying here, in a haunted house, are you?" Rayleigh whispered, sounding terrified of the idea itself. "And judging by you clearly not wanting to go back in, I don't think you should stay outside on the porch either. It's fucking freezing at night."

"But... this is my home. Where else would I go?"

"I don't know. The cafe down the street, at the least?" Rayleigh threw his arms in the air, sounding huffy. "It's warm in there and I can buy us two more cups of hot coffee. One for me, the other – for you to drink weirdly as I spill it into your mouth to warm your brains a bit before you make any decisions about your... death? Unlife? Not sure what to call it... You have so many decisions to make. Like, you've got to finish your books, no? You should have read how people are lamenting that they will never find out how they end! That's nasty of you, to not do something about that. And your relatives? Shouldn't you contact them somehow if you're still able? They must be worried sick!"

Rayleigh kept talking and talking and at some point had arrived at making a "ghost writer" joke. Which, funny. Albeit a bit obvious.

But also... too overwhelming to take in all at once.

All Kevin could do was gape, opening his mouth only to close it. Then opening it again to ask so many questions, he struggled to decide which ones first.

"See?" Rayleigh dwindled down, exhausted of his own myriads of suggestions. "You got to think hard about your current situation, and doing it here while shaking from cold is not the soundest idea in the world, is it? I am not suggesting you stay with me in my apartment tonight because I don't know if you have any friends or relatives who might want to take you in with them while you figure your ghost things out... but..." And Rayleigh pointed behind his back again, this time more resolutely. "The cafe? Please? Warmth? Coffee? I pay."

"..."

Kevin's legs stood up on their own; he could not control them.

"Yes, please," he said through chattering teeth. "I swear I will pay you back one day."

The disbelief on Rayleigh's face was very apparent in his quirking up mouth. "Suuure. With ghost dollars, uh-huh."

"What do you want me to say? I am jobless and homeless and I don't even have a hot body to pay you back with-- wait, no. Sorry. I thought I could make the same joke you did earlier, but... ugh. It just sounds so cringeworthy."

Smug, Rayleigh gave Kevin a wink as the two of them slowly walked down the street toward the corner cafe with the shimmering promise of godly coffee waiting. "Only I can make such dumb jokes. It takes a lot of training to do right, my friend. And don't you worry. I know just the most perfect way you can pay me back for that coffee."

Kevin was all ears.

Truly.

Ears and heart and his coffee-desiring ghostly stomach and whatever else.

"Some happy endings for your gay dudes, every once in a while,” Rayleigh murmured, excited. “Yeah?"

"Nooooo. Happy endings is too corny, I caaaan't..."

With a prolonged moan, Rayleigh dragged his feet, thinking, but did not give up yet. Something told Kevin he never would. Like he hadn't given up on Kevin. Even though the entire rest of the world did.

Rayleigh was just this kind of a person, wasn't he?

One that had brought Kevin out of inexistence by a mere click of his camera. And the warmest smile in the world.

With a flourish of his hand, Rayleigh finally came up with a compromise.

"At least an ambiguous open ending, then? Yes? Please?"

"..."

 

 

👻🍁👻

 

 

"Pretty please?"

 

 

🍁

 

 

 

Author wishes to remain anonymous. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯