Trust can be a difficult thing to earn. It's not something that appears in your pocket that you can use to do what you want with. It is something that is earned. It could be from something as simple as treating them with kindness or something as huge as doing everything in your power for the person to see you as anything but a threat. But once that trust is received, it must be treated with gentle care.
As co-workers, we were practically strangers before moving in. We knew nothing about each other besides how well we worked. That and our names. Well, I knew his, he was still slow to learn mine. His name was Jacob.
I was being kicked out of my home, possibly for the reason that I was nearing my mid-twenties and had always relied on my parents to do things for me. I vented to people at work about it as I struggled to find a place to live. I wasn't making near enough money to live on my own, so I needed to either find a cheap place or split rent with someone else.
Of course, Jacob overheard my conversations and stepped in, saying he was in desperate need for a roommate. Apparently he could barely afford his rent either and needed someone to split the rent with him. He told me he had a two bedroom apartment, as it was all they had available in town at the time.
I was unfamiliar with the guy but I agreed, hoping that though we lived together, we'd have enough privacy that we would hardly see each other outside of work. Unfortunately, I was more right than I'd hoped to have been.
I want to start out by saying that I'm not much of a nosey person. Rarely ever do I care about what someone is doing, so long as it isn't bothering me. However, there was something off about Jacob. I couldn't quite place my finger on it, but the mix of how much time he spends alone in his room, mixed with the strange noises I keep hearing throughout the building, it couldn't be much of a coincidence.
One day while I was off work, a day he still had to go in, I decided to investigate. I waited for him to leave, sitting in my room. I waited for the sound of the front door closing. I snuck out of my room and crept to the window, watching him get into his car. When he pulled off the curb and headed away, I knew it was safe.
I made my way over to his room. It felt wrong doing this, I was invading his privacy after all. I knew I would be uncomfortable if he did the same thing to me.
Stepping into his room, I was unsure what hit me first, the musty stench of an unkept room, or the mess of clothes strung about the floor. It was an unpleasant sight to behold, but nothing that aroused suspicion. I stepped inside, careful not to breathe in the horrid stench too much.
Making my way around his bed, which lay in the center of the room, pushed up against the wall, I found an odd stash of clothing. This clothing was some that didn't belong to him, as it was a mix of women's clothing as well as some that would be too small for him. Amidst the pile, I noticed a shirt of mine, one that I had been looking for over the last few days.
I picked up the shirt and headed out the room, only to be greeted at the front door by none other than Jacob. He looked to me with anger. He looked down and noticed the shirt I held and his expression changed to worried.
"What were you doing in my room?" he demanded.
I looked to him, somewhat afraid of being caught but at the same time a little upset. "I heard a noise that came from there and went to investigate." Sure, I lied. But did that lie make up, or even make us even for his thievery? "Why was my shirt in there?" I asked.
His face turned pale. I guessed it didn't feel so good to be caught. "I saw a hole in the shirt and wanted to stitch it up. Same with the other shirts in there."
"That's not true, none of my clothes have holes in them," I responded. "Look, I don't care why you stole my shirt, just don't touch my stuff."
"Okay, I'm sorry," he said before going back into his room. He grabbed something off the dresser and headed back out the door. Before he left he told me, "I was trying to protect you."
That night, after washing some clothes, especially my shirt, I took a shower and threw it on. I slipped into bed, still awaiting Jacob's return home. As I waited, I looked over my shirt and found no holes, not any seams where he would have stitched it up. What was that creep hiding?
That's when I felt a cold hand touch my shoulder and a disembodied voice whispering in my ear in a dry tone, "Give me my shirt."
I jumped up from the bed and flicked the lights on. I looked around for Jacob, as it must have been him messing with me. Scanning across the room, I saw no one.
"You're not funny, Jacob!" I called out to him.
As if of cue, I heard the front door shut. Jacob was home. I got out of bed to confront him on his cruel joke.
"You're so funny," I said, rolling my eyes.
"What are you talking about, I just got home," he said, a look of confusion in his eyes.
"You were in my room," I reminded him. "You grabbed me and said this was your shirt in a really crappy ghost voice." I chuckled a bit.
"Okay, that wasn't me. You need to take that shirt off now!" he looked so terrified it was almost comical.
"You're not going to scare me into giving you my shirt back," I laughed. "If you want it so bad just ask. Not that I'm actually going to give it to you."
"No, you don't understand," he said. "Your shirt is haunted!"
This made me laugh even harder. How the hell could a shirt be haunted?
"The shirts I have, they're all haunted. I was trying to cleanse them. I thought I had, especially with yours," he explained. "You didn't wash it, did you?"
I laughed even harder at this. "With how horrible your room smelled, hell yeah I washed it."
Just then, I felt something, a set of invisible hands, lifting me up off the ground. "GIVE ME BACK MY SHIRT!" shouted the same dry, ghostly voice from earlier. I screamed as I came crashing back down on the ground
"What do I do?" I cried, pain shooting through my body as I tried standing back up.
"Take off your shirt and burn it," he said. "It's the only way to get rid of the ghost."
Without hesitation, I took off the shirt and handed it off to him. We both ran outside to the nearest ditch. He pulled a lighter out of his pocket and lit the shirt ablaze. As it caught fire, he tossed it on the ground in the wet grass. He walked away and I watched it burn.
I continued watching it for a few moments before following him back inside. "How did you know my shirt was haunted?" I asked.
"Do you ever get the feeling there's something crawling on your skin inside the back of your shirt? I saw them crawling around when you had your back turned to me. That's how I knew."
As co-workers, we were practically strangers before moving in. We knew nothing about each other besides how well we worked. That and our names. Well, I knew his, he was still slow to learn mine. His name was Jacob.
I was being kicked out of my home, possibly for the reason that I was nearing my mid-twenties and had always relied on my parents to do things for me. I vented to people at work about it as I struggled to find a place to live. I wasn't making near enough money to live on my own, so I needed to either find a cheap place or split rent with someone else.
Of course, Jacob overheard my conversations and stepped in, saying he was in desperate need for a roommate. Apparently he could barely afford his rent either and needed someone to split the rent with him. He told me he had a two bedroom apartment, as it was all they had available in town at the time.
I was unfamiliar with the guy but I agreed, hoping that though we lived together, we'd have enough privacy that we would hardly see each other outside of work. Unfortunately, I was more right than I'd hoped to have been.
I want to start out by saying that I'm not much of a nosey person. Rarely ever do I care about what someone is doing, so long as it isn't bothering me. However, there was something off about Jacob. I couldn't quite place my finger on it, but the mix of how much time he spends alone in his room, mixed with the strange noises I keep hearing throughout the building, it couldn't be much of a coincidence.
One day while I was off work, a day he still had to go in, I decided to investigate. I waited for him to leave, sitting in my room. I waited for the sound of the front door closing. I snuck out of my room and crept to the window, watching him get into his car. When he pulled off the curb and headed away, I knew it was safe.
I made my way over to his room. It felt wrong doing this, I was invading his privacy after all. I knew I would be uncomfortable if he did the same thing to me.
Stepping into his room, I was unsure what hit me first, the musty stench of an unkept room, or the mess of clothes strung about the floor. It was an unpleasant sight to behold, but nothing that aroused suspicion. I stepped inside, careful not to breathe in the horrid stench too much.
Making my way around his bed, which lay in the center of the room, pushed up against the wall, I found an odd stash of clothing. This clothing was some that didn't belong to him, as it was a mix of women's clothing as well as some that would be too small for him. Amidst the pile, I noticed a shirt of mine, one that I had been looking for over the last few days.
I picked up the shirt and headed out the room, only to be greeted at the front door by none other than Jacob. He looked to me with anger. He looked down and noticed the shirt I held and his expression changed to worried.
"What were you doing in my room?" he demanded.
I looked to him, somewhat afraid of being caught but at the same time a little upset. "I heard a noise that came from there and went to investigate." Sure, I lied. But did that lie make up, or even make us even for his thievery? "Why was my shirt in there?" I asked.
His face turned pale. I guessed it didn't feel so good to be caught. "I saw a hole in the shirt and wanted to stitch it up. Same with the other shirts in there."
"That's not true, none of my clothes have holes in them," I responded. "Look, I don't care why you stole my shirt, just don't touch my stuff."
"Okay, I'm sorry," he said before going back into his room. He grabbed something off the dresser and headed back out the door. Before he left he told me, "I was trying to protect you."
That night, after washing some clothes, especially my shirt, I took a shower and threw it on. I slipped into bed, still awaiting Jacob's return home. As I waited, I looked over my shirt and found no holes, not any seams where he would have stitched it up. What was that creep hiding?
That's when I felt a cold hand touch my shoulder and a disembodied voice whispering in my ear in a dry tone, "Give me my shirt."
I jumped up from the bed and flicked the lights on. I looked around for Jacob, as it must have been him messing with me. Scanning across the room, I saw no one.
"You're not funny, Jacob!" I called out to him.
As if of cue, I heard the front door shut. Jacob was home. I got out of bed to confront him on his cruel joke.
"You're so funny," I said, rolling my eyes.
"What are you talking about, I just got home," he said, a look of confusion in his eyes.
"You were in my room," I reminded him. "You grabbed me and said this was your shirt in a really crappy ghost voice." I chuckled a bit.
"Okay, that wasn't me. You need to take that shirt off now!" he looked so terrified it was almost comical.
"You're not going to scare me into giving you my shirt back," I laughed. "If you want it so bad just ask. Not that I'm actually going to give it to you."
"No, you don't understand," he said. "Your shirt is haunted!"
This made me laugh even harder. How the hell could a shirt be haunted?
"The shirts I have, they're all haunted. I was trying to cleanse them. I thought I had, especially with yours," he explained. "You didn't wash it, did you?"
I laughed even harder at this. "With how horrible your room smelled, hell yeah I washed it."
Just then, I felt something, a set of invisible hands, lifting me up off the ground. "GIVE ME BACK MY SHIRT!" shouted the same dry, ghostly voice from earlier. I screamed as I came crashing back down on the ground
"What do I do?" I cried, pain shooting through my body as I tried standing back up.
"Take off your shirt and burn it," he said. "It's the only way to get rid of the ghost."
Without hesitation, I took off the shirt and handed it off to him. We both ran outside to the nearest ditch. He pulled a lighter out of his pocket and lit the shirt ablaze. As it caught fire, he tossed it on the ground in the wet grass. He walked away and I watched it burn.
I continued watching it for a few moments before following him back inside. "How did you know my shirt was haunted?" I asked.
"Do you ever get the feeling there's something crawling on your skin inside the back of your shirt? I saw them crawling around when you had your back turned to me. That's how I knew."
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