Story by Mackenzie Pratt // she/her // @mackenziealisep

Graphic by Sunny Leeuwon // @zearose

Nobody warned Edith that the afterlife would be so monotonous.

One would expect life after death to be exciting, especially for someone in her line of work. Everyone wanted a career in Paranormal Activity, and House Haunter was the absolute dream job. But all Edith had was the eternal pleasure of chasing people away.

It was dreadfully boring. If you’ve heard one person scream their head off, you’ve heard them all. And once they fled, all that remained was a house occupied by  too much silence.

Her home was airy, empty. The kind of space where sound thrived. Noise loved to echo, and there was no house with more room for sound than Edith’s. The problem was, every family who had moved into its walls never took the time to fill them  with noise of their own.

Maybe there was too much space for them. Or maybe Edith was just too good at her job.

At least, she had been. Until now.

“Honey, the lights are on the fritz!”

“Again? I already checked the breaker box this morning!”

“Well check it again!”

Edith rolled her eyes. There was, of course, nothing wrong with the breaker box. She was just flicking the kitchen light switch.

On.

Off.

On.

Off.

Mrs. Johnson might see the light switch moving on its own if she bothered to turn around- maybe that would actually freak her out.  So far, however, all Edith had managed to do was set the Johnsons at each other’s throats. Edith no longer had the energy to scare them out, but perhaps she could cause a divorce.

After a few more half-hearted flips of the light switch, Edith drifted out the kitchen and down the hall, passing through the wall into Mr. Johnson’s office. He was on the phone.

“I know this is the third time this week, Ned, but I wouldn’t be calling if you’d fixed the problem!”

Ned, the town electrician. Edith suspected she was actually annoying him more than the Johnsons. She let Mr. Johnson yell a bit longer, then floated across the table and stuck her finger on the hook switch. The line went dead.

“Dang phone!” Mr. Johnson shouted. “Nothing works in this house!”

If her old classmates saw this pathetic scare attempt, they’d laugh in her face. All that studying, and for what?

Edith practically died again to get this assignment, passing up nights out on the graveyard with her friends in favor of perfecting her haunting techniques. The techniques designed to send humans running in fear.

The techniques that landed her in a house with too much space for one ghost.

Perhaps it was easier this way. Working alone was safe, consistent. In life and death, others had always left her. Edith had quickly learned that, even in the afterlife, nothing was permanent. The only stability she could cling to was this house, the cobwebs in the attic, and herself. 

For if everything good was to be snatched from her later, why reach for goodness at all?

“Boo!”

Marty, however, hadn’t yet learned that lesson.

Edith’s ghostly neighbor seemed to exude goodness, as if she couldn’t keep it all to herself. It infuriated Edith. She didn’t want infectious joy, thank you very much. But Marty seemed determined to give it to her.

“Go away, Marty.”

Marty didn’t go away. “I just got the Beckers to run for the hills. Only took five days, my new personal best! You should’ve seen them Edie—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“—they were terrified. They left without packing, so all their stuff is still at my place. Want to go through it later?”

Edith didn’t respond, content to watch Mr. Johnson wrestle with the phone cord. Marty finally noticed him. 

“They’re still here?” she asked, wincing when Mr. Johnson threw the phone to the floor in frustration. “Don’t you want them to leave? I thought your whole thing was peace and quiet,” Marty mocked, doing a poor imitation of Edith’s voice.

It was precisely her thing. So why were the Johnsons still here? The old Edith could have sent them packing in a single afternoon. But the couple had moved in weeks ago and the most Edith could manage was a few lame flicks of the light.

Was it because she was burnt out?

Or was she beginning to enjoy the noise?

“I’m tired.” Edith said instead.

“You said that last week.” Marty crossed her arms, gliding into Edith’s line of sight. “I’m starting to think you’re all talk. Everyone says you’re a legend, but this—” she nodded towards Mr. Johnson who was, once again, dialing Ned. “This isn’t legendary.”

Maybe it was the challenge in Marty’s voice that made her do it. Or maybe it was to prove she didn’t need the Johnsons. Whatever the reason, Edith pointedly drew herself up, glaring Marty down. “If you’re such an expert, why don’t you scare the man?”

Marty shrugged. “Fine.”

She straightened, took a breath, then swiped her hand through the air. The lights blinked out, but instead of pitch black, the sunlight creeping under the blinds gave the room a hazy darkness. The kind of dark that would only scare a two year old. Maybe.

Mr. Johnson glared up at the light fixture, but Marty wasn’t finished. She moved until she was right behind him then waved her hand, summoning a breeze. It rustled the papers on the desk and tugged at Mr. Johnson’s tie.

“Oh great, now the AC is acting up! Honey, I think Ned is trying to bleed us dry!” He called. 

And then he walked right through Marty and out the office door.

Edith snickered, watching as Marty’s confidence left the room with Mr. Johnson. Of course, that only made it return just as quickly.

“Was that a laugh?”

“Don’t get so excited, I was laughing at you.”

Marty’s face split into a grin. “Doesn’t matter, you laughed. I’ve never even seen you smile.”

“And you aren’t going to. Now, do you want my advice or not?”

Marty nodded, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically, but Edith had a reputation to protect, so she plowed onward.

“First, close the curtains. You need to cut off their vision. Second, don’t create a draft. You need to drop the room temperature so they—” Edith paused, the sound of scribbling catching her attention. “Is… that a notepad?”

Marty didn’t even glance up. “I’m getting haunting tips from Edith the Great! You think I’m not going to write this down?”

Edith pinched the bridge of her nose, already regretting her offer of assistance. “Just… go try again.”

Stashing her notepad, Marty soared out of the room. Edith followed the sound of bickering down the hall until she reached the kitchen. The Johnsons had resumed their familiar fighting routine.

“There’s nothing wrong with the AC!”

“You wouldn’t know because you want this place to feel like an igloo!”

Edith shooed Marty, stopping at the door frame to watch the impending disaster unfold.

This time, Marty went straight for the windows, yanking the curtains closed before flicking off the light, plunging the kitchen into proper darkness.

The Johnsons ceased arguing. “You—” Mrs. Johnson whispered. “You checked the breaker, right?”

With a snap of her fingers, Marty dropped the room temperature just as Edith had advised. If Mrs. Johnson wanted an igloo, she was about to get one.

“I told you,” Mr. Johnson whispered through chattering teeth. “There’s nothing wrong with the breaker.”

There’s a moment before fear truly settles in. It’s laced with apprehension, the horrible sensation of waiting for your fate to reach you. It’s the breath caught in your throat, the goosebumps on the back of your neck. Edith had once wished to live in that space. But then she discovered it was much more fun to break it.

Edith stuck out her arm and shoved, pushing a nearby stack of plates off the counter. They hit the ground, shattering along with the tension in the room.

The Johnsons screamed.

Their screams carried them out of the kitchen, stumbling blindly down the hall and crashing into each other as they ran. And as she watched their fear finally make an appearance, Edith did something she thought she never would again.

She laughed.

A real laugh this time, the kind that doubles you over and makes it impossible to remember why you were ever unhappy in the first place. And in this doubled over, side cramping laugh, Edith realized why haunting had lost its shine.

She had been wrong. The only stability she had in the afterlife was this house, herself, and Marty. Marty, who barged in uninvited every morning. Marty, who made noise when Edith claimed she wanted silence. Marty, who Edith hadn’t managed to scare away. 

The other ghost was laughing, too. And suddenly, Edith’s house felt a little less empty.

It was a rush. And she wanted to chase it.

“I can teach you,” she blurted before she could change her mind. “Techniques, I mean. You can try them on the Johnsons.” Edith watched Marty’s grin grow, so she hurried to add, “Only until someone new moves into your place.”

“You like me,” Marty teased. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“I tolerate you. And you clearly need help. Don’t make me rescind my generosity.”

Maybe it was foolish to cling to someone. Maybe one day she would be forced to face the silence yet again. But today she made her own noise, and the sound of screams was music to her ears.

After all, misery loves company.