It was another gloomy day. The lulling sound of raindrops tapping on the balcony was at times interrupted by a low hum of thunder. I was sitting on the stool I used to step on to hang myself a week ago, looking out the window observing familiar faces going in and out of the building, when I felt someone coming. The muffled sound of their conversation became clearer as the group stopped at the other side of the door to my room. I recognized an overly cheerful voice of my landlady; she tried to affirm another woman, whose nervous voice was new to my ears, that there was nothing wrong with this room in spite of its being for rent at half price. The clinking sound of key rings went on for a moment as she fumbled with the lock. The lightning struck, thunder rumbled, and the door creaked open.

Before me was my landlady, and two other lives I had never seen before. Thoughts spun in my dead brain. I knew this was going to happen one day. This woman and her little daughter were to start their lives here, in my room that I was now stuck in. The woman looked nothing more than a mundane mum after work; she had a plain, time-worn face, cracked lips and dull eyes with an inexplicable gloom all over her, which she did not care to hide at all. The little girl was a complete contrast to her mother. She was so full of life; her smile lit up every part of the room she went as she tottered from a corner to another.

The group explored my room. As the mom walked my way, she claimed the area gave her a weird feeling and that she felt uncomfortably chilly. The landlady, knowing full well the possible explanation to this phenomenon, pathetically laughed it off, blaming the rain instead of me. I made no afford to move away, as I learned right away after I died that I was invisible to all the livings.

But I was wrong.

The little girl tottered uncomfortably close to the stool I was sitting on. Her bright hazel eyes stared not through me, like every other person did, but right at me. She looked curious at first, but decided to give me her brightest smile, showing all her teeth and a little dimple on each of her rosy cheek. The two women seemed to notice this. The landlady went pale right away; the mom curiously traced her daughter’s gaze to the vacant area beside the window where I was. The little thing giggled and pointed her finger at me, turning her glowing face back to her mother.

“Mommy, who is this?”

The lightning struck, the thunder rumbled, and the room flashed white for a second. I ran the hell away and hid in the empty closet.

It took me hours to gather enough courage just to peek through the closet. That was something new. That was the first time someone ever saw me. I thought I might have scared them away already, but it turned out the only one missing was the landlady. The mother and her daughter were watching TV, sitting on what used to be my bed with their backs to me. She gently comb through her daughter’s hair with her fingers; the motion was smooth and delicate that I could almost feel the soft, silky brown strains of her hair myself.

When the rain stopped, the mother, who somehow managed to look even more tiresome than when I first saw her hours ago, got up and kissed the girl on her damp forehead. She looked around cautiously, probably still paranoid about something she could sense but could not see, before she left the room. Her footsteps got fainter and fainter, until there was nothing but the ringing silence.

The girl looked for something. She walked again to my stool, and observed it closely, slowly dragging her little fingers along the round edge of the stool, as if to feel it; she stopped when her finger stumbled on one damaged curve. That was when I knocked it down with the tip of my feet, to let gravity do its work.

“Are you still here?”

I felt like I almost stopped breathing, but then I realized I was not breathing since the beginning. I hesitated, but her voice was so friendly, and her face exhibited nothing but pure, innocent curiosity. I creaked open the closet and clumsily stepped out. The little thing turned to face me. Our eyes met, mine dull and dead, hers bright and full of life. I was trying my best not to scare her. Last time I took a look at myself I did not look so handsome, not even when I was alive, but she showed no signs of terror on her face. I could feel her curious eyes examining me closely from head to toe; she looked bravely at my scruffy black hair, my bloodshot eyes, caused by suffocation, that stood out on my dead pale face with disgusting yellow and green tinge. She took half a step back when I felt the gaze of her eyes on my neck. It was the worst-looking part of my dead body; the trace of the thick rope was so defined, and my neck was so critically damaged, bruised, and deformed. I took a step back, too, as I disgusted myself acknowledging how I really looked, and I did not want to scare her any more than I already did. The girl noticed this, and tottered closer to me as if to show that she was not afraid.

We ended up talking about everything for hours. Her innocent smile and her giggles lit up everything in this run-down room, including me. I did not know what this little thing did to me, but I felt more and more alive every second that passed by. I felt so alive, as if I could now be seen by not just her, but anyone.

And I was right.

The door swung open without warning, and there stood the mother. She dropped everything, her smile, her jaw, the food she bought from the convenient store.
In her eyes it would look so horrifying. I was not sure if she saw me talking to her daughter, or just her daughter talking to something invisible; both were equally frightening. The woman screamed at the top of her lungs. I, again, ran the hell away and hid in the closet. I heard the hustling sound of swift movement, a whoosh, the little girl’s ‘Momma!’ and then a bang. I heard footsteps stumbling in a hurry down the hallway, then everything was in complete silence again.

I thought that if my heart stopped working I would not be able to feel anything, but this managed to make me want to cry. I felt something running out of my eyes wetting my face; I touched it with my dry, crumbling, pale fingers, and found out it was blood: red, dark, and disgusting. The lump in my throat lost to the urge to let out my cry, and it was forced free. That probably made everything worse as a hideous, howling cry was definitely not a pleasant sound for anyone sane at midnight, but I did not care anymore. In the darkest corner of the closet I cried and cried, haunting the entire floor, until I woke up just to find out everything was gone.

When I crept out of the closet it was morning, but the sun was nowhere to be seen. The lulling sound of raindrops tapping on the balcony was at times interrupted by a low hum of thunder. I was sitting on the stool I used to step on to hang myself two weeks ago, looking out the window observing familiar faces going in and out of the building, when I felt someone coming. The muffled sound of their conversation became clearer as they stopped at the other side of the door to my room. I recognized the even overly, forced cheerful voice of my landlady; she tried to affirm a man, whose husky voice was new to my ears, that there was nothing wrong with this room in spite of its being for rent at one-fourth of its normal price. The clinking sound of key rings went on for a moment as she, still, fumbled with the lock. The lightning struck, thunder rumbled, and the door creaked open.