Andy

Michael Cross, twenty-four, felt that he lived a relatively ordinary life.

He had a normal job in a standard newspaper office, and he'd never had trouble with conversation. He lived in a rather run-down apartment building, yes, but it was in the heart of the city. The short commute made the inconveniences worth managing.

Furthermore, Michael considered himself a relatively ordinary man. He was of average height and build, and nothing spectacular in the way of looks or intelligence. He had one very peculiar talent that he had always kept to himself, but that was about as far as his eccentricities went.

The same could not be said for many of the people with whom Michael shared an apartment complex. Several of his neighbors were unusual, and always in the exact same way.

One of these oddballs was Andrew Guzman. On this particular day, Michael caught sight of him right away. He was standing alone by the wall at the edge of the lobby and doing nothing of note. Michael knew that something was wrong when Andrew didn't offer him a shy (but friendly) greeting. He squinted at the boy's lanky silhouette, taking a few steps closer to him.

Andrew always looked a bit timid, or perhaps like he was perpetually sad about something. To see him wringing his hands together was nothing new. But his stance was unusually rigid, and he rocked back and forth on his heels, his eyes flitting about as if searching for unseen danger. Michael studied him for a moment more before he cleared his throat.

"Andy."

The boy in question flinched at the sound of his own name.

"Ah! I-I didn't see you there, Mr. Cross. I-I should get out of your way. I'll just be heading back to my apartment—"

"Andy," Michael repeated, more emphatically. "How many times must I tell you to call me Mike?"

Andrew chuckled nervously.

"At least one more time, I guess."

The younger man (he couldn't be older than twenty, right?) hid his brown eyes beneath the shadow of his hair, the mop of dark curls aiding him well in this disguise. Michael sighed.

Andrew had always been hesitant to talk about himself, and for good reason, if Michael's suspicions were correct. Maybe Andrew was finally beginning to understand his place in the world. It would explain his current level of anxiety. Michael would have to be careful breaching that subject, though— best to start neutral, he decided.

"Is something bothering you?" Michael asked as carefully as he could. He briefly touched the other man's forearm. Andrew stared at the hand with an expression of confusion. It had probably been a while since anyone had touched him. "You can talk to me, you know. I'm always willing to listen."

Andrew didn't react at first. He stared, not fully processing the statement. It was easy enough to see when it finally hit him. And as soon as that offer registered in his mind, Andrew cast a frantic glance around the lobby.

"...Since you're always so nice to me, I'll tell you. But you have to promise not to tell anybody else, okay?! I don't want anyone to think that I'm crazy!"

Michael smiled a kind smile as he leaned against the wall beside Andrew. When they stood side-by-side like this, the difference in height was obvious. Andrew was a bit short for his age.

"Go right ahead," Michael encouraged. "I won't tell a soul."

Andrew bit his lip as he contemplated something. He nodded when he'd made up his mind, and then he screeched something in in a whisper:

"...I think that our building is haunted!"

Michael felt his eyebrows raise without his permission. That... wasn't what he'd been expecting at all.

"...Haunted? Ghosts? What makes you say such a thing?"

"It's that girl! The little one! Have you seen her?!"

Michael looked up as he tried to recall. One rather ghostly little girl came to mind, even if she wasn't the only little girl in the building.

"Are you referring to the girl in the green dress and pigtails?"

"That's the one!" Andrew's face couldn't seem to decide whether to show horror or shock, so it settled on something between the two. "You've seen her, too?!"

"I have. ...She's always in the hallway on the third floor."

"Which is totally the kind of place a ghost would frequent, right?!"

Michael tried not to laugh.

"You think that the child is a ghost, then."

"I'm sure that she is," Andrew insisted. "All she does is... stare. At that one corner. And she laughs at nothing. It's creepy as hell!"

Michael couldn't disagree on that point— the child, as far as he could tell, wasn't fond of speaking to anyone. She preferred to watch, silent and waiting, from the end of a darkened corridor. Which was admittedly very creepy... Not that she could help that. She'd outgrow it when she became more accustomed to her own existence. Michael was sure of that much.

He had experience with these things, one could say.

"Is it a crime to be creepy?"

"I—" Andrew's retort broke off in a frustrated groan. "I guess not. But she gives me the weirdest feeling. I'm afraid to head into my own apartment when she's lingering around there."

Andrew frowned, and Michael continued to observe him, feeling his own mouth twist downward at one corner.

"I-If it was just that girl, I could dismiss it, but... Strange stuff happens around here all the time. Things go missing, things go bump in the night... I feel like I'm losing my mind," Andrew admitted. Michael's frown hardened, etching lines into his face.

"You're... not imagining things," Michael reassured him. "But you may be exaggerating some of it. This is an old building. Things are bound to creak and groan, aren't they—"

"I'm not talking about the building settling! I mean... I mean that I can hear people walking up and down the stairs late at night. But when I open my door, nobody's there!"

Michael didn't know how to respond to that at first. He hadn't realized that Andrew was so attuned to the activity.

Normally, Michael was the only one who saw and heard such things.

"And people keep disappearing left and right! Like that old man on the fifth floor... He and I used to talk about his birds every day. And then, one day, he was gone. Like he'd never existed. I never even knew his name, but... But still!"

Andrew continued his emotional tirade, and Michael couldn't help but wince. He'd played a part in those disappearances, after all.

But what was he supposed to do? Was he supposed to sit by and allow a ghost to continue feeling trapped and alone when he had the power to set them free? Was he supposed to ignore them when they called out to him for help?

Yes, it was true— Michael had a very peculiar talent.

Ever since his early childhood, he'd been able to see and hear ghosts. More than that, he was able to identify them at a glance, and he was able to speak to them as though they still walked among the living. This was a talent that had brought him many a hardship, to be sure, but it had also allowed him to help people who were suffering in a place where no one else could see their pain.

Michael knew for a fact that Andrew was right. He wasn't imagining anything. But would it do him any good to tell him that right now?

"...Does it really scare you?" Michael asked tentatively. Andrew narrowed his eyes. "The possibility that there are actually ghosts among us, I mean."

"Of course it does. Who's not scared of ghosts?! What if they're angry? What if they want to exact their revenge upon the living?!"

Hardly any of them are so petty, Michael thought.

"I... understand your fear," Michael said, dragging out his words as he searched for a plausible explanation. "But you have nothing to be afraid of."

Andrew paused, and then he looked up at Michael with eyes full of fear and wonder. Michael tried to look casual as he brushed stray pieces of his long black hair back behind his ears.

"Do you really think so?"

"I know so. That little girl in particular— you needn't be afraid of her."

"She's not a ghost?"

She is.

"Of course not! She's just... A bit eccentric. Her parents work long hours, so she's often home by herself. She gets bored and lonely and wanders the hallway, since that's as far as she's allowed to go." Michael's lie, while flimsy, would have to do for now. Andrew completely believed it, if his expression was anything to go by. He was a bit too pure of heart— it seemed that he never took anyone for a liar.

"Y-You've... talked to her? I've been too scared!"

"I have," Michael confirmed, and this much was true. "Her name is Lily. She's nine."

She's permanently nine until she finds peace, he did not add. It would likely take Lily a long time to find any sort of comfort. No one deserved to die so young. Michael was surprised that Andrew hadn't noticed the old-fashioned nature of the dress she wore every day. If he had to guess by the style alone, Michael would say that Lily had died in the 1970s.

Andrew took a long series of seconds to think things over, and then his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He scratched the back of his neck.

"...M-Maybe I am just imagining things," he mumbled. Michael gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder.

"That's nothing to be ashamed of. You're under a lot of stress. You're still not used to living alone, right?"

Andrew laughed, and in the kind of way that suggested he hadn't found anything funny.

"...Yeah... You're right. And I still miss my family back home. Sometimes it feels like we haven't talked in years, even if it was only a little while ago." Andrew looked at the faded carpet on the floor for a minute more before he stood up straight and shook his head as if clearing it of any negative thoughts. He turned to face Michael, his expression now firm and resolute. "I'm sorry to have troubled you! I was afraid I'd run into that girl— Uh, Lily, that is— so I've been putting off going upstairs. I'll head on up now."

"You do that," Michael encouraged. "And you should try speaking with her! She's odd, but she's very nice. ...I'll be up there shortly. I have to check my mail first."

"Okay! I'll see you sometime soon." Andrew turned in the direction of the elevator, and then he stopped. "...Thanks," he added under his breath, and without turning around, before his footsteps continued.

Michael heard the elevator ding, heard its doors open and shut, heard the whirring of the elevator shaft's slow ascent. The sounds confirmed that he was truly alone, and so he allowed himself to laugh and shake his head.

"Oh, Andy," he said quietly to himself.

Of course Michael couldn't help but laugh. The whole notion of it, every last bit, was as preposterous as it was strangely endearing.

After all, who'd ever heard of a ghost that was afraid of ghosts?