Transparent

She screams and with both trembling arms and legs, grabs her child. Loud foot steps, creaking floor boards, hinges screeching with old age and she’s gone. Down the street she goes, faster and faster until she reaches the neighbors. Hysterically, she cries and announces to the world, “I will never step foot into that hell house again!”

The family is gone by the end of the week. The normal elderly woman comes, she sets up the house for the next buyers to examine and puts a sign in the front lawn. Once gone, I knock it down like I have done for so many years.

Years? How many years has it been? I’ve lost count of the days, of the months, of the seasons and the years. Time to me is meaningless. I do not eat. I do not sleep for I am…

I am…

I am Oz, Oz Vazario and I am…

I am…dead.

I stare down at my fingers, watch as they wiggle and move. My toes curl into the carpet and my hair is soft to the touch. I pick up an ash tray, toss it into the trash and walk through the door without the need to open it. I am clearly visible to me yet no other human, living that is, can see me. I stand in front of them, watch them as they live their lives but my presence is not noticed.

I can’t touch them. They can’t touch me yet I am able to grab material things, like ash trays and books or shoes and glasses. I use it to my advantage. The way their eyes widen in fear when they see that floating glass or the opening and closing of the front door. It’s amusing, in a twisted sort of way. They deserve it though, these people just move in without my approval. It pisses me off.

These people, they invade my home. They paint the walls, change the furniture and mess with my things. All my old pictures, gone. The fire place I had built myself, not replaced with something more…high tech as I heard a man once say. The garden I had made in the back yard, demolished and replaced with a pool. This is my home. It’s always been my home and I won’t let these bastards change that. Not now. Not ever. They will pay for what they’ve done.

I sit down in my bedroom or what used to be my bedroom. It’s empty, all the furniture of the last family gone with them. I stare aimlessly at the walls, wondering what exactly I should do today. Should I taunt the neighbors some more? Maybe mess with the dog across the street? So much to do yet I’ve done it so many times that the enjoyment has been taken away from it all.

This hell I live…it’s all because of her, that wretched wench who damned me to this pathetic excuse of a life. Though it isn’t a life considering that I’m dead. That witch, she cursed me. I was a cruel man when I was alive, I still am dead. I used women because I could. I had the money and the looks and though my style of life was frowned upon it worked quite well for me.

A woman I met one evening came home with me. We continued to meet until one evening I was informed of her…problem. Pregnant. I had gotten her pregnant. A man like me couldn’t risk having a child while not married so I kicked her out, ordered her to never return. I didn’t care about her or the child. I wanted neither.

It all came back to haunt me. The bitch cursed me one night. She snuck into my room and when I awoke my home was in hysteria. I had gone missing yet I was here. None could see me or hear me, they searched everywhere for me yet I was right in front of them…and soon I was pronounced dead.

Now here I am, still waiting for the curse to be lifted. I doubt it ever will be…

“This home is absolutely great! It was built in the 19 hundreds by the original owner though a lot of it has been redone just to be safe.”

I growl at the sound of Taylor, the woman who has been selling my home recently. Every time I hear her voice I know it means trouble. Another buyer has been found. Time to get to work.

I stand and move to the stairs. The voice of Taylor can be heard from the kitchen so I make my there. Inside there’s a man and woman looking around happily. Both seem pleased so I walk to the cabinets, open them and bang them shut. Taylor clears her throat and acts as if it were her doing, “Sorry about that, I thought I saw something in there!”

Taylor quickly takes the couple to another room. I float above them, watching amusingly as the couple takes in my lovely house. They’re pleased, that is obvious and it’s no surprise they announce they’ll take it not long afterwards. I do nothing. It’s much more fun to wait for them to move in. After all, living like this is affably boring. I like to get in a good scare as much as I can.

The movers come and I lazily lay about on the chandelier in the entry way. “This should be amusing,” I say to myself, twirling my ebony locks between my finger tips before gliding down to the floor below. I melt into one of the cupboards, looking through the cracks.

They can’t see me but I stay hidden, just to make it more fun for myself.

“You’re going to love it. This house is beautiful,” a woman says, the woman from before. The front door opens and she walks in, her husband behind her. She breathes in deeply, holds out her arms and spins, taking everything in. “It’s a bit big but it’s incredibly beautiful, don’t you think?”

“Looks like one of those houses from the horror movies. Maybe Harper will see a ghost?” A young girl, probably just hitting her teenage years, giggles teasingly, looking behind her.

“Lace,” grunts the dad, pushing her ahead. “Go pick out your room.”

“Yeah, yeah, going.” She waves her hand and jogs up the stairs, looking right then left before heading for a room, squealing. “Dibs!”

“Harper, are you coming in or not?” The mother asks, heading upstairs after her daughter.

“Yeah, I’m coming,” a new voice says, appearing in the doorway. It’s a boy, probably in his mid to late teens and in his arms is, what I’m assuming to be, his little brother. He’s young and fast asleep, sucking on his thumb while clinging to his elder brothers neck.

The boy hums, staring straight ahead. He looks all about the house and then…his bright green eyes land on me or rather the cupboard I’m hiding in. The boy, Harper, brushes blonde locks from his eyes and makes his way closer and closer until he’s standing before me. I feel as if he knows I’m here though he can’t see me behind the cupboard door.

He lifts his hand, clutches the handle and something in my stomach jumps so I melt into the floor. He didn’t see me but I can hear the disappointment in his voice when he says, “There’s nothing here…”

Harper is called by his mother and he leaves the kitchen, heading upstairs. I don’t know why but I feel as if that kid somehow knows I’m here…