I rented a house with a bloody history because it was cheap.

On the first night after moving in, the faucet turned on by itself.

I yelled into thin air, “Are you paying the water bill?!”

The water instantly stopped flowing.

I thought that was just the beginning of the ghost not bothering me.

Unexpectedly, the next day, I saw a main course with two side dishes prepared on the dining table.

On the table was roast chicken, garlic mashed potatoes, and steamed green beans with butter.

They looked and smelled very appetizing.

As someone who survived on quick bites, I practically drooled on the spot.

Hunger triumphed over fear.

I hesitantly picked up the knife and cut myself a piece of the roast chicken.

It tasted heavenly.

I almost swallowed my tongue.

I devoured everything on the table and even licked the plates clean.

I patted my full belly and let out a satisfied burp.

I praised the air. “Not bad. Keep it up tomorrow.”

Then, I left for work.

When I returned home in the evening, the aroma of a home-cooked meal washed over me the moment I pushed the door open.

Another home-cooked dinner was waiting on the table.

It was a spread of pot roast with gravy, garlic-sauteed spinach, macaroni and cheese, and a hearty vegetable soup.

Once again, with zero self-restraint, I polished off every last bite.

After freeloading meals for three days in a row, I started to feel a little guilty.

This ghostly roommate was not just good-tempered. It also knew how to manage a household well.

I took out a yellow sticky note from the drawer and wrote in thick black marker. [Hey, what’s your name? I feel bad about always eating your food.]

I placed the note neatly in the center of the dining table.

The next morning, breakfast was laid out on the table as usual.

There was a bowl of grits, a link of savory breakfast sausage, and two buttermilk biscuits.

Beside my sticky note lay an identical one.

A response was written on it in an elegant, flowing script.

[Nathaniel Simmons.]

It was a nice name.

After finishing breakfast, I left another note. [Nat, it’s a waste that you didn’t get into Le Cordon Bleu to hone your cooking skills.]

I was purely making conversation for the sake of it.

When I returned in the evening, an elaborate dinner was waiting on the table.

Under my note, there was a new reply. [What is Le Cordon Bleu?]

I burst out laughing.

He seemed to have been dead for quite some years.

A bold idea occurred to me.

I spread out a piece of paper and wrote down a shopping list.

It included Australian lobster, Wagyu beef, black truffles, and caviar.

I wrote down every expensive ingredient I had ever heard of but could never afford.

After finishing the list, I glanced around the room guiltily.

The air was dead silent.

I placed the list in the center of the table and went to bed with a sense of anticipation.

The next day, the first thing I did after waking up was rush to the dining room.

The table was empty.

There was no breakfast whatsoever, let alone Australian lobster or Wagyu beef.

I was a little disappointed.

I may have driven the ghost away with my outrageous demands.

I sighed and prepared to microwave a box of macaroni and cheese.

But when I turned around, I spotted a note pressed under something on the table.

It was in Nathaniel’s familiar handwriting, though this time, his note held a hint of cold anger.

[Wasteful.]

I was stunned for a moment before I burst out laughing.

This ghost was not just a good cook, but he was also thrifty and responsible.

I liked that.

I immediately picked up a pen and wrote back. [My bad, Nat. It’s just a joke. Let’s just stick to homemade food from now on. I won’t bring up that extravagant nonsense again, okay?]

I apologized sincerely.

Sure enough, when I returned that evening, food was laid out on the table once more.

Although they were all simple, homemade dishes, I enjoyed the meal more than any other I had ever had.

That weekend, as I was lounging on the couch scrolling through my phone, the doorbell rang.

I looked through the peephole and saw my colleague, Whitley Brennan.

What brought her here?

My relationship with her was far from good.

Whitley came from a wealthy family and threw her weight around at the office.

She looked down on people like me the most. She considered us people who would scrap over a couple of dollars in coupons.

I opened the door.

Whitley was standing in the doorway while pinching her nose with a look of disgust on her face.

“Casey, you live in a place like this? It looks just like a garbage dump.”

Her eyes swept across my small studio apartment with contempt.

“I heard the rent for this place is ridiculously cheap. There couldn’t possibly be something wrong with it, could there?”

I said flatly, “It’s quite good. It’s spacious, bright, and the neighbors are nice.”

Whitley laughed exaggeratedly. “Neighbors? Would you even dare to go out at night in this building? I heard someone died here.”

She was just here to gloat.

I could not be bothered to deal with her. So, I turned to close the door.

However, Whitley swiftly slipped inside.

“Hey, what kind of attitude is this? Don’t be so quick to shoo me away. I was just being nice by stopping by to check on you.”

She began to explore my apartment on her own. She kept her nose pinched, as if she were surveying a slum.

“My, so clean? Did you hire a cleaner? This doesn’t seem like your style.”

She walked to the table and suddenly stopped. She pointed at a silver candlestick holder.

“This is a nice candlestick holder. It looks really old. Is it an antique?”

I became tense. “It’s just a decorative piece.”

It had been there since I moved in.

Whitley pursed her lips and reached for it.

“Let me get a closer look.”

“Don’t touch that!” I tried to stop her.

But it was already too late.

Whitley touched the candlestick holder. Her grip was weak, and it fell straight toward the floor.

My heart leaped into my throat.

Just as the candlestick holder was about to fall to the floor, it stopped.

It hovered midair and stopped less than an inch from the floor.

Time stood still for a moment.

Whitley’s smile froze as her eyes widened.

The next second, the candlestick holder swayed unsteadily as it rose into the air. It then landed securely back on the corner of the table, completely unscathed.

A deathly silence filled the room.

Whitley’s face paled, shifting from flushed red to a deathly ashen white.

She pointed a trembling finger at the candlestick holder. “It... it...”

She stammered for a long time and was unable to form a complete sentence.

Then, she let out a blood-curdling scream, turned, and ran outside.

She scrambled away frantically without looking back.

I watched her panicked retreat, then looked again at the candlestick holder on the table, and sighed.

“Nathaniel, how many times have I said you need to lay low?”

I scolded into the empty air.

“Do you have any idea how much this candlestick holder costs? If you break it, you’re paying for it.”

There was no movement in the air.

I did not expect him to answer, anyway.

That night, as I lay in bed, I initiated a conversation with Nathaniel for the first time.

I told him about my troubles at the company.

I described how particularly annoying Whitley had been that day.

I confessed how much I wanted to earn big money.

I said I wanted to buy my own home, so I would no longer need to endure anyone’s condescension.

I talked until I eventually fell asleep.

The next day, the cold woke me.

The room temperature seemed to have dropped to a freezing point.

I wrapped my blanket tightly around myself, but I was still shivering from the cold.

I checked my phone and saw a text message from the electricity utility company.

The electricity bill for this month was three thousand eight hundred dollars.

I stared at that number for a full minute.

Three thousand eight hundred dollars?!

I lived alone. How could my electricity usage possibly be so high?!

I suddenly remembered something.

The faucet turned on by itself. The television switched on in the middle of the night. Meals appeared like clockwork every single day!

Since when did paranormal activities run up the electric bill?

Pure rage shot through me.

I leaped out of bed, snatched my phone, and screamed into the empty room, “Nathaniel Simmons! Get out of here right now!

“What’s with this electricity bill? Three thousand eight hundred dollars?! You may as well just mug me next time!

“Don’t pretend you’re some magical being running on passion. You’re racking up my electric bill!

“This one is on you! You’re paying for it!”

My voice echoed through the small room, filled with uncontrollable anger.

The lights in the room began to flicker wildly.

A cold dread, sharper than the chill in the air, shot up from the soles of my feet.

The patch of shadow in the corner began to writhe unnaturally, coalescing into a denser form.

A human silhouette, darker than the darkness around it, slowly detached itself from the wall.

It was tall and gaunt, its entire form wreathed in an impenetrable, smoky blackness.

The air grew still and heavy, as if the room itself was holding its breath.

Then, a voice, cold and utterly devoid of emotion, sounded not in my ears, but directly in my mind.

“I dare you to repeat that.”

I freaked out, but only for a second.

Immediately after, the pure rage of being broke took over.

I shoved my phone right into the shadow. The screen clearly displayed three thousand eight hundred dollars.

“I say, you’re paying for it!”

I stood my ground with defiance.

“Read it. Three thousand eight hundred dollars! Do you know what my monthly pay is? After rent and bills, I’ll be broke! Completely broke!

“You’re running a full-scale operation here every day! You cook and do poltergeist stuff while treating my electricity like it’s free!”

The dark mass seemed to hesitate.

The flickering lights steadied.

The temperature in the room rose a few degrees.

That cold voice spoke in my mind again, but this time, it carried a trace of... hurt pride?

“I don’t have any money.”

I almost laughed out loud in disbelief.

“You don’t have any money, yet you still have the nerve to act so entitled?”

I put my hands on my hips and switched into full lecture mode.

“Let’s get one thing straight, Nathaniel. We are housemates. Housemates split the bills. You cook to pay for your rent and utilities. That’s the deal. But you don’t get to blow the budget!

“From now on, we are on an energy budget. Do not leave the TV on for no reason. Keep the meals simple with just a couple of simple dishes. And no more random apparitions, especially in front of my colleagues. Do you have any idea how expensive compensations for emotional distress are?”

I said my piece.

The dark mass stayed still and listened quietly.

Only when I had finished did it slowly dissipate back into the shadowy corner.

A word echoed in my mind.

“Okay.”

I let out a long sigh of relief. I felt like a hero who had successfully negotiated a truce.

I was probably the first person in history to get a ghost to pay up.

From that day on, Nathaniel genuinely started cutting back on using utilities.

The TV stopped turning on by itself in the middle of the night.

Our dinners were downgraded from a full-course meal to just a couple of simple dishes.

Even though the meals were simpler, they still tasted as delicious as ever.

Our cohabitation settled into a bizarre kind of harmony.

Every day when I came home from work, a hot meal was always waiting on the table.

The house was constantly spotless.

I started giving him money.

I did not know if he actually needed it, but it made me feel better.

Whenever I gave him the money, I would say, “Here’s your pocket money, Nat. Buy yourself something nice. My treat.”

Even though I could not see him, I could feel the atmosphere in the house becoming warmer and more peaceful.

As for Whitley, after she was scared off that day, she had been hostile toward me in the office.

She did not dare tell anyone about the incident with the candlestick holder. No one would believe her, anyway.

Instead, she started sabotaging my work at every opportunity.

That day, the director assigned our team an urgent project with a tight deadline. He demanded a complete proposal within three days.

Our manager assigned data analysis, which was the most crucial part, to Whitley and me.

Whitley coyly smiled at me in front of the whole team. “You’re the expert on this, Casey. I’m sure you can take the lead. I’ve some family matters to attend to, so I might need to leave early.”

Just like that, she left at five o’clock sharp.

She left the entire mess for me to handle.