My Naked Ghost

6th November 2026, Bri

“I think my house is haunted,” I shout through the chitter chatter at the local bar I am at with my friends on a particularly cold Friday night.

Both my best friends, Fran and Emma, stare at me like I’ve grown a second head. Emma even leaves her phone on the table next to her drink and shimmies closer to me across the table.

“Bitch, what the fuck?” She asks with that no-nonsense tone of hers and stares me down through her large slutty glasses like I’ve grown a second head. It immediately makes me feel less confident about the entire thing.

“Well, I know how idiotic this sounds, but a little sympathy would be nice,” I mumble, suddenly feeling really dumb for bringing it up. I am not even sure I myself believe in this shit anyway. But they are my closest people and it’s been bugging me for quite some time now, so…

“Babe, what do you mean?” Fran chimes in with that soft tone of his, the mother hen one that makes warmth spread through me.

There’s genuine concern in his big light green eyes that warms me a little. Both of them stare at me in expectation, worry written all over their beautiful faces.

A long pause stretches between us where I contemplate whether to drop the topic or not.

“Wait, like, for real?” Emma asks after a moment, probably, finally, realising I am being serious.

“Well, yeah,” I shrug as my eyes dart around the space that surrounds us and the countless of people hanging at the bar, at the tables.

Stalling, I drag a long sip from my non-alcoholic beer and leave it deliberately slowly back on the table. “I guess… it’s not something dangerous, like in a horror movie or whatever, but… it’s weird, you know?”

“Weird how?” Fran presses immediately and now I think he’s worried for all the wrong reasons, like he’s afraid I might be going into a psychotic break or something.

But I am not crazy. My place is haunted. I mean, it’s not a house exactly, more like a huge studio apartment, and it’s not mine, just leased, but still. There are ghosts there, I am sure of it. It’s in the creaks of the floorboards late at night just across the room when I am all alone, in the howls of the wind against the windows when there’s no wind at all. Sometimes I turn around and a piece of furniture is not where I left it the last time or where it usually stays. Other times weird objects like that empty wooden box I found today next to my bed come up unexpectedly without anyone bringing them over. I definitely did not bring the box over. I don’t own such a thing and I didn’t go out of my way to buy it on a whim one day and then forgot all about it. I live alone and I am sober as a cucumber, so, no, there’s no way I moved those things and there’s no way anyone else did it either.

Usually, I try not to notice it, the haunting I mean. The rent is hella cheap, and the location is perfect. Plus, for once in my life I have enough space to breathe. Fran was right to push me to move in as soon as we saw it three months ago. It’s just that at cold nights like last night for example, and definitely later tonight, when I’m tired as hell and my inhibitions are extremely lowered, I feel like I’m trapped. I feel like someone’s there, right behind me, watching me. But then I turn around and of course, there’s no one. Just me and my craziness.

I don’t tell this to my friends who are looking at me expectantly, concern still gripping their usually smug faces.

I wave them off, suddenly too conscious. “I mean, it’s just a very old building and I sometimes get weirded out by it. I am sure there are ghost there, it’s been around for more than a hundred years, right?”

“Two hundred and fifty,” Fran clarifies with a raised brow, his voice lingering in a way it makes me feel like he has more to say but prefers not to.

Emma laughs it off, relief pouring over her as she reaches out and grabs my hand in hers.

“Babe, if you don’t like it there, you should come stay with me tonight, okay? And you can move if it’s not your thing, we will figure something out,” she says softly and squeezes gently my fingers between hers, the warm metal of her gold rings making me feel just a little better. Grounded to the present moment.

“I don’t know, man,” Fran shakes his head, sipping of that fancy coffee of his like it’s not 9 p.m. already. “It was quite a sweet deal.”

“I am not moving out,” I clarify, the thought of doing so not sitting right with me in the slightest. “It just takes a bit more than I expected to get used to the place. It’s definitely better than my last apartment, ghosts or not.”

And I mean it. I had to share my last shoe-box apartment with a total weirdo, and it was horribly cluttered there. Not to mention all the orgies he had on a monthly basis. The amount of times I had to crash at one of my friends’ places and the amount of times they both nagged me to get the hell out of there before I lost my mind… I mean, the place was still better than before, but once I started making more money from my photography, I knew I couldn’t stay even a second more.

“Well, to be honest,” Emma says with a conspiratory tone, “I think you should just get laid, babe to get rid of all that tension. It’s been way too long and your brain is starting to malfunction, I am telling you. That’s why you are starting to see ghosts. It’s a symptom.”

It’s my turn to roll my eyes at her. She’s been nagging me about my lack of desire to date that’s been constant for a while now, actually ever since I broke up with Darren last year. Wait, has it really been that long?

“Do you want me to call my friend with the escort agency? She’s very discreet,” Emma presses, bringing the proposal she’s already made a few times before and there’s a spark of mischief in her tone that wasn’t there a moment ago. Like she might actually do it against me telling her multiple times not to. She can be nosy as hell like that. It’s all good intentions, but there’s also this saying that the road to hell is also covered in good intentions, so…

“Girl, leave the man alone,” Fran muses, but he’s serious as he turns to me. “She’s right though. Like, that self inflicted restraint can’t be healthy.”

“Yeah, like you are one to talk,” I reply flatly and take another sip of my beer, still not letting go of Emma’s hand. I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen Fran with someone, and I am sure as hell it’s only been random hookups with him anyway.

The thing is, I don’t want random hookups. I mean, I get as horny as the next guy, and I do feel lonely most of the time. But my last relationship was a disaster and I felt like being let out of prison once I broke up with him. It was fucking liberating and a year later I am still not ready to get back on the wagon. I guess, I prefer my ghost’s company over the next guy that I know I wouldn’t be as into as I want to be. My brain doesn’t work like that, like on some subconscious level I just don’t want to commit to anyone I come across, not really. Which is my entire problem and the source of my chronicle loneliness - I don’t want a hookup and I don’t want a relationship for the sake of it.

Usually, I keep it at bay, that constant buzz under my skin, that little voice in my head, telling me there should be more. More than settling down, more than work, and work, and work. That I am so desperately alone and I hate it, but yet again, I fail every relationship I come across. Every one of them, except what have with these two people sitting across the table from me.

“Anyway, forget it,” I tell my friends now. “But when that ghost kills me one of these nights, I am so coming back to haunt your asses.”

Emma snorts at that, but her grip on my fingers tightens. “Bri, I’m serious. If you don’t feel safe there, whatever the reason…”

“I know,” I nod. “Strangely, I do feel safe. It’s just weird is all I am saying.”

“Sure it’s weird…” Fran says, his eyes glazed over as he stares at me.

Suddenly, he seems really lost in thought and both me and Emma share a questioning look. Fran is a closed book though and rarely talks about himself, even with us who are indeed his only family. Doesn’t mean we don’t get to worry about him when he gets like this.

But he then blinks and snaps out of whatever it was with a large smile on his dark face and once again I am startled at how beautiful this man is. I mean, I am not ugly, but he’s just… pretty. Like an icon. Divine and ethereal, the fucker.

Fran lifts a finger as if to make me wait and then goes through his bag with quick motions, the cling of his many cuff bracelets filling me with calm once again.

He takes out some small velvet box with a little red bow on top of it and hands it to me.

“It was supposed to be my Christmas gift for you,” he says softly, his soft eyes hiding secrets I’d never learn, “but I guess if you have a ghost situation on your hands, you’d better have it now.”

Tilting my head in confusion and already curious as hell, I take the present and rip off the bow tie. Inside the box lies a pretty bracelet that is totally my stye with its intricate carvings, even if I don’t know what the complicated symbols mean.

“It’s enchanted,” Fran says with a wink. “For protection and good vibes.”

“You are giving me a cursed bracelet for Christmas? How blasphemous,” I muse with mock outrage as I put the thing on without even thinking about it. Give it to Fran to surprise you in the best way possible. “Thanks, love. It’s gorgeous. And if it’s going to keep that ghost away, even better. I’m never taking it off.”

Fran stares at my wrist with a strange expression.

“Well, you can take it off,” he clarifies. “Just be careful when you do it, alright? It might have side effects.”

Emma giggles. “Side effects like what?

He gives her the biggest side eye but when he speaks, it’s to the both of us. “Don’t worry about it.”

After the bar, I decide to walk back to my place. It’s just a few blocks away and it’s too late to wait for the bus anyway in this freezing weather. Better to move and get some warmth from the exertion, plus the wind would help me clear my head at least a little bit.

Fran’s bracelet still lays heavy on my wrist, making me feel just a bit calmer as it is kind of soothing to know I have some magical thing to ward off evil spirits, not that I usually believe in this shit, but it’s never too much to take precautions. Again, I don’t think the ghost in my house is evil, but still.

When I finally get back home, it’s cold inside. I haven’t been here since early this morning and I don’t make a habit of keeping the heat up when I am not home, but even like this, it’s too damn cold. Colder than outside. I’m pretty sure it’s not normal to see my breath puffing out of my mouth inside the house, right?

I move to turn up the heater almost to its limit and set to make some tea for myself to warm my chilly bones. It’s the beginning of November and the weather is already horrific. Like the old grandpa that I am not, I curse a little at the thought of the upcoming winter, and while the water boils I go to grab my comfy cardigan and my bunny slippers. Goofy, I know, but I do like my comfort and I won’t apologise for it. Plus, I am alone in here, nobody gets to see my quirkiness anyway.

While I wait, I move to the large white coach and start unpacking my equipment. I still have work to do, the so waited rest still slipping through my fingers until I’ve retouched today’s pictures and then developed them because I know it will be bugging me until I am done. Plus, it needs to be perfect anyway - I’m not loosing my new contract with that fancy magazine even if I don’t get to sleep as much as I wish. Or need.

Lost in work, I jump in my seat when the long howl of the kettle boiling fills the empty space.

“Fuck,” I murmur through clenched teeth and go make my cup of tea, hating how cold I still am.

Didn’t I turn the heat on? Because when I go check, it’s at eighteen degrees and I am sure I put it to twenty-five like half an hour ago.

“You’re gone freeze my ass to death, aren’t you?” I ask my ghost, but of course no answer comes.

That’s when I hear it. The floorboards creaking right there in the kitchen area. It’s not my upstairs neighbour - I don’t have one. It’s not somewhere in the building, period. It’s fucking here.

With my heart pounding like crazy in my chest, I move toward the sound, determined to get to the bottom of it. I’m not crazy and I am not imagining it and I’ve got work to do, so…the quicker the usual doze of haunting for the night stops, the better.

The creaking fades as I get closer, but only because the steps, yeah, that’s right, the steps of the invisible person in my kitchen move to the living room area, near my laptop and photographic equipment. I swear if he does something to my stuff…

But no, that’s not where he’s headed. With wide eyes I trace the sound as it goes to the bathroom, the door screeching open in front of my eyes. I freeze. In movement I mean.

There’s this faint scent of melting wax coming from there, and the lights spilling out of the bathroom dance on the walls, like someone lit up candles inside.

Holding my breath, I grab the metal bat I keep near the front door and move cautiously forward. I probably look ridiculous, but I don’t care. Whoever’s inside my bathroom, I am done letting them mess with me. And there is definitely someone in there. I can hear the spill of water from the bath tub, I can smell the fucking candles and I am pretty sure no fucking ghost is capable of doing this much.

So, I walk towards the bathroom and look through the crack, holding my breath as my hadnds clutch tightly to the bat. My heart definitely skips a beat. There’s a man there. A living, breathing, large as fuck man, sitting in my vintage bath tub, the soft candle light dancing over his tanned, gorgeous skin. His chest is covered in thick dark hair, wet with the water and oils, and my mouth salivates at the view, despite of how fucked up and straight up bizarre this situation is. There’s a stranger laying unbothered in my bath tub and instead of chasing his crazy ass with the bat, I am drooling over his masculine as hell body. And he just lays there, unbothered, head snapped back and bliss written all over his beautiful, chizzled face as he softly hums in pleasure.

That’s when I notice his hand wrapped around his dick in the water, fingers moving slowly up and down his shaft. He’s hard, alright? Hard and moaning and for a moment I am dumbfounded. All I can do is stare at him wide eyed. My mouth goes dry and I am mesmerised when his hips buck forward and he starts to fuck faster into his fist.

Holding the bat tighter, I raise it over my head and rush inside the small space, determined not to let this madness go further.

“Who are you and what the hell are you doing in my fucking bathroom?”