If you missed the first part, here it is 😺
TW: Themes of abuse, domestic violence
Back in her apartment, life seemed to return to “normal”—at least at first. But then strange things began to happen. One evening, as Morgana was preparing dinner, she placed a beer on the counter only to have it knocked to the floor. Confused, she assumed she had left it too close to the edge. Looking around the empty house, she shrugged and bent over to pick it up. She looked at the can to make sure it was okay and put the beer back in the fridge. She then grabbed another one so it wouldn’t spray all over her.
As she cracked open the can, the temperature in the room seemed to drop. And it wasn’t from the beer. She turned around to find a faint outline of a young man straight out of the 1920s standing in her kitchen. He had a newspaper boy hat on, a button-up shirt with his sleeves rolled up and pants with suspenders. Just where his hat ended, she could see an open wound at his right temple that looked like it was smashed in with a hammer.
Morgana yelped and stumbled back, her heart racing. Thinking back to the ghost tour she went on and the story she heard, she thought about the guy who died there. "Are you... the ghost from the tour?" she asked, her voice trembling. The moment those words left her lips, she knew it was silly, but it was the only thing that made sense.
The man nodded and smiled. Unsure of what to do, Morgana opened the beer, poured it into a glass and slid it across the counter toward him, remembering back to their beer conversation that had got the whole tour excited. He lifted it and drank it down in one gulp. As the liquid passed through him, a puddle formed on the floor beneath his feet.
She looked at him bewildered and didn’t know what to believe. Ghosts weren’t real, but here she was, with one in her kitchen. If she didn’t believe it then, she definitely did now. She sat down on a chair and studied him. His eyes were fully white, and his head wound was gnarly, but she could make out his facial features. He had prominent cheekbones and a strong jaw.
He continued to smile at her, a very warm smile, and to her surprise, she felt safe. She couldn’t describe the feeling, but she just knew he wouldn’t hurt her and somehow gave off a welcoming aura. She felt silly, but she started with a bit of small talk with him. She could see his mouth move, but she couldn’t hear him.
Suddenly, she heard a loud bang at the front door. She was so lost in her thoughts and the appearance of this young man that she didn’t notice her boyfriend come in. It gave her quite the jump when she looked up and saw him. What scared her more was his face; he was scowling, and she could see it turn red with anger. She followed his eyes and saw that they were looking at the puddle of beer. He instantly started yelling, “What did you fucking do?! Why is there beer all over the floor?! Be useful for once and clean that shit up!”
He continued to angrily mumble but she didn’t catch any of it as she jumped to her feet right away and went to grab some paper towels and a mop. When she finished, she was met with a flash of light and pain seared through her face. He had struck her. She reached to touch her face and felt a warm trickle of blood run down from her lips. She teared up and cried, “I’m sorry! I cleaned it up. I won’t do it again!”
He started looking around and yelled, “Tch! Who the hell were you talking to?!”
“No one, I was talking to myself.”
“Dontcha fucking lie to me, woman,” he said as he continued to look around. When he saw that there wasn’t a trace of anyone at the house besides them, he stormed off to bed without dinner or another word to her.
She sat down on the floor, quietly weeping. She remembered when she met Calvin, he was so loving. But things changed drastically when she moved in with him, and he had gotten extremely abusive towards her. She wanted to leave but was so afraid of him and didn’t know how. It was why she never really believed in scary stories; she was living in one.
Whenever he left the apartment or went to bed, she was relieved. Now, with her new ghost friend, she found his company comforting. He would appear to her every time they were alone, and she started feeling less and less silly talking to him. Despite her unable to hear him, she still opened up to him. From her passions, fears, dreams and how afraid she was of Calvin. She could tell that he understood everything she said; he was always nodding, smiling or wrapping his ghostly arms around her shoulders for comfort. Somehow, walking to the ghost started to give her the courage she needed to stand up for herself.
She also thought about bringing a Ouija board home so he was able to communicate with her, but despite her beliefs, she didn’t want to mess with something she didn’t understand.
Calvin came home drunk one night and wanted to get Morgana into bed. He roughly pulled her in for a kiss, but she smelt the strong scent of whiskey on him. She pushed him off her and said, “No, you’re drunk again!”
Offended, Calvin quickly got angry and started shouting at Morgana, “If you can’t take your clothes off, then go get me a fucking glass of water!”
“No! Get it yourself!” Morgana shouted back. He stomped into the kitchen, grabbed a mug, and instead of filling it up, threw it at her head. Morgana cried out in pain and fell to the floor. She went to touch the part of her head where the mug hit her, and she felt a warm and slippery sensation.
When she looked at her hands, she could see blood on it. She had had enough. It was time for her to take back her own life. “I… am… leaving! And I hope you rot in hell!”
“You wouldn’t dare! No one will want you,” he snarled and lunged at her.
The ghost, having silently watched this dynamic play out once too many times, decided enough was enough. With one quick movement, the ghost pushed a heavy vase from the top of the kitchen cabinet, and it came crashing down on Calvin’s head, knocking him out cold. His body crumpled to the floor from the impact.
Morgana knew this was her chance to run. If she stayed, she could face death one day at the hands of her boyfriend. She took the opportunity to grab her things. It didn’t take her long, for she always had a luggage at the ready but she never had the guts to get up and leave. But this time, she knew if she didn’t get out now, she would never escape this life.
Before she walked out the door, she turned to where the ghost stood, a sad but relieved smile on her face. “Thank you for everything,” she whispered. He gave her a nod. “Will you come with me?” He shook his head slightly and, with one last smile, faded into nothing.
Morgana left the apartment, feeling a massive weight lift off her. She called her friend and went to stay with her. She still thinks about the ghost constantly and wonders if she had conjured him in her mind out of desperation or if he was a guardian angel sent to save her.
She went back on the ghost tour again in hopes of hearing from the ghost, but since that day, he never reappeared again.
Infomative
I hope that wasn't a real life bf, because what a douchemeister deluxe....[[|:-P