Transgender and Non-binary Queer Ghost Stories

Ghost Gallery “Okay, people!” Dolina called out. “Gather ‘round, gather ‘round! I’ve got an announcement to make.” Xan fell into place while the gallery director rounded up her employees like baby chicks. Baby chicks in identical black shirts and slacks. Xan didn’t mind the uniform. Way better than what he had to wear at his old job slinging tacos for wasted teens at two in the morning. “Is everybody here?” Dolina asked the group. “I know it’s the end of the day and you’re anxious to get home, but I need to implore you...” Everyone groaned. Everyone but Xan. They all seemed to know what was coming. Lucky them. “Quiet down, now,” the gallery director went on. “As you all know, the infamously decadent Safiya Bhat has a show opening tomorrow night.” Every cell in Xan’s body tingled when he heard that name. Safiya Bhat was huge in the art world, especially in his circle of friends. Being trans himself, he couldn’t help but root for a modern artist who’d transitioned in such a public way. Xan was a pretty private person. He could never have done what Safiya Bhat did. Dolina went on to say, “This is a huge opportunity for us. With her work on show, we’re bound to draw in a younger, more avant garde clientele. Problem is, dear Safiya is known for delivering her product at the last possible second. We were supposed to have it days ago. We still haven’t seen a single piece.” There were a few groans around the room, and for some reason Xan felt personally responsible for the artist’s failings. “I just got off the phone with Safiya,” Dolina continued. “She promised me she’d deliver it herself, but she won’t get here until two in the morning.” “Why doesn’t she bring it tomorrow—at a normal time, like a normal person?” some guy asked. Xan had been introduced all around, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember everybody’s names. A pretty little brunette replied, “Artists aren’t normal people.” That joke fell pretty flat, considering almost everyone who worked at the gallery was also an aspiring artist. Read the room, sister! Dolina said, “Apparently Safiya’s got a plane to catch. She only has this brief window of time to drop off her work. It’s inconvenient for us, I realize, but she’s a big name, these days. We’re going to have to cater to her.” Someone across the room said, “Let me guess: you’re asking one of us to stay late?” “I would do it, obviously,” Dolina replied. “But I’ve got the baby at home. I’ve got family responsibilities.” “Bring your baby here,” the guy across the room suggested. Dolina popped a hip. “Are you kidding me? I ain’t bringing my baby to no haunted gallery.” Haunted gallery? Wait, what? Xan glanced around, but nobody else seemed surprised by this information. It was old news to them, from what he could gather. “I’ll do it for double time,” someone offered. Dolina raised a brow. “Keep dreaming, Dempsey.” Xan stepped forward and raised his hand. “I’ll do it.” The room fell silent. “Oh,” Dolina said. “Xan, I couldn’t ask you to take on this level of responsibility.” “But I’d get to meet Safiya Bhat, right?” “Well, yes. You’d be taking the delivery.” “Okay,” Xan said eagerly. “I can do that.” Dolina didn’t seem so sure. “You just started working here, Xan. I’d have to give you the code to lock up.” “You can trust me,” Xan replied. “I was a key holder at Taco Palace. And I worked the night shift, so you know I won’t fall asleep.” “Nobody could fall asleep in this place,” somebody whispered. “Too creepy at night.” The little pixie brunette came up beside Xan and said, “I’ll stay with him. I don’t mind the ghosts.” Xan looked at the girl. She seemed young, but maybe that’s just because she was short. Her skin was very white and her hair was chestnut brown in a classic cut that curled just under her ears. She was dressed just like everybody else, but there was something about her that seemed a little different. All the other employees at the gallery seemed really cynical and narcissistic. This girl came off innocent in comparison. “Well, I’m in a jam,” Dolina said. “Okay, Xan, you’ll have to do. Thanks for the offer. Everybody else, you’re released. Enjoy your freedom, and I’ll see you tomorrow to set up for Safiya’s big show.” Everyone took off except for Xan and the brunette, who stuck close by him while Dolina explained what to do when the artist arrived and how to lock up when he left. The weird thing was that this brunette girl had to have worked at the gallery for longer than him, and yet Dolina addressed all the instructions to Xan. Maybe it was part of his training. Maybe this pixie girl already knew how to take a delivery and lock up. By the time Dolina left the gallery, the place was down to mood lighting. Other employees had turned out most of the lights. All that was left were the faint emergency ones in the hallways. “Well,” his pixie companion said, bouncing forward on her toes. “I guess it’s just you and me.” “I hope you’re right about that,” Xan replied. She c****d her head like she didn’t understand. “All those other employees. They didn’t want to work late. They said the gallery was haunted. Obviously you’re not too concerned or you wouldn’t have stayed with me.” “Oh, I’m not worried about ghosts,” the girl said, hugging Xan’s arm flirtatiously. “I’ve got a big strong Xan to protect me.” Xan rolled his eyes. Big and strong were not words he would generally use to describe himself. Tall, sure. Lanky, definitely. Beanpole, yes that too. “This is really embarrassing,” Xan said, cautiously extracting his arm from hers. “But I don’t remember your name. I’m really sorry. I’ve just met so many new people in such a small space of time.” “Oh, that’s okay,” the girl replied. “I’m not even sure we were properly introduced. I’m Gracie. I’ve worked here... oh, a pretty long time compared to some people. We lose a lot of employees here, because of the ghosts.” Hard to believe she’d worked at the gallery for long. She looked like a teenager. Early twenties at a push. But, then again, some people looked young right into their thirties. Maybe Gracie was that type. “If you’ve worked here for a while,” Xan asked, “have you seen these ghosts?” Gracie shook her head so adamantly her short hair swung side to side. “No, never. Heard them, yes. Never seen them.” An unexpected chill ran down Xan’s spine. “You’ve heard them? What have you heard?” A faintly maternal smile crossed Gracie’s lips, like he was a little kid who’d just asked a stupid question. “You’ll find out soon enough,” she said. “Nobody’s ever worked late here at the gallery without at least hearing something.” The chill that had started in Xan’s spine moved down his thighs. Suddenly his skin felt very cold. Very cold. He tried to brush his hands down his sides, but his hands were even colder than his legs. This was massively weird. “I heard someone say you’re trans,” Gracie told him. “That’s cool.” Xan tried to shrug, but it turned into a shiver. “I yams what I yams.” “Is that why you want to meet Safiya Bhat?” Gracie asked. “She’s trans too.” To any other person he’d just met, Xan probably would have said he respected her as an artist, but Gracie didn’t seem judgemental in any way. She just seemed like a totally authentic, honest person. So Xan was honest too. He said, “It’s so cool that Safiya Bhat was able to transition publicly and she didn’t lose her fan base. If anything, she got more famous the more out she was. I find that really... encouraging.” Gracie smiled the sort of smile that made Xan respond in kind. She then said, “I’m glad you get to meet someone who inspires you. I’m glad I get to be here for it.” Xan couldn’t help wondering if this pixie girl had a little crush on him, but maybe he was flattering himself. Maybe she was just a nice person. You don’t meet a lot of genuinely nice people in an art gallery. Or at a Taco Palace, for that matter. Just as he was trying to think up a question to ask about the ghosts that were supposedly haunting his new workplace, the distinct sound of footsteps echoed overhead. Hard-soled shoes on a creaky wooden floor. No mistaking it. Gracie looked casually at the ceiling. Someone was walking around upstairs. With a nervous laugh, Xan said, “I didn’t realize anyone was still here. I thought we were alone in the building.” “We are,” Gracie replied. She must have been pulling his leg. Right? He looked straight at her, and she looked back at him, her expression blank. “You’re joking, right? This is a trick you play on the new guy? Get him to work late, tell him the place is haunted. Haha, very funny. You got me. Now who’s upstairs?” “No one,” she said in all sincerity. “We did a sweep of the building with Dolina. You know there’s no one here.” He couldn’t be absolutely sure of that. Someone could easily have been hanging out in the bathroom all this time, just waiting for a chance to scare the new hire. The gallery turned quiet. Too quiet. Xan couldn’t even hear the buzzing of those emergency lights in the hallway. They were on. He could see them glowing. But he couldn’t hear them like he could before. He couldn’t even hear traffic noise outside. He glanced toward the window. No cars on the road. No people walking the street. Like the whole world had just disappeared. A terrifying squeal cut through the silence. This time, Gracie jumped too. She clutched at her chest. Xan grabbed her arm. Maybe too hard. He felt her flinch and let go, but asked, “What was that?” Gracie held one finger against her lips. She didn’t move. Neither did he. There it was again! A screeching sound overhead. Xan knew just what it was, this time. That was the sound of furniture moving across the floor. Heavy furniture, like a dresser or a bookshelf or a bed. The noise was coming from directly overhead. And yet, when he pictured the rooms on the second storey, he couldn’t envision one with furniture in it. Had to be one of the cases. One of the cases that contained smalls, like tiny statuary or pottery or jewellery. “Someone’s gotta be up there,” Xan said. “Nobody else is here!” Gracie told him. “Everyone’s gone home!” “Then it must be a burglar.” “You mean an art thief?” “Whatever!” He tugged her arm. “Come on, we’ve gotta go confront the guy before he makes off with the gallery’s stuff!” Gracie held her ground, stayed put, but Xan had so much adrenaline rushing through his veins that he took the stairs by twos. His heart pounded in his throat as he gazed down the second floor hallway. There was a major viewing salon at the front end of the gallery. That was the room that would have been directly over their heads downstairs. That was the room where they’d heard heavy footsteps, where they’d heard furniture scraping the floors. He was scared as hell. No denying that. But he prepared himself for confrontation as he marched down the hall and into the second floor salon. What was he expecting to find? A cat burglar dressed all in black. What did he actually find? Nothing. No one. An empty room. And, what’s more, the salon was completely unfurnished. It didn’t contain any of those viewing cases he’d been picturing. Not even a bench for art lovers to sit on while they observed the paintings. Just moonlight bouncing off white walls, and modern art absorbing absent gazes. What could have made all that noise? Xan turned sharply. He gasped when he saw a figure standing in the salon entrance. “Sorry,” Gracie said. “Did I scare you?” “No,” he lied. “I just didn’t hear you coming.” “I know,” Gracie told him. “These floors are all underpadded or reinforced or whatever it’s called.” She walked across the room to show him what she meant. “See? No squeaks, no creaks.”