Queer Ghost Stories Volume Six

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

One station to go before Jonathan's stop. He glanced at the subway map and asked, “Do you want me to come home with you, or...?”

“No,” Ben said. Such a small word, but hard to interpret. His tone rose and then fell, all in the course of one syllable.

“No?” Jonathan asked, just to be sure.

“No,” Ben replied, more resignedly this time. “I think I'd rather be alone tonight. Yeah, I would. I'd rather be alone. I'll clean up all the... all Bella's stuff, the litter box and all that.”

Jonathan stood from his seat before saying, “I can come over if you want me to, only I have work in the morning. Shift starts at five.”

Ben hissed the way he always did when Jonathan mentioned his start time: inconceivably early for anyone but a barista. “No, you stay at your place. I'll be fine. Really.” Reaching for Jonathan's hand, Ben said, “Thanks for being with me when... you know. Bella. Thanks for being there.”

Jonathan's heart slumped. He knew he hadn't been the best support in the world. He never really knew what to say.

Case in point: he told Ben, “At least the worst of it's over now.”

Ben didn't seem to agree, but he didn't actively disagree. He just nodded and squeezed Jonathan's hand as the subway pulled into the station. “See you... when I see you.”

“Yup,” Jonathan replied, pulling away and exiting the train before the doors could trap him in.

Fresh air had never come as such a relief. He felt like he'd been locked in a dank basement for hours. Outside, humidity was taking over, but it was still better than the subway. No, the subway wasn't to blame. It was Ben. He was just so uncomfortable in the aftermath of Bella's medically-induced death. What could Jonathan do or say to make things better?

Nothing. Nothing at all.

When he opened the door to his apartment, an acrid smell hit him hard in the face. He knew that smell well. It was the aroma of Ben's apartment.

Cat pee.

But why would Jonathan's place smell so bad? And so strong! He couldn't overstate the sharpness of that aroma.

Could Bella... was Bella...?

No. Ridiculous. Bella was no longer a cat of the earthly plane.

Well, that was exactly it: she'd escaped her mortal bonds. She was running loose in the ether. She could go anywhere, do anything, pee in any apartment she liked.

“Stop it,” Jonathan told himself, speaking out loud to drive the point home. “There's no such thing as ghost cats. There's no such thing as ghosts. Just stop.”

Still, there was that smell...

Jonathan crept inside his own apartment as if he expected a burglar to pop out from behind the bed. Where was that smell coming from? It was awful, and so dreadfully strong.

Wait. Wait. He was getting carried away. There had to be a reasonable explanation for the smell, and there was. He knew exactly where the rank odour was coming from. Well, not exactly, but at least vaguely.

There'd been a week—not even a week; four days—when Ben went on a trip with his brother. He'd ask Jonathan to cat sit. Bringing Bella to his place seemed to make the most sense. To Jonathan. Not to Ben. Ben thought it would upset the old girl to be trundled off to an unfamiliar apartment. She had seemed frightened, at first, but soon enough she cozied in beneath the TV stand. It must have been warm there, or maybe she just felt secure and protected.

Bella had been very well-behaved. She barely made a peep throughout her stay. But did she make a pee? Jonathan hadn't thought so at the time, but the weather was cold then. It was winter. The apartment had stayed pretty chilly throughout the spring. Jonathan's windows were all in shadow, blocked from the sun by a big condo building that went up between his high-rise and the source of all life on earth.

Maybe Bella had peed somewhere after all. Maybe she'd peed on the area rug or the couch, or even on the parquet floor. Maybe it had seeped in during the cold weather and vanished without a smell.

Now that the weather was hot and the humidity had found its way indoors, the scent re-emerged. That's what must have happened. Made perfect sense. Humidity brings all the smells to the yard.

There. He'd explained the putrid scent. Now all he had to do was find it.

With a bucket of soapy water in one hand and a rag in the other, Jonathan made his way to the TV unit. This wasn't how he'd planned to spend his evening. His stomach groaned with hunger, but he wanted to get this done first. No time like the present.

He washed under the TV unit. In fact, he washed all the floors. On his hands and knees. He rolled up the area rug and put it in the bathtub, filled the tub with water. It could have been dirt or it could have been pee, but something leeched out of it. Looked like dye. Maybe it was. This probably wasn't the right way to wash a rug, but he had no other tools at his disposal.

With a damp sponge, he wiped down the couch, sniffing the slack, threadbare fabric with every pass. Did the couch smell bad? Well, sure. But did it smell like cat pee? Hard to say. After a while, he couldn't tell what he was smelling.

It was almost bedtime. He'd spent the entire evening cleaning up after a dead cat. Thanks a bunch, Bella. His stomach gurgled, and he grabbed a bowl of corn flakes. Not much else to eat. When he got to work in the morning, he would gorge himself on day-old lemon loaf and whatever else the closing staff had squirrelled away for him. They looked out for each other, Jonathan and his fellow baristas. None of them could afford to buy the drinks they served.

What really burned him was the high school girls from the private academy, spending twenty bucks on breakfast and throwing half of what they bought in the trash when they dawdled off to class. What did they care? It was Daddy's money.

And never a tip. Never a tip. One bite out of an apple fritter and it goes in the trash, but never a tip.

Jonathan drank the remaining milk from his bowl, then set it in the sink. He would sleep well tonight. It had been a long day.

As he made his way to the bathroom, something darted across his path. He only saw it out of the corner of his eye, but it stopped him in his tracks.

What was that? Something small and dark and close to the floor. Mice? Rats? What? He had friends whose apartments were infested with vermin, but he'd never heard his neighbours mention seeing them here. His time had come, or so it seemed.

He tried to convince himself to move his legs, walk to the washroom, brush his teeth, but he just couldn't do it. Couldn't move. Whatever he'd just seen was so unsettling he couldn't stop staring at the floor.

Silently, he dared it to return.