Chapter 2: Poltergeist or Content Creator? ''
597 Words
Chapter 2: “Poltergeist or Content Creator?”
Jamie woke to the sound of his own voice shouting, “LIKE AND SUBSCRIBE, LOSERS!”
He shot up, heart pounding. His eyes darted around the room. The lights were off, the curtains flapped gently though the window was shut, and the air smelled faintly of cinnamon and broken dreams.
His laptop sat open at the foot of his mattress, camera still recording.
“What the—?”
> “Morning, sunshine!” came the ghost’s voice from his Bluetooth speaker. “Your t****k debut hit 80K views overnight. You’re officially more popular dead than you ever were alive.”
“I’m not dead!”
> “Tragic, really. Think of the engagement if you were.”
Jamie dragged himself to the screen. His jaw dropped.
There, in high-definition, was a video of him sleep-talking, drooling slightly, and mumbling something about “marrying a rotisserie chicken.” Edited, of course, with flashy captions, dubstep music, and the ghost’s own commentary.
@BooBitch_Official:
“Roommate’s sleep game is wild. He dreams in full meals. #hauntedAF #roommatefails #rotisseriegoals”
Comments flooded the page.
@WitchyWoman99: “Omg is your roommate single??”
@HauntedAndHot: “This ghost is a vibe.”
@PoltergeistStan420: “This is the content we NEED.”
Jamie slapped the laptop shut. “You filmed me?!”
> “Relax. I gave you credit! Tag and everything.”
“You tagged me as ‘@sadladjamie’!”
> “You’re welcome.”
Later that day, Jamie tried to set some ground rules. He wrote them on a whiteboard.
1. No filming me asleep.
2. No posting without permission.
3. No haunting during bathroom time.
The ghost appeared—well, shimmered faintly like a bad hologram—and scoffed.
> “I’m not some frat bro with a GoPro. I’m a ghost with aesthetic.”
Jamie blinked. “You’re semi-transparent and wearing a hoodie that says ‘Boo Felicia.’”
> “Exactly.”
He paced around the apartment like a director on set. “We could monetize this whole thing. Think about it: haunted cooking tutorials, ghost reaction videos, Ouija unboxings. I even made a theme song!”
A musical sting played on the speaker:
“He’s dead, he’s loud, he’s stuck in a cloud—It’s Ghostie!”
Jamie groaned. “Ghostie? That’s your name?”
> “Technically it’s Bartholomew Z. Specterfield, but Ghostie has better branding.”
That night, Ghostie floated upside down, editing clips in mid-air while Jamie stared at the ceiling.
“Why are you doing all this?”
> “I got bored. Eternity is long, man. Do you know how many seasons of Grey’s Anatomy there are?”
“Too many?”
> “Exactly. Also, I have a goal.”
Jamie sat up. “Which is?”
> “To become the first ghost verified on TikTok.”
Jamie blinked. “That’s... disturbingly modern.”
> “I’m a ghost, not a caveman.”
The door suddenly slammed shut on its own. The lights flickered. A wind whooshed through the room.
Jamie shivered. “Was that—?”
> “Oh, ignore that. That’s Brenda. She lives in the toaster.”
“The toaster?”
> “Yeah. She’s passive-aggressive and only haunts gluten.”
As Jamie buried himself under the covers, he realized two things:
1. He was now living with a ghost who cared more about clout than the afterlife.
2. He’d probably end up famous or possessed—or both.
And, weirdly enough...
He wasn’t totally mad about it.
- Writer
