Chapter 3: Toast Possession and Other Casual Tuesdays
589 Words
Chapter 3: “Toast Possession and Other Casual Tuesdays”
Jamie was trying to toast a bagel. That’s all he wanted. Just a normal, un-haunted, crispy-edged circle of comfort. But as soon as he pushed down the toaster lever, it popped back up and shot the bagel clean across the kitchen.
Ghostie floated in the corner, sipping what appeared to be a mug of ghost-coffee—essentially steam in a novelty cup that read “I Can’t Even (Because I’m Dead).”
> “Told you. Brenda doesn’t do gluten.”
Jamie retrieved the bagel from behind the microwave. “Brenda is a toaster demon. You live with a toaster demon. That doesn’t strike you as concerning?”
> “She prefers the term ‘appliance spirit.’ And no, Brenda’s harmless. Unless you use rye. Don’t use rye.”
The toaster rattled threateningly.
Jamie pointed at it. “I swear, if you launch anything else at my face, I will call a priest with holy Wi-Fi.”
The kitchen light flickered.
> “That’s her way of flipping you off,” Ghostie explained helpfully.
Jamie had just sat down with his non-toasted, sad bagel when Ghostie popped into his vision—literally. He floated through the table like it was made of jelly.
> “So I’ve been thinking.”
“That’s never good.”
> “We need a collaboration.”
“With who? I know, like, three people and one of them is my barista.”
> “Not with people—with ghosts. There’s a whole network of us. Spooky influencers. I already messaged @TheCrankyPhantom and @ScreamyBecky.”
“Those sound... deeply unwell.”
> “They’re iconic. Becky once screamed so loud she cracked a ring light.”
Jamie paused, slowly chewing his bagel. “Okay, let’s pretend I’m not hallucinating and actually living with a PR-hungry poltergeist. What’s my role in this?”
> “You’re my human. You give me relatability.”
“I’m barely relatable to myself.”
> “Exactly. Raw. Authentic. Sad bagel energy. The people eat that up.”
That evening, Jamie walked into the living room to find Ghostie setting up what could only be described as a séance-themed vlog shoot.
There were candles (fake, obviously), a ring light (haunted, probably), and a Ouija board being used as a cheese platter.
“You decorated our apartment like a Crate & Barrel fell on a séance,” Jamie muttered.
> “You’re welcome. Now grab the fake mustache.”
“…Why?”
> “It’s a disguise. We’re pranking Becky.”
One hour and seventeen ghostly jump scares later, Jamie had been hit with a flying sock, accidentally started following a ghost lifestyle coach named @EctoplasmAndChill, and somehow gone mildly viral for being “that one hot guy who screamed like a goat.”
By midnight, their new t****k—“We Tried Summoning a Demon But Got My Ex Instead (Gone Wrong)”—had hit 100K views.
Jamie slumped on the couch. “My parents think I’m studying accounting.”
> “You are calculating the risks of ghost clout. That’s kind of math.”
The toaster made a low growl.
“Brenda, not now.”
As the candles flickered and Jamie considered his life choices, Ghostie hovered nearby, humming the Ghostbusters theme on kazoo.
And somehow, in all the chaos, Jamie smiled.
Because for the first time in months, he wasn’t lonely.
He was haunted, confused, and toast-starved—but not lonely.
End of Chapter 3
- Writer
