It’s 3am, and I’m on my way to the bathroom, a usual night with the usual urge.
From out of the wall Myrtle drifts into the hallway as I wander by half asleep but aware of her.
She lingers there, her tresses and sheer gown billowing about her in a non-existent wind, but impressive all the same. In my mind I’m wondering how I might ask her that question, how is it she can conjure up such a spectacular sight.
Once her appearance scared the life out of me. It took a while to realise that Myrtle was as much a part of my house as I was. She doesn’t mean any harm, in fact, I’m convinced its company she craves as she is always about when I venture out at 3am, either that or she has some bizarre fixation on me, the bathroom and 3am.
I’ve looked into the history of my house. It was built in 1876 by Theo Waltz, a German immigrant who sold perfume from out of the front room. The only unusual account I can find is that of a woman who died in the house during a flood in 1922.
The paper at the time wrote up the story as a woman caught unawares by the rising water and unable to escape the house in time.
So if my ghost is this woman I feel sad she’s stuck here, with me while I go on about my life. Though I figure acknowledging her is the least I can do.
Written for: https://fivedotoh.com/2019/03/11/fandangos-flash-fiction-challenge-4/
Morpethroad 
Such a presence is always best acknowledged. In a previous house where I used to live, I always acknowledged the ‘presence’ (neighbours told that previous occupiers had found said presence disturbing) And so it was disturbing … when I realised the presence always occurred 2 or 3 days after heavy rain, and that that part of the house was built over an olc chalk pit, and that we had subsidence. 🙂
Did you ever discover what the story might have been about the ‘disturbance’?
Sure did. The outer wall passed over an old chalk pit. When it rained, the infill of that pit rettled just that little bit ,more. The chlak lay beneath less than 6″ of topsoil in parts pf the garden.
Liked this Michael. Even spirits get lonesome.
Yes they may well be a lot like the rest of us.