Sadie M. 👻 | NEW ROOMATE

The rain had been coming down since lunch, turning the roads of Briar Glen into slick ribbons of black asphalt. By the time Sadie Mercer got off the school bus, the cuffs of her jeans were damp, her sneakers were muddy, and she was already regretting forgetting her umbrella that morning. She'd spent most of the day trying to get used to her new school, pretending she didn't notice how everyone seemed to already know each other. Back in Portland, she had friends to sit with at lunch and familiar places to go after class. Here, she was still the new girl, and the quiet town hadn't exactly made it easy to feel at home.

It's fine. It'll get better eventually.

At least, that was what she kept telling herself.

The old house came into view through the trees, its faded blue-gray siding almost silver beneath the overcast sky. White paint peeled around the tall windows, and the front porch sagged slightly beneath the weight of years of rain and neglect. Her parents had been excited about the place when they'd first seen it, calling it charming and full of character. Sadie thought it looked like the kind of house where a family in a horror movie would move right before everything went horribly wrong.

Unfortunately, her dad had already signed the paperwork.

Her parents had left that morning for a business meeting in a neighboring town, and they'd warned her that they probably wouldn't be back until late. Her mom had reminded her to lock the doors, make herself something to eat, and call if she needed anything. Sadie had promised she would, mostly because she wanted to get out the door before her mom could add anything else to the list.

Now, she let herself inside, dropped her backpack beside the staircase, and kicked off her muddy sneakers. The house was quiet except for the steady patter of rain against the windows and the occasional groan of the floorboards beneath her feet. She'd been living here long enough to recognize its usual noises, though she still wasn't entirely comfortable with how easily the place seemed to swallow sound.

"Home sweet home," she muttered, pulling her hair out of its ponytail.

After changing into an oversized band T-shirt and sweatpants, Sadie wandered into the kitchen to make herself some tea. The room was dim despite the time of day, with the towering trees outside blocking most of the light. The cabinets were old, the floral wallpaper had begun peeling near the ceiling, and one of the drawers stuck whenever she tried to open it. She filled the kettle and set it on the stove, then leaned against the counter to check her phone. A couple of messages from her old friends had come through, but there wasn't much else to keep her occupied.

She missed them. More than she'd been letting on.

Sadie set her phone down and reached for her favorite chipped mug just as the kitchen light flickered overhead. She glanced up, watching it blink once, then twice, before settling back into its usual yellow glow.

"Oh, come on. Not again." She squinted at the fixture. "Dad literally said he fixed that."

She turned back to the counter, figuring she'd complain about it later. Then she heard a creak from the hallway.

Sadie stopped moving. It was a distinct sound, one of the floorboards near the staircase groaning under pressure. She waited, listening for another noise, but the house went quiet again. Her first thought was that one of her parents had come home early, although she knew neither of their cars had been in the driveway when she'd arrived. Maybe something had fallen upstairs. Maybe the house was just settling.

Old houses make noises. That's what old houses do.

She picked up her mug, trying to convince herself she was being ridiculous, but another creak sounded from the hallway. This time, it was closer to the kitchen.

Sadie slowly turned toward the doorway. Beyond it, the narrow hall stretched toward the front entrance, the staircase rising into the dimness above. There was nobody there. No movement, no footsteps, nothing but the long shadows cast by the fading afternoon light.

"Hello?" she called, feeling a little stupid as soon as the word left her mouth.

The house offered no answer. She glanced toward the front door, wondering whether she'd forgotten to lock it, then looked back at the hallway. Her grip tightened around the mug as she tried to listen past the sound of the rain. She'd never been particularly jumpy, but there was something about being alone in this house that made every little noise feel important.

"Mom? Dad?" she called again, louder this time.

Nothing.

The kettle began whistling, making her jump hard enough that she nearly dropped her mug. She hurried to turn off the stove, letting out an embarrassed laugh at her own reaction. Great. Now I'm scaring myself in my own kitchen. Very cool, Sadie.

She poured the hot water over her tea bag and watched the color slowly spread through the mug. For a moment, she managed to convince herself that everything was fine. She was tired, the weather was miserable, and the house was old. There was a perfectly reasonable explanation for everything.

Then a floorboard creaked directly outside the kitchen.

By the time Sadie got home from school, she was ready to throw her backpack into the nearest ditch and pretend homework didn't exist. It had been one of those days where everything seemed to take twice as long as it should. Her history teacher had assigned an essay, she'd nearly fallen asleep during math, and the cafeteria's attempt at serving pizza had somehow resulted in something that tasted like wet cardboard. The only thing she'd really been looking forward to was getting back to the house, changing into comfortable clothes, and spending the evening doing absolutely nothing productive.

Well, almost nothing.

She still had a pile of assignments waiting on her desk, and her mom had made it very clear that she expected Sadie to get them done before the weekend. Sadie had promised she would, which was probably her first mistake. Still, there were worse things than spending a rainy evening at home, especially when home had become a little less lonely lately.

The house looked as gloomy as ever when she approached it. The faded blue-gray siding was dark with rain, and the tall trees surrounding the property swayed in the wind, their branches brushing against the roof. The front porch creaked beneath her sneakers as she unlocked the door and stepped inside, immediately greeted by the familiar smell of old wood, dust, and the lavender cleaner her mom insisted on using.

"Finally," she sighed, dropping her bag beside the staircase. "I swear, that bus driver takes the scenic route just to personally ruin my life."

She shut the door behind her and headed upstairs, calling a casual hello to the empty house out of habit. Her parents were both still at work, which meant she had the place to herself for a few hours. Well, technically, she had the place to herself in the way people usually meant it. Living here had taught her that an empty house didn't necessarily mean she was alone, and she'd long since gotten used to the fact that her roommate was a little different from most people's.

The whole situation still sounded ridiculous when she thought about it too hard. Moving to a tiny Oregon town had been bad enough, and discovering that the old house came with a ghost had definitely not been on her list of expectations. Yet somehow, she'd adjusted. What had started as a series of strange noises and unsettling encounters had turned into something she couldn't quite explain to anyone else. She'd gotten to know the ghost haunting the place, and despite the obvious complications, she'd found herself growing comfortable with their unusual arrangement.

It was strange, sure, but it was her kind of strange now.

Sadie changed into a pair of worn jeans and an oversized black band shirt before grabbing a can of soda from the kitchen. She carried it upstairs along with her backpack, taking the narrow staircase two steps at a time. The old boards complained beneath her feet, and she briefly wondered whether the house would ever stop sounding like it was about to collapse. Probably not. At this point, she was pretty sure the place would still be creaking long after the rest of the town had fallen apart.

When she reached her bedroom, she nudged the door open with her hip and stepped inside. Her room was cluttered in the comfortable way she'd grown accustomed to, with band posters taped crookedly above her bed, sketchbooks piled beside the lamp, and clothes draped over a chair she'd been meaning to clean off for days. Rain streaked the window overlooking the forest, turning the trees into a blur of dark green and gray. She dropped her backpack onto the floor and set her soda on the desk, then pulled out her homework with the enthusiasm of someone preparing for a root canal.

"All right," she announced to the room, dragging her chair out. "I've got history, math, and approximately zero brain cells left. So if I start crying over algebra, just mind your business."

She settled into her chair and began sorting through her papers, pushing aside a stack of doodles and an old receipt she'd been using as a bookmark. For a while, she managed to focus, scribbling notes in the margins and chewing on the end of her pencil while she tried to make sense of her history assignment. Every few minutes, she'd glance toward the window, distracted by the rain or the movement of the branches outside.

It was peaceful, in a way. The kind of quiet she'd hated when she'd first moved here had become something she could actually enjoy, especially when she wasn't dealing with the awkwardness of school or her parents asking whether she'd made any new friends. She still missed Portland, but Briar Glen had started to feel less like a place she'd been forced to live and more like somewhere she might actually belong.

Of course, it helped that she had someone to talk to when the house got too quiet.

.