George the friendly ghost

“What room are you in?” I asked Tshiamo. We were lounging outside of Oriel by the bench that sat under an oak tree. It was the first day back in Grahamstown for our second year and we were waiting to be let into our rooms.

“No idea.” She shrugged, “I think I’m on third floor, I saw your name too.”

“I’m on second floor.” Myticia piped up as she took a drag of her cigarette. “Megan’s on third floor as well.”

“Aw,” I teased. “You’re the odd one out.”

“Wait,” Mirren shot her arms out and looked at everyone. “What room am I in?”

“I’m not sure.” Myticia answered with a frown.

“I didn’t see your name on third floor.” Tshiamo added.

“No.” Mirren’s eyes widened. “Please, no.” Jumping up and, almost tripping over her own feet, Mirren ran inside of the house.

“What was that about?” I asked while watching the door slam shut with a violent click.

No one really knew. Five minutes later Mirren came storming out, her fair face tinged pink with outrage.

Mirren threw her hands up in the air and exclaimed: “Of course I get the fucking dungeon!”

Some context: The ‘dungeon’ is a friendly term for three rooms on the ground floor my residence that were, for a lack of a better metaphor, crammed into a dark corner which received no natural light and froze your ass off in winter. Mirren, having the same amount of luck as someone who turned 98 and won the lottery but died the next day, got a room in this dungeon. All in all, it wasn’t the worst experience. Except, maybe, meeting George.

“Did you hear that?” I asked looking at Mirren. Her room was bathed in a warm soft light that emanated from her fairy lights above us. We were huddled up under blankets, fending off Grahamstown’s sordid winter while watching Grey’s Anatomy when a faint squeaking sound caught my attention.

“Hear what?” Mirren asked, still staring at her laptop screen as Christina cut open someone new.

The squeaking sounded again, and I jumped up. “Dude, that. What is that?”

“You’re being paranoid.” Mirren waved her hand in the air and put the volume louder.

Pursing my lips I let it go. Life was dandy until her bedroom door swung open, with no one there to open it. Mirren and I looked at each other.

“Was there a wind?” I asked.

“I don’t think so.” She replied slowly. “It’s fine, go close the door.”

“No way am I touching the possessed door.”

“Kylie, it’s fine.” Mirren rolled her eyes and went up to shut the door. When it closed her window dropped closed as well.

“We’re going to die.” I cried as I stared at the window. Mirren froze, her eyes wide as well.

From then on, lights flickered, doors opened, doors locked, and no one knew why.

“It’s George.” I said one day as we all sat in Mirren’s room.

“Who?” Myticia frowned.

“George. George the ghost.”

“George?” Mirren asked.

“Yes, George.”

“Why George?”

“Why not George?”

And so, the ghost haunting Mirren was George.

“What is taking Mirren so long?” Tshiamo asked as she applied her lipstick in front of the mirror in the corridor.

“She went to go shower.” I answered as I scrolled through my Facebook feed, leaning against the wall, all prepped and ready to go to the Drag show.

“What the fuck?” A shout went down the corridor and Tshiamo and I frowned at each other and went to investigate.

There, in a towel and dripping hair, was Mirren with a scowl etched onto her face. “Did you guys lock my door?” Tshiamo and I looked at each other again and shrugged.

“We haven’t been in your room.”

“Maybe it was George.” Mirren sent me a death stare because as ridiculous as it may sounds, although Mirren moved rooms, George moved with her. Her room locked by itself, weird sounds bumped in the night, and items disappeared and reappeared.

So there Mirren sat for half an hour in her towel outside her door, waiting for a sub-warden to unlock her door. “Maybe George didn’t like the fact that you were leaving him for the night.”

“Not funny Kylie.” My humour was, and has, never been appreciated.

I wish I could say our George adventures had ended the day we moved out of Oriel but no, our digs had just become as haunted as the dungeon.

“Mbali?” I called out one morning.

“Yeah?”

“Have you seen my toothbrush anywhere?”

“…No?” The confused reply came.

“Shit.” I mumbled as I searched the bathroom flabbergasted. This toothbrush was nowhere to be found and my digsmates all thought I was going insane.

“I am telling you it was there the night before!” I defended myself.

“Maybe it was George.” Mirren said.

“Why would George take my toothbrush, I need my toothbrush.”

“Maybe because we call him George?” Myticia pointed out. “We went to an all girl’s residence. How do we know he isn’t a she?”

“My toothbrush was pink…” I grumbled.

The next morning Mbali’s shout woke me up.

“GEORGE.”

Her pink toothbrush was missing.

Georgia strikes again.