(Lonely Together, a short story about an antisocial ghosthunter and a timid entity finding companionship in one another.)

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"I seriously don't see it."

Rose groaned exasperatedly, shaking her head. "Why are you such a downer? Come on! This is a little known beauty among the community. If we do enough digging, we might pull up something extraordinary."

The two of you stood outside of starbucks, a drink in each hand. Of course, Rose got a pumpkin spice flavored drink; fall was always her favorite season, and Halloween was practically worshipped by the strawberry blond. She always managed to get the most insane decorations, pull the most impressive pranks, and, of course, throw the wildest costume parties.

And now here you were, holding onto yet another Halloween surprise from her.

It was a beat up, vintage Sony micro-cassette voice recorder.

"Rose, this is just an antique," you said with a shrug. If you can even call it that. How old are these things again?

"With history."

"Yes, Rose, of course it does. Everything has history."

"Y/N, my dear Y/N, this history could get us some good ol' mula," she said with a smirk on her face.

You frown, turning the device over in your hand. "W-what's so special about it?"

As always, when asked a simple question, Rose had a ten-minute speech that she had probably prepared before hand at the ready. "Well, you see, this is a Sony M-530V Microcassette handheld voice recorder from... uh... a long time ago. Anyways, the original owner used to do audio logs almost daily before he went missing. It's said that the logs showed a slow descent into madness, or maybe even possession."

You scoff, rolling your eyes disbelievingly. But Rose was not discouraged by your lack of faith.

"Of course, the tapes were taken away as evidence, but the recorder was left alone. After doing some research and chatting with Ms. Judith, I discovered multiple accounts from past owners that all had the same story; whenever they would try to use the device, a voice that didn't belong to the owners or anyone else present could be heard whispering in the background. Some say it sounds like its crying. But what really intrigued me was the detailed recollection of the last owner's experience with it. He said that after bringing the recorder home, he felt very uneasy about it, and developed a sense of paranoia whenever in the recorder's presence. The night before he sold it to Ms. Judith, the recorder started playing on its own. The voice of a man started to speak to him, but he couldn't make out what he was saying. The only words he heard were 'please' and 'run away'."

For a split second, you were able to lower your reaction down to a slow, disbelieving blink. "That is so fake it's not even funny."

Rose groaned, dragging her hand down her cheek in a dramatic gesture of impatience. "Okay, okay, whatever. I did not spend one-hundred thirty-seven dollars for you to complain."

"You paid how much for this?!"

"Just..." Rose pursed her lips and exhaled sharply out of her nostrils. "Give it a try, will you? For me?" She extended her hand out to you. Wound between her fingers was a plastic bag full of unused casette tapes.

Clack, clack. You always tapped your foot when nervous or irritated. Right now, it was most definitely irritation. "Fine." You reluctantly took the bag from her. "I will take this home with me. But when nothing happens, don't get angry at me."

A wide grin broke out on Rose's face. "Aw, thanks, buddy! I knew you would do it. So, the meeting on Friday. Are you coming?"

"Ehh..." you shrugged in a so-so gesture. "Maybe?"

"You missed last week, too!"

"I had... plans."

"Did that include lounging around on the couch and eating popcorn while you catch up on the latest episodes of Law and Order?"

Of course she knew that. If you think you can keep secrets well, you're wrong; Rose will find out about all of them. You sputter for a second before defending yourself. "I had a long week!"

She merely giggles and playfully punches your arm. "Whatever, loser. I really hope you come; we miss you."

I know you do, you want to sigh, but your lips remain tight. I miss you too.

"Well, I better get going," Rose says. "Don't wanna get caught in the rain!" She says her farewells while waving vigorously as she smiles on. She's always smiling. If she doesn't stop, one of these days you're going to go blind. You wave good-bye, and watch silently as she strolls away down the sidewalk.

And then it's just you and that ridiculous waste of money. You turn your head down to look at the worn device, your thumb slowly sweeping over numerous dents and cuts. Years worth of abuse dragged across your skin as you examined it, finding that there was even a bit of white paint speckled against the grey on one side.

With a sigh, you mutter, "You better be worth it."

Packing the recorder away in your backpack, you unlock your bike from the rack and hop on. You always did like the way the wind felt in your hair as you raced down the streets, lost in your thoughts. It was about a ten minute ride from Starbucks to your appartment if you were lucky. Some days it was almost twenty. Today seemed to be a good day. You even passed a stray cat on the way, whose fur happened to be black.

What happens if I cross it's path? you wonder as you pedal away. Is it reverse, then? Good luck? God, I could really use some of that.

Away you rode, down bustling streets and around hundreds of other people. As you guided your bike across the pavement, passing blurred faces, you wondered what they were all thinking. Where they were going, what plans they had for when they got there. You wondered if any of them had an odd day ahead of them, like you did; spending hours at your desk, trying to write college essays while researching some stupid voice recorder and the next haunted location your team would be visiting.

About ten minutes later, you arrived at your destination. That cliche brick appartment complex that many people thought of when they pictured someone attempting to live cheap in the city. Being a broke college student, it was pretty much impossible to afford anything besides your small, somewhat dingy apartment. Well, if you could get yourself to clean up a bit, maybe it wouldn't look like that, but it seemed you just never had time.

Unless it's Friday night, and I'm staying home, in my pajamas, with a bowl of popcorn for crime shows, you think to yourself. I really need to get my priorities straight.

And so began your reluctant climb up two flights of stairs, up to the third floor. It was always a pain having to drag your bike along with you, but after two long years, you'd gotten used to it. When you saw the door to your small home, you breathed a sigh of relief. Even though you hated it here, it was better than being outside. No one could bother you here.

The off-white door swung inward with a loud, distressed creak. Light from the hallway poured in over the wooden floor, illuminating the layer dust and dirt coated over the boards. You stepped into the dark entryway, flicking on the light with a tired hand. You kicked off your shoes, leaning your bike against the wall. With one hand wrapped tight around the strap of your backpack, you trudged out into the small kitchen and turned on the lights. The ugly green walls towered over you, bearing holes and stains in some areas. None of which were your doing. Well, you did scratch the wall once, but it wasn't that bad... right?

You sighed and swung your backpack onto one of four empty chairs around the circular table in your kitchen, which tipped slightly due to having a short leg. This issue was mostly fixed with a tiny, empty container of what once contained lotion holding up the crooked leg.

"Alright..." Unzipping the backpack, you pulled out your laptop, the bag of cassette tapes, and the recorder, setting all of the items on the scratched table. "I guess I've got some work to do."

You dug the cassettes out of the bag. As you pull out one after the other, you realize there must be at least twenty-five of these things, if not thirty.

"Jesus, Rose," you mutter. "I don't need this many just to-" Something fragile makes contact with your fingers. Paper. You frown; it doesn't feel like a receipt. You pull it out, revealing a small, hand-made notebook about the size of your palm, held together by three staples. The words "Ethan Nestor's Voice Recorder" stained the cover with dark blue ink. Of course, a small heart was scribbled onto it as well.

Well, that's considerate, you thought as you flipped the book open. Rose's handwriting covered much of the tiny pages, listing various resources and notes written in chickenscratch. "You could've just done this all yourself, Rose."

However, if she had, then she wouldn't have an excuse to rope you into the meeting.

Very clever, you thought as you opened up your laptop. "Alright, what've we got?"

It was a pretty fruitless expedition. With such little online presence, it seemed any facts on Ethan Nestor came from questionable sources. Almost all of the sites Rose had listed had facts that differed greatly from one another. Some said that Ethan had grown up in California, while others claimed he was born in New Jersey. A couple said New York, some Pennsylvania. Either way, there was pretty much nothing.

"This is... pointless," you growled to yourself as you exited out of yet another tab. "I don't know what you expect me to find, Rose, but I can tell you right now it isn't going to be-"

THUNK!

You frowned, turning your bloodshot eyes up from the screen. "...much." Following the sound, you peered under the table. There sat one of the cassette tapes. As you reached out to grab it, you wondered how it had fallen. As far as you knew, you hadn't bumped it or anything. It was probably just teetering over the edge. Either way, it was a little strange; you hadn't noticed any of them being that close to the edge. After returning the tape to it's group, your attention was once again lured in by the bright screen of your laptop.

Two cups of coffee and many minutes of questioning your existence later, you heard the first rumble of thunder about half an hour into your search. The storm would be rolling in soon. You didn't mind; the pitter-patter of rain was quite therapeutic. Not to mention how pretty the rain looked scintillating with the reflection of the city's lights. At least I have that to look forward to.

Then the time came. It was time for you to put the recorder to the test. Of course, you were pretty reluctant to do so; as most of these sorts of things did, it would only lead to you having to report yet another waste of money to your team.

"Okay, let's see if this thing works," you muttered, pressing a new tape into the compartment. Snapping it shut, you took a deep breath, looking the silver device over once more before beginning the recording. "Uh... t-testing, testing; one, two, three. Ethan Nestor, can you hear me? If you can hear me, please make your presence known on the tape if possible. Thank you. My name is Y/N Y/L/N if you wish to communicate with me." You pause awkwardly for a second, shifting in your creaking chair. You always hated how it creaked so loudly under the slightest weight. "Once again, um, this is Y/N Y/L/N. I will now be giving you a moment to make your presence known." The silence that followed hung menacingly over your head. Although you were a skeptic, it always made you uncomfortable to sit in anticipation, waiting for a sign from an unknown—and possibly dangerous—entity.

Once you had decided there was enough time for something to be said, you cleared your throat and announced, "Thank you for your time, Ethan. I will now stop the recording and listen for any signs you may have given me." Once you stopped the recording, you rewinded it to the beginning and replayed it.

"Uh... t-testing, testing; one, two, three-"

You cringed. "Ugh. I sound so stupid." Instinctively, your foot began tapping away beneath the table. Anticipation crept and tickled along your nerves as your ears listened intently to the recording. As your past self paused to give Ethan a chance to make himself known, you found yourself disappointed when all that replied was crackling silence. Of course nothing would happen. Why am I disappointed? I knew this would be useless.

A deep sigh rolled from your lips as you listened to the rest of the recording. Nothing unusual could be detected. Even after another five tries, there was nothing. Only your voice crackled through the kitchen. You hadn't realized how long you'd been at it until the storm growled a deep threat not far from your apartment, promising heavy rain and blinding lightning within the next few hours. With a deep sigh, you set the recorder down and leaned back in your chair, running your hands through your hair. Well, you couldn't just give up yet; Rose wouldn't leave you alone about it. You decided you'd just take a break, and continue your experiments at a later time.

It began to rain around 6:30. You were sitting down at your uneven kitchen table, eating your second cup of ramen noodles. Sitting across from you like a friend you'd been sharing your meal with was the voice recorder. You felt tempted to talk to it, but quickly dismissed the idea as you realized how ridiculous it was. Inanimate objects weren't exactly the best at conversations.

The gentle pitter-patter of rain rapped at the windows and the balcony doors as the first of the storm marched overhead, rolling clouds of grey churning in the sky. It was rather calming, listening to how the rain danced vigorously across any surface it could reach. The predictable pattern whispered in the back of your mind as you thought, eyes fixed on the recorder. What was so special about it? As far as you were concerned, it was just an old piece of junk. Nothing struck you as 'important' as you stared.

"Another waste of money," you sighed, dragging a heavy hand over your clenched eyelids and through your hair. "God dammit."

Soon after you finished your noodles, you turned back to your laptop. This time, it was with the intention of working on one of your online college essays that had been plaguing your mind for actual weeks now. However, there was one crucial variable missing that was necessary for you to be able to complete such a task.

"Coffee," you muttered. "I need more coffee."

Coffee was an absolute necessity in your life. Without that sweet, sweet dirty bean water, there was no way you would be getting through that essay. Unfortunately, you were too broke to afford one of the nicer models, so all you had was your tiny little coffee maker, tucked into the corner of shame on the counter. You pulled out what you needed from the cupboards, your mind lost in endless thoughts of school. While pouring water into the coffee maker, you got so lost in thought that you ended up spilling water over the side. It wasn't until the puddle blossomed out and trickled over the side of the counter that you realized what was happening.

"O-oh, no," you choked, startled out of your thoughts. You struggled to decide what to do before hastily setting down the coffee pot and lunging over towards the paper towels. "Dammit, Y/N."

As you fumbled with the roll of paper towels, bubbly growling interrupted your train of thought. It was the sound of your coffee machine running. This would usually be a sound that gave you immense joy, but considering the fact that you didn't remember pushing the button, it was a tad odd. With a frown, you turned to face the pitiful little appliance. Sure enough, coffee seeped in gurgling spurts into the pot, slowly filling it with that sacred, beautiful brown beverage.

"What?" The question was whispered as you absent-mindedly reached back for the paper towels. Whilst keeping an eye on the coffee, you tore a piece away from the roll. I must have bumped the button... or maybe I pushed it? Did I push it?

Either way, you still ended up with a mug of coffee afterwards, although it was lacking a bit due to a good portion of the water being spilled. You decided to make another cup for later, this time without making a mess. And yet, when you sat down, you still didn't feel right, as if something were missing. You continued on, sipping your coffee as your fingers scrambled frantically along the keyboard. The research, the writing, the editing... it quickly consumed you. It always seemed to end up this way. Pressure gradually pooled at your forehead, a foreboding message from a future migraine. But you had work to do, and even though you couldn't get a single coherent thought through your head, it just had to be done.

CRACKOWWWW!

You jumped in your seat, accidentally smacking your calf against the table's leg, which effectively knocked the table off the lotion container. This led to yet another one of the tapes strewn about being launched onto the floor, a loud smack following the collision. You hissed in pain, rubbing your hand vigorously up and down what felt like an irritating bruise on your calf. All that just because of some lightning.

Maybe it's time to take a break, you thought to yourself. Sliding off your chair, you were startled to see how dark it was getting outside. Sure, night fell quicker due to the changing seasons, but the storm had smothered most of the sunlight. You did a brief stretch before trudging down the hall to your tiny bathroom. The door squeaked as though startled by your touch when you pushed it open, shutting it with your foot as you stood before your reflection.

Dark circles hung under your bloodshot eyes. You ran your hand through your dry hair, loose strands trailing after your fingers. With a disgusted cringe, you tossed the loose hair into the garbage.

I need to wake up. Cold water sloshed into the sink. With cupped hands, you leaned down over the sink and splashed your face. As droplets dripped from your face, you noticed a change in the air. It felt... colder, and something told you it wasn't because of the water. You turned off the faucet, wiping at your eyes and flicking excess water from your hands. And then, you looked back up into the mirror.

A gasp sputtered out from your lips as you made eye contact with someone behind you. Almost simultaneously, the lights went out. You shrieked and stumbled back, unable to see in the dark. Your hands clawed the air for the door handle, your ears pounding with the sound of your own fear. The second you found the handle, you threw the door open and sprinted back into the kitchen. Your fear-struck eyes stared down the hallway, plagued with dark shadows. The only light you had was that of the muffled sun, drowning your apartment in a dreadful grey.

The lights around you suddenly began to flicker. They flashed indecisively, stuck between the options of shedding light or letting the shadows consume the apartment. You swallowed, your knees knocking together as you trembled. You didn't dare take your eyes off the bathroom door.

No one stepped out to meet you.