The Ghost Is Keeping My Deposit

How it begins

The landlord returned three weeks after his funeral to discuss the lampshade.

Lucy Ward was practicing scales when he appeared beside the radiator, transparent except for the expression he had worn at every inspection.

'That isn't the original fitting,' he said.

She missed a note.

'You're dead.'

'That doesn't alter the inventory.'

Lucy closed the piano lid. At thirty-seven, she had hoped to become the sort of person who handled unexpected events calmly. She had not included property disputes with the deceased among the necessary tests.

The missing shade had been beige, fringed and older than the wiring. It had disintegrated while she was dusting. She had reported this in an email containing three photographs and the word unfortunately.

'Your nephew acknowledged it,' she said.

'He acknowledges everything. It's a weakness.'

The ghost moved toward the ceiling light. His feet made no sound, which Lucy considered an improvement over his previous visits.

Someone knocked at the door. Martin Reed stood outside carrying a new smoke alarm.

'You reported a voice?'

'That wasn't the wording I used.'

The landlord turned. 'Who is this?'

'The new caretaker.'

'I never authorized a new caretaker.'

Martin looked past Lucy. His eyes followed the pale outline beside the radiator, then returned to her face.

'Can he touch anything?'

'I haven't asked.'

'Good. Let's not encourage it.'

Lucy almost laughed. The landlord frowned so hard that the wallpaper showed through his forehead.

On the table lay her deposit statement. The nephew had deducted ninety pounds for the lampshade, sixty for administration and a further sum described as residual concern.

Martin read it without touching the paper.

'That last one is new.'

'It has been a difficult month,' Lucy said.

The ghost folded his arms. Apparently death had released him from many responsibilities, but not from the pleasure of believing a tenant owed him something.