First, a bit of background. I am dead. My death should have been the end of everything. I should not be able to tell stories. But, I died an untimely death, which changes the rules a bit. So here I am, thinking, talking, feeling, wandering, and doing everything but breathing. 

I haunt an apartment building that my grandfather once owned. I died there, by falling from a fire escape. I get very sad when I think about how I died, but from a strange perspective - it's as if the tragedy befell someone else. After I died, they renamed the street after me. 

So, to introduce myself officially: I'm Jimmy Baker, the ghost of Baker Street.

I haunt inhabit one of the rental units in my grandfather's building. It was abandoned by a guy named Rob. He left in a hurry. His clothes lay in a heap on the floor of the closet. A rusting notebook sat in the bathroom sink. Ripped sheets betrayed a dirty mattress in the bedroom, and stains spattered the carpet like an abstract painting. It was disgusting and perfect. 

For two years, I lived in Rob's slovenly palace like a prince. I didn't have to interact with people or other ghosts. During the day, I would read my books, and sit in the freezer to cool off from the earthly temperature. At night, I would float over to the Baker Street Bistro and linger in the window to ruin romantic dinners. Then I would go to the Bay and watch the sharks thrash under the water before returning home. 

I don't sleep.

Then Rob's friend moved in. A tall man who doesn't own a single coat. In fact, all of his belongings fit into a  leather carryon. He didn't do much to clean the place, so I thought he might be a temporary inconvenience. But after a few days, his intents were clear. He had a cleaning crew come in and pick up all the clothes from the floor. They cleaned the bathroom and the kitchen. He bought a toothbrush and a desk. He brought a lady friend over. She was not very impressed by the mess. They talked about boring things like computers, and then they kissed. 

That would not do. I had to get him - them - out of there. 

Soon I found my opportunity. He's a terrible sleeper, and as a ghost, I can't resist that.

And so, for the last week, I've been messing with him, subtly. Just enough to drive him insane. In the middle of each night, I turn on the lamp and make it glow red. He watches it for about 10 minutes, then gets up to turn it off. It doesn't turn off though. He's the only person that will ever see it. Last night he stayed up waiting for it, and as soon as he gave up and fell asleep, at around 4 am, I turned it on.

Wow, I feel so much better. Journaling really is good for the soul. And I've got to take care of my soul. It's all I have these days.