Chapter 4: The Exorcist’s Trap

But then, an uninvited guest appeared.

The universe, apparently, wasn’t done with me yet.

One day, I took Michael to buy candles and ran into a shifty old man at the door. He kept staring at me.

He wore a battered trench coat and smelled faintly of incense. I tried to ignore him, but he wouldn’t budge.

I thought he was a pervy old geezer and was about to snap at him when he said, "Young lady, you’re quite bold, keeping a ghost around."

His voice was low, almost conspiratorial. I froze, groceries in hand.

I jumped and denied it: "What? I have no idea what you’re talking about."

I tried to laugh it off, but my heart was racing.

He smiled slyly: "Don’t be afraid. I’m an exorcist, not here to cause trouble. Just saw you have a ghost with you, so I’m warning you—ghosts sap your energy. You shouldn’t keep one around."

He sounded friendly, but I have a good sense for people—this old man didn’t seem trustworthy. So I brushed him off and left.

I ducked into the nearest coffee shop, waiting until he disappeared before heading home.

Back home, I asked Michael if the old man could see him.

He looked uneasy, but didn’t deny it.

Michael didn’t deny it, but asked, "Do you believe what he said?"

He searched my face, waiting for my answer.

"What?"

I played dumb, but he saw right through me.

"That I drain your energy."

He looked almost hurt.

"Of course not," I replied without hesitation.

I reached over and squeezed his hand. "You’re the best roommate I’ve ever had."

My answer stunned him. Then he smiled, pure and warm as sunshine after snow.

His whole face lit up, and I felt my heart flutter.

That smile made me forget what I was even worried about.

For a moment, everything felt perfect.

But that night, after I popped out to the supermarket, I came home to find Michael missing.

His shoes were by the door, but the apartment was eerily silent.

At first, I thought he’d gone for a stroll, but when he didn’t return for ages, I found his wish list under the sofa.

He never went anywhere without that list. My stomach twisted with dread.

That was his only possession after death. He never left it behind. Something was wrong!

I paced the apartment, trying to remember if I’d seen anything suspicious.

I remembered the old man’s stare earlier—it felt off. He didn’t seem like a righteous exorcist at all.

I replayed our conversation in my head, wishing I’d paid more attention.

I wanted to look for Michael, but had no idea where to start. As night fell, I got more and more anxious. If he didn’t come back soon, it might be too late.

I checked my phone every five minutes, hoping for a sign. Nothing.

Finally, I decided to go out and search.

I grabbed my coat and keys, heart pounding. The city felt colder than usual.

But just as I got downstairs, I saw Michael staggering back. I rushed over: "Are you okay?"

He looked pale, clutching his side. I caught him before he fell.

He looked weak, grabbed my hand, and shook his head. I helped him upstairs, and only then realized—wait, I actually helped him upstairs. How did he go from ghost to physical?

I stared at him, then at my hand. He was solid—warm, even.

Seeing my worry, Michael tried to reassure me: "I’m fine, really."

He smiled, but I could see the pain in his eyes.

Turns out, while I was at the supermarket, the old man found our place and lured Michael out by threatening me. The old man was a dark sorcerer. He saw that Michael’s soul was pure and strong—perfect for his rituals. So he used a talisman to give Michael a body, then tried to bind him.

Michael recounted the story, voice trembling. I hugged him, promising never to leave him alone again.

But Michael, though a rookie ghost, had some tricks and escaped.

He grinned, proud of himself. I ruffled his hair in relief.

I was furious—who bullies a ghost?!

I paced the room, plotting revenge. Michael just laughed, telling me to let it go.

Michael patted my head, smiling gently: "Don’t be mad. I’m back now."

His touch was cool, but somehow warmed my heart. Flustered, I changed the subject: "Want another candle?"

I reached for the box, hoping to distract us both.

"No need, I’ll be fine after resting."

He settled onto the couch, closing his eyes.

At least the old man did one good thing—he gave Michael a body.

I poked his arm, marveling at the sensation. He swatted me away, laughing.

From then on, I shamelessly put Michael to work:

"Michael, pour me some water."

"Michael, get my package."

"Michael, hang up the laundry."

...

He rolled his eyes, but did everything without complaint. I milked it for all it was worth.

And Michael, like a bullied little husband, did everything without complaint. As a result, I gained a few pounds from eating and not moving.

He started calling me "boss," and I didn’t correct him.

When I stepped on the scale, looking glum, Michael thought something was wrong. I decided it was time to lose weight.

He offered to go jogging with me. I groaned, but agreed.

I bought workout gear and tried to get Michael to run with me.

He looked great in athletic wear. I, on the other hand, was a hot mess.

To persuade him, I asked, "Do you prefer morning or night runs? Let’s work out together."

He smirked, seeing right through my plan.

He saw right through me: "Depends on what you want to eat."

He raised an eyebrow, waiting for my answer.

???

I blinked, not following.

"If you want pancakes and waffles, we run in the morning. If you want barbecue, fried chicken, or wings, we run at night."

He listed my favorite foods like a menu. My stomach growled.

...

Sure enough, after starting to run, my weight went up instead of down—Michael jinxed me!

I glared at him, but he just grinned, unfazed.

That night, after our run (well, after eating wings), the dark sorcerer old man showed up again.

He appeared at the edge of the park, eyes gleaming. Michael stepped in front of me.

This time, it was a showdown. Michael shielded me, ready for battle.

He squared his shoulders, looking every bit the hero.

The old man glared: "You stole my transformation talisman and think you can get away? No way! Come back and be bound, or the girl behind you will suffer."

He waved a handful of talismans, the air crackling with energy.

I wasn’t having it. I grabbed Michael’s suit jacket, stuck my head out, and snapped, "Keep dreaming, old man."

I glared at him, daring him to try anything.

Michael chuckled, but squeezed my hand to signal me to hide.

His grip was steady, reassuring. I squeezed back.

His hand was cool but soft—the perfect summer temperature. I couldn’t help but hold on, and he didn’t let go, just covered my hand with his.

We stood together, ready for whatever came next.