I came home from another session of umming and ahhing at films in textual analysis to find my bet mate Joe smoking a fag with an unsteady hand.
He barely acknowledged me as I approached, just staring into space with the expression of a man whose just caught his sister trying to shag a toaster, don't ask me how I know and don't tell her I told you.
Anyway I suppose it's pertinent to point out a few facts about Joe before I try to explain what he told me. He wore his usual leather jacket with the chains on the sleeves and the gold effect metal shoulder pads, complementing it with a 'dicks dig witches' t-shirt and some rough worn baggy jeans. He had a pi symbol tattooed on the thumb of his left hand and 6 rings in his right ear. A triangular demonic goatee struggled out from under his chin and ice blue eyes usually stared at the world with a kind of cold contempt, like an old soldier buying the latest Call of Duty game for his son.
He was smoking outside the entrance to our 'halls of residence' a glorified prison gone mad that was usually covered in eggs, tampons and used condoms. Debt tends to make you less bothered by such things but I still found myself slightly disgusted by it all.
"I saw something" said Joe in answer to the question my eyes had been asking him for a good minute.
I was about to fly into full pedant mode and give a lecture to the effect of 'Of course you saw something, you have eyes' when he took a long drag of the cigarette and said "I think our kitchen might be haunted"
I laughed, cackling like a mad man. 'A haunted kitchen, on floor 7, how totally ridiculous?'
Joe looked at me with his usual contempt for a second and I realized something was wrong, something 'up'. Maybe not supernatural, scooby doo, 'up' but 'up' none the less.
I smiled, dothed my trilby and said "Have no fear, the Doctor is here"
Joe laughed, almost choking on his cigarette, when he caught his breath back he said "You're no fucking witch doctor!"
I gave a hurt look, watching him smile in return and readjusted my hat, saying "Well perhaps not, but I have spent my life reading and writing about things that go bump in the night"
He stubbed out his cigarette, looked me in the eyes and said "Gordon, you were terrified by the Dead Island trailer"
I yelled back "It showed a child eating her parents after becoming a zombie!"
I yelled because I have this annoying habit of subconsciously raising my voice whenever I'm stressed, annoyed or embarrassed.
Joe glared at me then swiped his wallet against the door and stepped through it. I hurried after him and together we crawled up seven flights of stairs then fell into the corridor of our floor. I tried the door to the kitchen by flinging myself at it and it resolutely failed to budge.
I turned to Joe and sighed "Them ghosts done gone barricaded the door or barred it with magic"
Joe sneered at me, laughing hollow, bitter laughs then said "I locked it. And for a very good reason."