I starred down the stairs at the new people in the house. I tried to make them leave by glaring, but that never worked. At most they thought the house was a little cold when I did that. I stood up and walked down the stairs in time to see their teenage daughter leave. Her mother got into the car, heading for the shops I guessed. Leaving the father behind to do the unpacking. I stalked into the kitchen and watched him open a box of cup. Oh, this was going to be fun.
I watched as he unwrapped a few and put them away. Everytime he turned his back I moved the box a little further off the edge of the counter. It was easier to shove objects than it was to physically pick them up. He didn't even notice the movement. He just kept going back to the box and unwrapping something else to put in the cupboards. I jumped onto the counter, leaning against the tiled wall and gave a final push with both my feet. The box fell to the floor with a loud crash. Bits of glass and porcelain flew from the remains. The father turned round instantly, eyes wide with shock.
“How the-” he cut himself off and rushed into the living to find the boom. I stayed on the counter, smirking to myself. Everytime someone new moved in, I made sure they left. I watched as the father muttered to himself about being silly and started cleaning up the mess. I knew how the drill worked. Once is an accident. Twice is a coincidence. Third time, people start to wonder. They call the agency and ask questions. It was known locally that something wasn't right with the house. I left the counter and walked back upstairs. I didn't really need to walk. I could just kind of drift if I wanted. But sometimes doing normal actions like that made me feel better. I paused on the hallway, glancing at all the doors.
“Let's see what you're like,” I murmured. I pushed the door open that had belonged to my parents. It was the largest room so the parents of this family had grabbed it as well. There was large double bed and fancy oak bedside lockers. A large chest of drawers sat at the end of the bed. There were various boxes around the bedroom that hadn’t been unpacked. I spotted one saying fragile and gave it a gentle nudge. It didn't crash apart like the box downstairs, but I heard enough to know something had broke. It was good enough. I walked back into the hallway and glanced at my what had been my sister bedroom.
Looking inside, there was nothing original to her bedroom. Even the wallpaper had been stripped down. Jerks must've done it while I was sleeping. Not that ghosts slept per say. Not that I knew others to figure out what we did. All I knew is from time to time I had to drift away from the world and 'sleep'. I tried not to think about it too much. I shut the door, not interested in the bland office. The last door was my old room. When I'd been alive it'd been littered with band posters. I had a single bed and a desk. Next to the next had been my guitar and gaming consoles. Opposite the consoles and my TV had been bean bag chairs. I opened the door and saw a pretty drastic change.
Why did it have to be a girl I groaned? Of course hers was filled with a lot of unpacked boxes too. But the flowery bed covers and the sticker-covered laptop on her desk told me she was going to ruin my old room. I didn't have enough energy at the moment to knock any boxes over. Instead I went upstairs to the attic and flopped onto the wooden floorboards, watching dust dance where sunlight poured through the small circular window. I looked across at all the old boxes. Things the agency hadn't managed to sell. I'd been surprised when I'd realised my old guitar had been among them. I could pick it up and that was about it. It took a lot of energy to play any thing more than a few chords on it. I was getting so bored of this. Even annoying the new people wasn't entertaining me as much as expected. If only there was someone else to talk to …