“The Haunted House That Wanted a Roommate”

By Jhanvi Latheesh

When I inherited the old gothic mansion from my great-aunt Gertrude, I thought: Cool! Free house!

What I didn’t expect was the house itself wanted to live with me.

On my first night, the chandeliers flickered and whispered, “Welcome, new roommate!”

I blinked. “Uh… I’m just here for the rent-free living, thanks.”

The portraits on the walls weren’t just staring; they were gossiping.

“Did you hear? The new tenant thinks she can ignore the ghost in the attic!”

I shushed them. “Guys, chill.”

Then came the creaky floorboards that followed me.

“Hey! Stop stalking me!” I yelled.

They replied with ominous groans. Friendly? Maybe. Creepy? Definitely.

At midnight, the house held a welcome party. Ghosts floated around, trying to be polite but accidentally knocking over furniture.

One ghost, a Victorian fellow named Sir Whispers-a-Lot, handed me a cup of ectoplasm punch.

“Tastes like expired milk,” I said, trying to be polite.

I learned quickly: in this mansion, you don’t just live in a house—you live with it.

It complained about the thermostat, the lack of decent Wi-Fi, and especially about my habit of eating cereal at 3 a.m.

One night, I caught the house rearranging my furniture.

“You know,” I said, “if you wanted a better setup, you could have just asked.”

The chandelier flickered—approval? Or ghostly mischief? Who knows.

In the end, the house and I made a deal: I pay the electricity, it promises to keep the poltergeist pranks to a minimum.

Best. Roommate. Ever.

By Jhanvi Latheesh