Dear diary,

forgive the interruption of the last entry. Hardly had I brought the question over the lips it was there again. The knocking, louder and more insistent than ever before, I thought I could feel the vibration of the knocks in my body.

Frozen, I sat at my kitchen counter and stared at the door from which the noise seemed to come. I didn't move a meter, continuing to cling to my cup. It didn't occur to me to go to the door and check. All I wanted was for it to stop. I don't know how long it lasted minutes? Hours? With a loud bang it stopped as abruptly as it had begun.

Only then did I look up at the ghost in front of me, who was also staring at the door, with a scowl and a raised eyebrow. Probably he really was just hallucinating. Because that was exactly the reaction I would have liked.

"I take it you're not causing the knocking?" I sighed, completely exhausted by all that I neither understood nor could place.

His response to my question was a brief but significant shake of his head. Fascinated, I observed that his hazelnut-colored curls did not move in the process.

Sarcastically, it occurred to me that I should die with a timeless hairstyle. From that point on, I didn't care if I was talking to a hallucination or a real ghost.

"I don't know if you're real, but it's probably completely irrelevant. I want this to stop. The cold, the stench , the knocking all of it. Can ghosts smell? Or feel cold?" I propped my chin on one hand as I eyed him. The whole situation was absurd. If I was talking to my hallucination and these imaginings were also causing the cold and the stench, as well as the knocking, I needed a long therapy. Maybe it was enough to move? In the motel everything seemed normal with me. Would definitely be cheaper than....

A half-transparent hand waved in front of my field of vision. Lost in thought, I looked up at him.

"Sorry, I'm thinking about moving. Therapy spots are really scarce, the pandemic you know, probably not, you were dead by then. Oh God, that was unkind..." Helplessly, I slid my hands over my face. In case anyone hasn't noticed, when I'm nervous, I talk , a lot and in a jumbled manner.

I squinted at him, he smiled that little apologetic smile that signaled "it's okay, I understand you, don't panic." at least I was sympathetic to my hallucination.

"Thanks." Cheering I raised my cup, of course the coffee was ice cold.

My ghost, as I would call him from now on, pointed to the door, shook his head, he rubbed his shoulders, again a denial, just as he held his nose.

Visually, the spectacle had something between a silent movie and a Bugs Bunny cartoon.

"Then the next question would be if I'm imagining all this." waiting, I looked at him, but instead of answering me he just dissolved into nothing. 

His portrait was suddenly back on the canvas.