Dear diary, 

so much has happened today that I don't know where to begin.

He is back, silent and beautiful, staring with a sad look at the transcript I received by e-mail in the morning. 

When the mail arrived, he was suddenly standing behind me. God, I've never screamed in terror like I did at that moment. No wonder my neighbor was standing in front of the door worried. 

Yes, indeed my neighbor with the strange staring look, maybe I did him wrong. No sooner had I let out the scream than my doorbell rang and called excitedly. 

The man stood in front of me in a flannel bathrobe , shampoo still clearly visible in his hair and his bare feet produced a puddle.  I had to reassure him several times that I was fine, that I was just scared. Then he was back, the stare but this time over my shoulder. 

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask if he could sense the smell in my apartment, or hear the knocking, or see the ghost positioned behind me like a knight had to protect a damsel.  Before I could make a decision, my neighbor took it from me in a way.

Holding his bathrobe together with one hand, staring over my shoulder, he invited me in for a coffee. I wanted to decline going to a potentially crazy person's apartment, I wasn't that far gone yet despite my hallucination. Before I got around to thinking of an excuse, though, he named a coffee shop two minutes walk from our apartments. 

I don't know why, but I nodded. He had already turned to leave when he turned to me again and told me to go ahead and bring the portrait. Then he nodded goodbye and trudged away with a soft plop that his wet feet made. 

Confused, I closed the door and looked at my ghost, who had drawn his eyebrows together unwillingly.  The question popped in my head if my neighbor could see him, my ghost. Was that crazy? But what else could he have been fixing over my shoulder?  I spun on my heel to get his angle. Either he was suffering a mass hallucination with me (can talk about masses with two people) or he had spotted my computer screen in the mirror with the transcript clearly visible. 

I frowned.  So either he had eagle eyes or the third eye or with me a hallucination. I wasn't getting anywhere like that.

Thoughtfully, I looked to my familiar spirit. Why should I bring the portrait?  At least his mention of the painting confirmed my suspicion that he had noticed my flea market purchase during his first "visit." Still, it irritated me that he had not only remembered the painting, but wanted me to bring it to the café.

"I wonder if he knows that you can only leave the house with the painting? What if the canvas is blank while we're there. Although, if he sees a blank painting too, then that would be, at least, proof that I'm not crazy...or proof that he is too.  Maybe he just wants me to bring the painting so he can steal it...No, that's nonsense, he knows I know where he lives. But what if he arranges it to look like a street robbery? Like he had nothing to do with it and then..." Okay, yes I admit, while I was spouting my theories to my hallucination, I felt silly. Not so much because I was talking to my imagination, but more because my speculations sounded a bit far-fetched even to me. 

My undead roommate, at least, smiled at me with rather amused pity. 

"Well, well, maybe I'm thinking too far there. Can you come with me as a ghost if I take your painting to the cafe, or will you disappear onto the screen?" I realized much too late that he couldn't answer two questions at once for lack of a voice. Frustrated by my own clumsiness, I slapped my forehead and tried again, "Can you come as a ghost?" . He grinned most contentedly and nodded.  Now that that was settled, I had to figure out how I was going to drag the not-so-small portrait along.