It was a small studio/loft apartment, what Montrealers call a “une et demi”, a “one and a half”, because it consists of one big room with a closet-sized bathroomm usually hidden away out of sheer embarrassment. But Doc and I decided it would do as a starting point. The rent was cheap, the fridge and stove were included, and we were told that hydro, even during the worst days of winter, would never exceed fifty bucks a month. Situated on the roof of a three-story building in the Plateau, it had a large open rooftop space and a spectacular view of downtown, which more than made up for the low ceilings and dark wall colours over which we were not allowed to paint. Weighing the good against the bad, we decided it would do, for now.

With all of our stuff still in storage, we opted to buy some cheap yet sturdy used furniture that would likewise do, for now. We splurged a bit on a new bed, with a mattress that would take whatever we could throw at it and a brass-rail headboard that was perfect for grabbing onto. Everything else being second hand, it all needed some cleaning after we hauled it in, but most of it shined up pretty nice. So, all in all, an apartment that would do.

For now.

And yet… there was something about the place that didnt sit quite right. Maybe we should have noted the landlord’s slight unease when he walked us around the place at the viewing. You know the feeling, right? When you think you might have seen something out of the corner of your eye — and then when you look directly at whatever it might have been… it’s gone. Our cat, Tsi-bou, certainly noted it: for no real reason, she would look at empty spots on the wall and growl with her ears flattened against her head. We initially wrote it off to just living in a new space and getting used to the apartment’s eccentricities…

… but then, one night, just after dinner, we heard it. A low, barely audible voice, so low that it sets the hair on your forearm aloft.

“You heard that, right?” I whispered.

Doc nodded… with more than a bit of apprehension.

It wasnt like the temperature dropped to a bone numbing chill. No strange winds racing through the apartment. Nothing at all out of the ordinary… except that voice. It wasnt the sound of a neighbour: we were on the top floor, we had no neighbours. No, it was definitely right there in the room.

A dozen apartments. We looked at a dozen apartments. And the one we chose was haunted…