It was an ordinary day, or rather, it was already evening. The girls from apartment number 52 were sitting in the living room around a coffee table on a fluffy rug. Among them was Milana Ross from the Law Faculty, considered the cutest by all the girls in the house. She placed a small compact mirror on a half-empty can of some atomic-energy drink and began applying her makeup. Next to her, lounging on a cushion, was Olivia Davies, also from the Law Faculty. She was reading something Milana had written and underlining parts she didn't like.

Sitting on the sofa beside them was Helen Duarte, whom they jokingly called their collective child due to her overly accommodating nature. She was brushing her long, thick hair, which cascaded down her shoulders like a waterfall.

"I need a new lipstick... Liv, give me yours," Milana said in a pitiful voice while trying to perfect her lip shape.

Olivia looked up at her: "I don't wear makeup... Besides, if you didn't scatter your things all over the house, you wouldn't lose them." She said this in an utterly indifferent tone, flipping through the printed pages.

Milana gasped theatrically and turned to her: "You... How can you accuse me? What if it wasn't me?" Milana's eyes fell on Helen: "Ghosts. What if it's the ghost of that dead student primping herself?"

Helen Duarte, the resident expert on ghosts and women, snapped back to reality and tuned into their conversation. She blinked and asked: "What dead student?"

The girls stopped their bickering. Milana set down her lipstick and turned fully to Helen: "There's a rumor that a student used to live here-"

"Wasn't it Margo?" Olivia interrupted, earning herself a scorching look.

"It was definitely someone," Milana continued, turning back to Helen. "Rumor has it she couldn't get over a breakup and hanged herself right in the room she lived in, scratching her lover's name into the walls." She made a conspiratorial face.

"Was it a breakup? I thought she was studying for exams and died of exhaustion," said Olivia, receiving another glare from Milana. But before Milana could retort, Helen asked with keen interest:

"She lived here? In which... room?"

Milana Ross smiled again, as if she had been waiting for that question, like a puppeteer pulling the strings. She pointed at Helen: "In yours."

By the laws of the genre, a clap of thunder should have struck here, leaving the girls in darkness so they could go looking for the fuse box like in every horror movie, but they were all very lucky. There wasn't a cloud in the sky. Although Milana had still hoped for full immersion. Helen looked stunned at her roommate, then at Olivia, who, surprisingly, nodded in confirmation.

"There's a ghost in my room?"

Milana nodded matter-of-factly: "Yes, haven't you felt cold hands on your neck and shoulders? Haven't you noticed things going missing?"

"She's just trying to justify taking your hair straightener," said Olivia, earning an elbow to the chest that sent her from a sitting to a lying position. Knockout.

Milana gathered her makeup bag and nudged Olivia, who was pretending to be dead, with her hand: "Alright, we're out of here."

The whole time, the two girls had been planning to go bowling with guys from their faculty. Well, Milana was getting ready, and Olivia was just killing time. Milana got up from the floor and headed for the door, with Olivia crawling after her, clutching her side. They were standing by the door when Helen, pale as death, approached them.

"Don't be bored!" said Milana, hugging Helen goodbye.

**

And there was no time to be bored. Because now Helen knew she was sharing her room with someone. And she was alone. Daphne was on the night shift, those two were out bowling until morning. And she was alone.

Helen knew her ancestors were always watching over her, like her grandmother. She knew that lost souls might sometimes visit. But living where someone had once lived and died... that was a completely different experience. Helen looked at the compact mirror Milana had left behind and glanced into it. She shuddered. For a split second, she thought she saw a silhouette behind her reflection.

Oh my god, oh my god, Helen thought, hurrying to her room. She slowly opened the door, stepped into her small room, and turned on the light. The house was eerily quiet. And it was frightening after such stories. She walked further into her room, and then the door slammed shut behind her. So abruptly that she jumped. Helen remembered the compact mirror in her hand and raised it in front of her.

She saw her. A silhouette. Semi-transparent. To her right, about two steps behind her, near the door. Helen turned around and, taking a step back, bumped into her desk. Her left hand clenched an amulet. She stared at the ghost, unable to look away. She was paralyzed.