What a shitty apartment, Monica thought. But it was the only one she could get. A new hire, just out of college. Any place further in the city was just horribly expensive. So she started moving out further and further.  She’d started with the one-room rental that was running 1,000  dollars where the owner was also training to be a rockstar with a drum set.

Yeah. No.

Then a ten-unit apartment building with a chatty super who asked her for her phone number three times, and then when they got to the front, told her to pay no mind to the chalk outline.

Hell no.

The room where she would have to share quarters with ten dogs.

The room with the guy who mentioned had she ever seen the anime where the girl renting the room fell for the landlord?

The room that was “under renovation” with a hole in the roof that would be fixed just as soon as she paid her deposit.

So here she was, a multi-story apartment building, on the far edge of town, nestled into the hills. There weren’t many places by it, which looked kind of odd. But the gray-haired man who was leading her through it had an explanation.

“Back in the 1970s, this place was zoned,” he said, gesturing at the blocky building. “Was gonna be the center of a new suburb. Name’s Jake, by the way.”

“So what happened?” Monica asked, brushing her hair back. God, this place is so far away from work.

“Well, turns out the Slaptoed Finch makes a home in the hills around here. So, endangered species. They’d already clear-cut for the apartment, so that was, you know, sort of grandfathered in, I think because the original owners agreed to not make a stink about everything else. So here we are.”

He gestured as Monica walked up the pathway from the parking lot to the building.

And it did look like a 1970s building, complete with…

Concrete flamingos. Of course. They had a little stream out front, and someone had put concrete flamingos in it.

“Stream’s real, but that means no heat.” Jake said. “The swimming pool is out back, and we got a little wider wading section for the stream, if you like spring-fed water. Cold though.”

“No thanks,” Monica said. She’d caught his look at her torso. Yes, she had big tits. No, she wasn’t going to let them out to wave hi to everyone in the apartment.

“Well, here’s the lobby,” he said, opening the door, and God, were those chairs from the 1970s?

“Since you’re about twenty minutes out from the nearest store, we have a resident’s only diner and market.”

Monica stared at the tired looking diner, with six tables, and then on the other side of the lobby, what looked like a small gas-station-style store.

An OUT TO LUNCH sign was dangling from the closed glass door.

“Sorry,” he said, glancing at the clock, which read 3:30. “Sometimes lunch runs a little long.”

“Right…” I’m never buying anything from there. For all she knew, the food came from the 1970s, not just the decor.

“Now, if you’ll follow me, I can show you your unit.”

“How many people are staying here?”

“Eh, thirty right now. Kinda out of the way, and the owners are mostly looking for single occupants and couples without kids.”

College students and poor people like me.  Monica shook her head. She followed him into the elevator and it moved up, stopping once with a lurch.

Then it opened up on the higher floor and Jake led Monica down the hallway, neon lights buzzing away. Her room was at the end. Supposedly her potential room, but since the only other possibility she had was just over sixty miles from where she worked…

Opening the door, Jake led her in, and Monica looked around.

“Gotta kitchen, living room, bedroom, bathroom and well, office. This was gonna be high-quality digs.”

At least for the 1970s. I wonder if they got rid of the Asbestos. Monica didn’t even ask. Still she could use the office for work-from-home stuff, once she moved in.

And the kitchen. Once she got decent food.

“I’ll take it,” Monica said.

“Great!” Jack said. “Um, yeah, one thing. Don’t listen to the stories about the ghost.”

“Ghost.”

“Yeah, or Goddess, or whatever the hell.”

“Uh-huh?”

Jack sighed. “Look, back in the 1970s they were sort of desperate to get people to move in, and they got a bunch of hippies, and supposedly they were really into tantric magic, new age shit, that kind of stuff. There was a big orgy, the owners kinda put it on the down low, and got new renters.”

“What happened to the old ones?”

“Guess they took off. It was the 70’s after all, and the cops weren’t real friendly. So they take off, supposedly left all their shit behind, just some weird comments about the mist. Ever so often someone claims to see it, or a ghost made of mist, but it’s just an old wive’s tale.”

“Have you ever seen it?”

“Hah!” Jack shook his head. “Nope!” Then he looked away. “I… uh, actually don’t stay here at night. I got a townhouse in the Valley.”

Of course. It’s haunted. Still better than rooming with a lunatic and his drum set.

“As long as the ghost isn’t loud, I don’t care. Let’s sign the papers.”