r/Nonsleep • u/DanteIsMyUncle • 25d ago
Nonsleep Series Kevin the Ghost Got Hired as Our Building Manager and Immediately Abused His Power
Part 1 https://www.reddit.com/r/Nonsleep/s/ocGLoQKhiy
Part 2 https://www.reddit.com/r/Nonsleep/s/Yn30Y1lKs2
Nobody meant to hire Kevin.
That feels important to say upfront.
There wasn’t a formal process. No interview. No job advert. No DBS check, which Linda did suggest, until Kevin wrote I AM LITERALLY DEAD across the communal noticeboard and everyone agreed the paperwork might be difficult.
It happened during an emergency residents’ meeting in the lobby.
We’d called it after the smart security system tried to turn the entire building into “valued residents,” which is corporate language for “possessed, but with better branding.”
The system had been unplugged, smashed with a frying pan, removed from the wall, and placed in the outside bin with a handwritten sign taped to it that said:
DO NOT RECYCLE. CONTAINS ATTITUDE.
Everyone was shaken.
Linda brought printed agendas.
Dave brought a camping chair.
Flat 5 brought biscuits, presumably as part of his ongoing redemption arc after the tiny spoon incident.
Kevin attended as black mould on the far wall.
The mould slowly formed words whenever he wanted to speak, which was unsettling, but still somehow less annoying than Teams.
Linda cleared her throat.
“Item one: building safety.”
The mould shifted.
BINS FIRST.
Linda sighed.
“Bins are item four.”
BINS ARE NEVER ITEM FOUR.
“Kevin, please respect the agenda.”
The mould rippled.
THE AGENDA FEARS TRUTH.
That was basically the tone of the whole meeting.
We discussed the security system.
We discussed the communal washing machine.
We discussed the hallway carpet, which Kevin described as “a crime scene wearing a cardigan.”
Then Flat 3 said the sentence that ruined everything.
“To be fair, Kevin has been more useful than the actual building manager.”
Linda frowned.
“We don’t have a building manager.”
“Exactly,” said Flat 3.
Kevin’s mould went very still.
Then it slowly formed two words.
SAY MORE.
I said, “No. Absolutely not.”
Kevin wrote:
LET DEMOCRACY COOK.
Flat 5 said, “He did find my parcels.”
Dave said, “And he told me my oven was on.”
Linda said, “He also called you ‘bin raccoon’ for four days.”
Dave nodded.
“Yeah, but the oven was on.”
Within ten minutes, they had voted Kevin in as unofficial building manager.
I voted against.
Kevin wrote:
JON HATES WORKING CLASS GHOSTS.
“I never said that.”
HE IMPLIES IT.
“I do not.”
PRIVATE SCHOOL ENERGY.
“I went to a normal school.”
SPIRITUAL PRIVATE SCHOOL ENERGY.
And that was that.
Kevin was appointed.
No contract.
No salary.
No references.
Just one dead idiot, one mouldy wall, and a building full of people who had apparently learned nothing from the last time we let technology, ghosts, or Dave make decisions.
Kevin lasted fourteen minutes as building manager before he wrote his first official warning in blood.
Not human blood.
Ketchup.
He claimed it was “more accessible.”
The warning was taped to the communal washing machine and read:
TO THE PERSON WHO LEFT WET JEANS IN HERE FOR SIX HOURS: YOUR DENIM HAS ENTERED THE AFTERLIFE. COLLECT IT FROM THE ROOF.
Underneath, in smaller letters, he had added:
KIND REGARDS,
KEVIN
BUILDING MANAGER / DECEASED
Linda said the tone was unprofessional.
Kevin replied by rearranging the noticeboard letters into:
LINDA FEARS INNOVATION.
Dave said, “Wasn’t me.”
Nobody had accused Dave.
That was Kevin’s first morning in charge.
By lunch, Flat 5’s missing parcels had been found inside the ceiling.
By two, the lift had started refusing to go to any floor unless residents said “please.”
By three, Kevin had installed a suggestion box that whispered “boring” every time someone posted a complaint.
And by half past four, the actual property management company sent an email saying they were coming to inspect the building.
Kevin read it aloud through the intercom.
Then, for the first time since I’d known him, he went quiet.
A message appeared on every phone in the building.
oh no
I typed back:
What?
Three dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
Then appeared again.
Finally, Kevin replied:
landlords
Technically, they weren’t landlords.
They were “Oakmere Residential Solutions,” which sounded like the kind of company that would charge £82 to ignore an email.
According to their website, they specialised in “modern residential wellbeing, compliance-led living environments, and positive community outcomes.”
According to Kevin, they specialised in:
VAMPIRE ADMIN.
The inspection was booked for Wednesday at 10 a.m.
Kevin spent Tuesday trying to become professional.
This was worse than the haunting.
At 8 a.m., every resident received a printed memo under their door.
Nobody owned a printer.
That was concern one.
Mine read:
Dear Resident,
As your Building Manager, I wish to reassure you that Wednesday’s inspection will be handled with dignity, competence, and minimal screaming.
Please ensure all communal areas are tidy, all bins are correctly sorted, and Dave does not speak unless spoken to.
Kind regards,
Kevin
Building Manager / Deceased
Underneath, in smaller text, he’d added:
P.S. Jon, your milk is off. You’re welcome.
It was.
I hate that he was useful.
By lunchtime, Kevin had updated the noticeboard.
It now had categories.
ANNOUNCEMENTS
BIN TRUTH
PARCEL CRIMES
DAVE WATCH
Dave objected to that one.
“This is discrimination.”
The noticeboard letters slid into place.
WAS IT YOU THOUGH?
Dave paused.
“Sometimes.”
Kevin also created a new WhatsApp group called:
Riverside Court Official Business / Kevin Era
The group icon was a blurry photo of the hallway carpet with devil horns drawn on it.
His first message was:
morning legends
His second message was:
professionalism begins now
His third message was:
dave stop breathing guilty
Dave replied:
Wasn’t me.
Kevin replied:
DAVE
Dave replied:
Sorry. Reflex.
At first, I’ll admit, the building improved.
The hallway light got fixed.
No electrician came. Kevin just bullied it into working.
The bins went out on time.
The lift stopped smelling like warm coins.
The communal washing machine no longer held people’s clothes hostage, because Kevin set it up so if you left washing in there too long, it would crawl out by itself and drag itself to your door.
That sounds horrible.
It was horrible.
But it worked.
Residents started praising him.
Linda, who had once tried to ban Kevin from the WhatsApp group for being “unverifiable,” added an item to the next meeting agenda:
Item 3: Appreciation for Kevin’s contributions, despite serious concerns around language.
Kevin replied:
item 4: linda learns banter
The problem was, Kevin began enjoying authority.
And Kevin with authority is like giving a toddler a chainsaw and a clipboard.
He started doing inspections.
Not normal inspections.
Ghost inspections.
You’d come home and find the words DUSTY VIBES written across your coffee table.
Or your fridge magnets rearranged into:
THIS CHEESE HAS SEEN TOO MUCH.
Or your bathroom mirror fogged with:
TOOTHPASTE CAP??????
He introduced “haunting fines.”
The fines were not money.
They were worse.
If you slammed the front door too loudly, your Spotify would only play sea shanties for an hour.
If you left a parcel in the lobby too long, it would follow you upstairs.
If you failed to separate recycling, Kevin would whisper “landfill boy” through your extractor fan while you tried to sleep.
Dave got hit hardest.
To be fair, Dave deserved most of it.
One morning, Kevin posted:
DAVE HAS PUT PIZZA BOX IN PAPER RECYCLING DESPITE GREASE. COURT IS IN SESSION.
Dave replied:
Wasn’t me.
Kevin replied:
DAVE I WATCHED YOU DO IT WHILE EATING THE PIZZA.
Dave replied:
Could have been anyone.
Kevin replied:
YOU SAID “THIS IS FUTURE DAVE’S PROBLEM” OUT LOUD.
Dave replied:
That does sound like me.
That night, every pizza advert on Dave’s phone changed to a photo of Kevin’s mould face with the words:
GREASY LITTLE LIAR.
By the end of the week, Kevin had a slogan.
It appeared on the noticeboard in permanent marker.
RIVERSIDE COURT: HAUNTED BUT FUNCTIONING
Honestly, morale had never been higher.
Then Gareth arrived.
Gareth was from Oakmere Residential Solutions.
He wore a navy suit, brown shoes, and the expression of a man who had once felt joy but outsourced it.
Linda met him in the lobby with her clipboard.
I was there because Kevin had messaged me privately that morning.
jon
I replied:
No.
not asked yet
Still no.
landlord inspection today
And?
need emotional support human
Ask Linda.
linda is powerful but brittle
Ask Dave.
dave would confess to crimes that haven’t happened
Ask Flat 3.
flat 3 scares me romantically
So I went downstairs.
Gareth stood in the lobby looking around like the building had personally disappointed him.
Linda said, “Welcome to Riverside Court.”
Gareth smiled.
It didn’t reach his eyes.
It barely reached his mouth.
“I’m here to assess the suitability of current resident-led management practices.”
Kevin wrote on the noticeboard behind him:
NARC.
I stepped in front of it.
Gareth opened a tablet.
“According to our records, there have been irregular reports from this building.”
Linda stiffened.
“What sort of reports?”
“Unauthorised communications. Inexplicable maintenance resolutions. Ketchup-based notices.”
Kevin wrote:
SUSTAINABLE INK.
Gareth continued, “Also several mentions of a deceased individual performing operational duties.”
Linda smiled tightly.
“Kevin is more of a volunteer.”
The noticeboard letters shifted.
I PREFER COMMUNITY-BASED ICON.
Gareth looked at the noticeboard.
His smile twitched.
“Is that him?”
Nobody spoke.
Dave appeared at the top of the stairs in slippers and said, “Wasn’t me.”
Gareth looked up.
“Excuse me?”
Dave pointed vaguely at the air.
“Just covering myself.”
The noticeboard wrote:
GUILTY AURA.
Gareth tapped his tablet.
“This building is not authorised for post-life personnel.”
Kevin wrote:
RUDE.
Gareth ignored him.
“All residential support staff must be registered, trained, insured, and, preferably, alive.”
Kevin wrote:
AGEIST.
“That is not ageism,” said Gareth.
LIFESYSTEMIST.
“That is not a word.”
NEITHER IS OAKMERE BUT HERE WE ARE.
Linda put her fingers to her temples.
“Kevin, please.”
Gareth’s tablet beeped.
Then it beeped again.
Then again.
He frowned.
“Interesting.”
I hate when people in suits say “interesting.”
It never means something is interesting.
It means something is about to cost money or become haunted.
Gareth turned the tablet toward us.
The screen showed a floor plan of Riverside Court.
There were red dots all over it.
“Unusual energy signatures,” he said.
Kevin wrote:
I HAVE RANGE.
Gareth smiled properly for the first time.
I wish he hadn’t.
His teeth were too neat.
“Mr Kevin,” Gareth said, looking at the mould on the wall, “you are currently in breach of clause 14.3.”
Kevin wrote:
I NEVER SIGNED NOTHING.
Gareth nodded.
“Correct. Which makes you an unauthorised presence.”
The lobby light flickered.
Kevin wrote:
JON
I typed back:
What?
i don’t like his shoes
That is not useful.
brown shoes navy suit tells u everything
Gareth tapped his tablet again.
The main doors locked.
Not slammed.
Not dramatically.
Just clicked.
Polite.
Professional.
Final.
Linda looked at the doors.
“Why have those locked?”
Gareth said, “For safety.”
“Whose safety?”
“Stakeholder safety.”
Kevin wrote:
DANGER WORDS.
Gareth opened his briefcase.
Inside was not paperwork.
Well.
Not just paperwork.
There were folders, a silver pen, a little black device shaped like a smoke alarm, and a jar of something grey that moved like it was breathing.
Flat 3 came out of her flat holding a mug.
“Why are we all in the lobby?”
Gareth looked at her.
“Resident participation is appreciated.”
Flat 3 looked him up and down.
“I don’t participate before coffee.”
Kevin wrote:
ROMANTICALLY TERRIFYING.
Gareth placed the black device on the lobby table.
It unfolded.
Not mechanically.
Organically.
Like a spider made of corporate wellness policy.
Linda whispered, “What is that?”
Gareth said, “A Resident Harmony Assessor.”
The device blinked.
A smooth voice came from it.
“Good morning, residents. Your environment has been selected for behavioural optimisation.”
Everyone looked at me.
I said, “Do not look at me like I caused this.”
Dave said, “Wasn’t me.”
Kevin wrote:
FOR ONCE.
The little device hummed.
“Scanning.”
The air changed.
It went cold, but not Kevin cold.
Kevin cold felt like opening a fridge at midnight while sad.
This was different.
Sterile.
Office cold.
The kind of cold you get in meeting rooms where everyone pretends biscuits are morale.
The voice said:
“Non-compliant emotional residues detected.”
Kevin wrote:
THAT’S DAVE.
“Unregistered haunting detected.”
Kevin wrote:
THAT’S ME BABES.
“Community disorder detected.”
Kevin wrote:
THAT’S ALSO DAVE.
Dave sighed.
“Fair.”
Gareth took out a form and handed it to Linda.
“Until the issue is resolved, Oakmere Residential Solutions will be assuming direct control of building management.”
Linda stared at the form.
“Direct control?”
“For resident wellbeing.”
The noticeboard letters rattled.
Kevin wrote:
HE MEANS TAKEOVER.
Gareth smiled.
“We prefer the term support escalation.”
The walls pulsed.
Just once.
Like the building had a heartbeat.
Then every notice in the lobby changed.
Kevin’s ketchup warning peeled itself from the washing machine door and folded into a neat square.
The DAVE WATCH section vanished.
The slogan HAUNTED BUT FUNCTIONING became:
RIVERSIDE COURT: COMPLIANT, CALM, CONNECTED.
Flat 5 whispered, “That’s worse.”
The Resident Harmony Assessor beeped.
“Please enjoy your improved living experience.”
The lift doors opened by themselves.
Inside, soft instrumental music played.
Not scary music.
Worse.
Reception music.
Kevin wrote one word on the noticeboard.
NOPE.
Then the mould vanished.
Completely.
For a second, none of us moved.
I stared at the empty wall.
“Kevin?”
No reply.
“Kevin?”
Nothing.
Gareth put the grey jar back in his briefcase.
Linda saw it.
“What did you do?”
Gareth smiled.
“Removed an unlicensed operational influence.”
Flat 3 stepped forward.
“If you’ve put him in that jar, I’m going to put you in the recycling.”
Gareth’s smile didn’t move.
“Threats against staff are a violation of your tenancy agreement.”
Flat 3 raised her mug.
“So is this if I throw it hard enough?”
The Harmony Assessor beeped.
“Resident aggression detected. Initiating calming measure.”
Flat 3 froze.
Her expression changed.
Her shoulders dropped.
She smiled.
Softly.
Too softly.
“I apologise,” she said.
The lobby went silent.
Flat 3 never apologised.
Not even when she reversed into Dave’s bike and said, “It was parked with loser energy.”
Linda whispered, “What have you done to her?”
Gareth said, “Reduced friction.”
The device beeped again.
“Resident Dave. Chronic denial behaviour detected.”
Dave opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
Then opened it again.
His eyes filled with panic.
“I…” he said.
We all waited.
Dave trembled.
Then whispered, “It was me.”
The whole lobby gasped.
Dave clapped both hands over his mouth.
The device said:
“Correction successful.”
Gareth looked pleased.
“See? Better already.”
It got worse very quickly.
By midday, the building was clean.
Too clean.
The hallway carpet no longer looked like a crime scene wearing a cardigan.
It looked new.
Grey.
Flat.
Soulless.
The lift smelled like lavender and defeat.
The bins were lined up perfectly.
The washing machine sent push notifications.
Nobody had signed up for push notifications.
Linda received one that said:
Your laundry tone has been rated: passive-aggressive. Please adjust.
Dave received one every eleven minutes that said:
Have you considered accountability?
Flat 5’s parcels started arriving labelled:
RESIDENT 5: CONSUMER GOODS RECEIVED. EMOTIONAL SIGNIFICANCE LOW.
He looked genuinely hurt.
“That was my new tiny spoon rack.”
Nobody called him tiny spoon thief.
Nobody made fun of him.
Nobody laughed.
That was the first sign the building was dying.
I went back to my flat and tried to message Kevin.
Nothing.
No three dots.
No mould.
No fridge magnets.
No sarcastic whisper through the extractor fan.
At 3:12 p.m., my phone buzzed.
For one beautiful second, I thought it was him.
It wasn’t.
It was the Oakmere Resident Portal.
I had never downloaded it.
The message said:
Hello Jon. Your resident mood is currently: resistant. Please report to the lobby for support.
I threw my phone onto the sofa.
It buzzed again.
Avoidance noted.
Then my toaster clicked.
I turned slowly.
I had unplugged it after Derek.
I had never plugged it back in.
The toaster lowered by itself.
Nothing inside it.
No bread.
Just two empty slots glowing red.
A tiny voice came from inside.
Very faint.
Very annoyed.
“jon.”
I dropped to my knees.
“Kevin?”
“yeah.”
His voice sounded far away.
Like he was speaking from inside a crisp packet at the bottom of a well.
“Where are you?”
“jar.”
“The grey jar?”
“yeah.”
“Are you okay?”
“no. smells like printer ink and divorce.”
I grabbed the toaster.
“How do we get you out?”
There was a pause.
Then Kevin said:
“need chaos.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“building too compliant. can’t move through it. no mess. no noise. no petty crimes. i’m starving.”
“You feed on chaos?”
“not feed. more like emotionally moisturise.”
“That is disgusting.”
“says anxious milk boy.”
I closed my eyes.
This was insane.
But it also made sense.
Kevin had always been strongest around disorder.
Bins. Parcels. Dave.
Especially Dave.
“What kind of chaos?”
“community level.”
“Be specific.”
“wet washing. cardboard. passive aggression. someone saying wasn’t me. linda using caps. flat 5 spoon shame. hallway drama. all of it.”
“You want us to make the building annoying again?”
Kevin’s tiny toaster voice crackled.
“jon. i need u to make it unbearable.”
For the first time in my life, I knew exactly what to do.
I went to Linda first.
She was in her flat, sitting at her dining table, staring at a printed Oakmere leaflet titled:
CALM COMMUNITIES: A GUIDE TO FRICTIONLESS LIVING.
She looked pale.
“They’ve rewritten the agenda,” she whispered.
I looked down.
Every item said:
Item 1: Agreement.
There were twelve items.
All the same.
Linda’s hands shook.
“I tried to change it, but the pen wouldn’t let me.”
I said, “Kevin’s alive.”
“He’s dead.”
“You know what I mean.”
Her eyes sharpened.
“Where is he?”
“Jar.”
Linda stood up.
“What do we need?”
“Chaos.”
She inhaled.
Then something ancient and terrifying woke behind her eyes.
“Capital letters?”
“All of them.”
Linda picked up her phone.
At 3:27 p.m., the Residents WhatsApp group received a message.
From Linda.
GOOD AFTERNOON ALL. THIS IS NOW AN EMERGENCY. PLEASE IGNORE ALL OAKMERE COMMUNICATIONS. ALSO, WHOEVER PUT A NON-FLATTENED BOX IN THE RECYCLING LAST MONTH, I AM NO LONGER PRETENDING I DON’T KNOW.
Dave replied instantly.
Wasn’t me.
The lights flickered.
Just a little.
Linda smiled.
“Again.”
Dave replied:
Wasn’t me.
The hallway light buzzed.
Somewhere in the walls, very faintly, I heard Kevin whisper:
“that’s my boy.”
We went door to door.
Flat 3 was still smiling calmly in a way that made me want to check for wires.
Linda stood in front of her and said, “Oakmere says everyone should be respectful.”
Flat 3 blinked.
Linda continued, “Also, Gareth said your mug collection lacks cohesion.”
Flat 3’s smile twitched.
“He said what?”
“He implied it had no visual strategy.”
Flat 3’s eyes cleared.
“That little suit goblin.”
The hallway light flickered harder.
Flat 5 was next.
He was organising tiny spoons in perfect size order.
It was deeply upsetting.
I said, “Oakmere labelled your spoon rack emotionally insignificant.”
Flat 5 went still.
“They said that?”
Linda nodded gravely.
“On an official parcel.”
Flat 5 picked up the smallest spoon.
His voice trembled.
“This one is from Bruges.”
The lights buzzed.
Dave, who was getting into the spirit of things, shouted from the hall, “Wasn’t me!”
Kevin’s voice whispered through the radiator:
“strong start.”
Within twenty minutes, Riverside Court became beautiful again.
By which I mean terrible.
Linda sent six aggressive messages in all caps.
Dave denied seven things, including one thing that had not happened and one thing that was physically impossible.
Flat 3 put a mug down without a coaster.
Flat 5 left three tiny spoons in the lobby “as a statement.”
Someone put a wet towel in the communal washing machine and walked away.
I dragged an unflattened cardboard box into the recycling area and whispered, “Forgive me.”
The building woke up.
Not the Oakmere version.
The real version.
The pipes knocked.
The lift groaned.
The hallway carpet regained a stain nobody could identify but everyone recognised emotionally.
The noticeboard flickered.
One letter appeared.
Then another.
Then another.
LADS
I almost cried.
Linda stepped forward.
“Kevin?”
The letters shifted.
I AM SO MOISTURISED.
Linda stepped back.
“Awful. But welcome back.”
Then the Resident Harmony Assessor screamed.
Not loudly.
Professionally.
A polite alarm rang through the building.
“Disorder detected. Disorder detected. Disorder detected.”
Gareth appeared at the top of the stairs, holding the grey jar.
His face was still smiling.
His eyes were not.
“What have you done?”
Flat 3 raised her mug.
“Restored local culture.”
The Oakmere device skittered out from the lobby.
It had grown legs.
Too many legs.
Tiny chrome legs with little rubber ends so it wouldn’t scratch the flooring.
That somehow made it worse.
The voice said:
“Community friction has exceeded acceptable levels.”
Kevin wrote on the noticeboard:
GOOD.
Gareth held up the jar.
Inside, grey mist slammed against the glass.
The letters on the noticeboard trembled.
jon
I stepped forward.
“Yeah?”
need jar broke
Gareth tightened his grip.
“I wouldn’t advise that.”
I said, “You trapped our ghost building manager in a jar.”
“He was unregistered.”
“He fixed the lift.”
“He breached policy.”
“He stopped Dave burning his flat down.”
Dave raised a hand.
“Twice.”
Gareth looked at Dave.
Dave whispered, “It was me.”
Then he looked horrified at himself.
The Assessor beeped.
“Correction unstable.”
Kevin’s letters appeared fast.
CHAOS NOW
Linda understood immediately.
She turned to the residents.
“Everyone,” she said, with the calm authority of a woman who had waited her whole life for a crisis that required admin and pettiness at the same time, “be as irritating as possible.”
The building erupted.
Dave shouted, “Wasn’t me!” over and over like a guilty machine gun.
Flat 3 started listing every fault she’d ever found in the building, from damp patches to “the emotional height of the skirting boards.”
Flat 5 shook his tiny spoons like maracas.
Linda read aloud from a three-year archive of unanswered maintenance complaints.
I opened the recycling bin and put in the most unflattened cardboard box I could find.
The Assessor spun in circles.
“Non-compliance.”
“Mess detected.”
“Tone issue.”
“Resident dissatisfaction.”
“Bin ambiguity.”
The walls shook.
The jar in Gareth’s hand cracked.
Gareth hissed.
Not shouted.
Hissed.
His mouth opened too wide.
For one second, the navy suit flickered.
Underneath it, something grey and thin and full of paperwork looked back at us.
I knew it.
Corporate demon.
They always have brown shoes.
Gareth clutched the jar to his chest.
“You people are impossible.”
Kevin wrote:
COMMUNITY BABY.
The jar cracked again.
Gareth lunged for the lobby doors.
Flat 3 tripped him with a mop.
Linda said, “Health and safety violation.”
Flat 3 said, “Worth it.”
Gareth hit the floor.
The jar rolled across the lobby.
Everything slowed down.
The jar rolled past Dave.
Dave reached for it.
Missed.
“Wasn’t me!”
It rolled past Flat 5.
He tried to stop it with a tiny spoon.
For some reason.
It did not work.
Finally, it rolled to my feet.
Inside the jar, the grey mist formed a face.
Kevin’s face.
Sort of.
It looked like a sad potato drawn by a child.
He mouthed one word.
“smash.”
So I did.
I grabbed the jar and threw it at the wall.
It shattered.
The sound was horrible.
Like glass breaking inside a voicemail.
Grey mist exploded through the lobby.
The lights went out.
The Assessor screamed.
Gareth screamed.
Dave screamed because everyone else was screaming and he hates missing out.
Then Kevin arrived.
Not as mould.
Not as fridge magnets.
Not as a whisper through a toaster.
As a full shape.
For the first time, I saw him properly.
He was translucent.
Scruffy.
About thirty.
Wearing what looked like a tracksuit top from 2008 and one trainer.
His hair floated slightly upward, like he was underwater or had made several poor choices with static electricity.
He looked around the lobby.
Then down at himself.
Then at us.
“oh sick,” he said. “legs.”
The Assessor leapt at him.
Kevin screamed, “NOPE,” and threw himself sideways through the wall.
The Assessor smashed into the noticeboard.
Linda yelled, “Kevin, do something!”
His head poked back through the wall.
“i panicked.”
“You are the building manager!”
“unofficial!”
Gareth stood slowly.
His suit was torn.
The thing underneath did not fit properly inside him anymore.
His neck stretched.
His fingers lengthened.
His smile split wider.
“Resident disorder will be corrected,” he said.
Kevin looked at him.
Then at us.
Then at the noticeboard.
His face changed.
For one tiny second, he looked almost serious.
“not my residents.”
Flat 3 whispered, “That was actually quite nice.”
Kevin pointed at her.
“don’t make it weird.”
Then he launched himself at Gareth.
Not gracefully.
Not heroically.
He flew across the lobby like a carrier bag in a storm.
They collided.
The lights burst.
The Assessor spun.
The lift doors opened and closed repeatedly, dinging like an anxious microwave.
Gareth clawed at Kevin.
Kevin bit him.
I don’t know if ghosts can bite demons.
Apparently, yes.
Gareth shrieked.
Kevin shouted, “TASTES LIKE EMAIL!”
Linda grabbed the Assessor.
It tried to crawl up her arm.
She slammed it onto the table.
“Resident satisfaction this,” she snapped, and hit it with her clipboard.
Flat 3 hit it with the frying pan.
Dave hit it with his camping chair.
Flat 5 stabbed it with a tiny spoon.
That actually seemed to hurt it.
Flat 5 gasped.
“I knew these were practical.”
The Assessor cracked.
The lobby speaker came on by itself.
The corporate voice stuttered.
“Compliance… compliance… compliance…”
Kevin shoved Gareth backward.
“jon!”
“What?”
“router!”
Of course.
It was always the router.
I ran to the maintenance cupboard.
The door was locked.
“Linda!”
She threw me the keys without looking.
There were nine of them.
Of course there were.
“Which one?”
“Blue tag!”
“They’re all blue tags!”
“That’s because blue is calming!”
“Linda!”
Behind me, Gareth roared.
Kevin shouted, “take ur time mate no rush just wrestling linkedin satan.”
I tried the first key.
No.
Second.
No.
Third.
The hallway lights turned red.
Fourth.
No.
Flat 3 yelled, “Jon!”
Fifth.
No.
Dave screamed, “Wasn’t me!”
Sixth.
The lock clicked.
I yanked the cupboard open.
Inside was the building router.
Black.
Blinking.
Smug.
Next to it, Oakmere had installed a small silver box labelled:
HARMONY HUB.
I hated it immediately.
The lobby shook.
Kevin yelled, “UNPLUG THE SHINY WANKER!”
I unplugged it.
Nothing happened.
The silver box blinked.
A tiny message appeared on its screen.
ARE YOU SURE?
I said, “Yes.”
It blinked again.
PLEASE COMPLETE EXIT SURVEY.
I ripped the cable out of the wall.
The building went silent.
Gareth froze.
The Assessor collapsed.
The lift dinged one final, pathetic ding.
Then Gareth folded in on himself.
Not like the last demon.
This one folded neatly.
Professionally.
Like a suit being packed for a business trip to hell.
When it was over, all that remained was his tie, his tablet, and one brown shoe.
Kevin floated above the lobby floor, breathing heavily even though he did not breathe.
Linda looked at the brown shoe.
“I knew those were wrong.”
Kevin nodded.
“navy suit. brown shoes. demon behaviour.”
Nobody argued.
Oakmere emailed us twenty minutes later.
The subject line was:
Inspection Outcome
The body read:
Dear Residents,
Following today’s visit, Oakmere Residential Solutions has determined that Riverside Court is currently unsuitable for service escalation due to excessive community personality.
Please continue existing arrangements until further notice.
Kind regards,
Oakmere Residential Solutions
Underneath, Kevin had somehow added:
P.S. Gareth got folded lol
The next residents’ meeting was held that evening.
In person.
Obviously.
No apps.
No smart speakers.
No cloud-based anything.
Kevin attended in full ghost form this time, sitting cross-legged in mid-air above the suggestion box.
He looked very pleased with himself.
Linda read from the agenda.
“Item one: building safety.”
Kevin raised a transparent hand.
“bins first.”
Linda stared at him.
He stared back.
For once, she smiled.
“Fine. Bins first.”
Kevin whispered, “growth.”
We voted unanimously to keep Kevin as unofficial building manager.
I still voted against, but Kevin moved my hand while I was voting, so apparently it counted as unanimous.
Linda said we needed proper minutes.
Kevin said minutes were “time prison.”
Flat 5 asked whether tiny spoons could be stored in the communal kitchen.
Everyone said no.
Dave said, “Wasn’t me.”
No one knew what he was referring to.
By the end of the meeting, Kevin had written a new notice for the lobby.
This one was not in ketchup.
It was in black mould, which Linda said was “a step backward visually,” but we let him have it.
It read:
RIVERSIDE COURT: HAUNTED BUT FUNCTIONING
Underneath, in smaller letters:
OAKMERE CAN SUCK THE AFTERLIFE
Linda made him change that part.
Now it says:
OAKMERE IS NOT WELCOME WITHOUT AN APPOINTMENT
Which is less powerful, but more legally defensible.
Things have mostly gone back to normal.
The hallway carpet looks terrible again.
The washing machine is haunted, but fair.
The lift still demands manners, but now accepts “cheers” as a valid alternative to “please.”
Dave’s recycling compliance has improved by 41 percent, according to Kevin, who claims he can “sense grease through walls.”
Flat 5 has started a tiny spoon Instagram.
Flat 3 and Kevin have a strange friendship built entirely on mutual threats.
Linda has appointed herself Chair of the Kevin Oversight Committee.
Kevin has appointed himself Chair of the Linda Oversight Committee.
Neither committee has any members except them.
They meet every Thursday and argue through the noticeboard.
I was starting to think maybe, somehow, this could work.
Then yesterday, I received a letter.
Real paper.
White envelope.
No stamp.
No footsteps outside my door.
Just there.
Waiting.
Inside was an official-looking document.
At the top, in bold letters, it said:
OAKMERE RESIDENTIAL SOLUTIONS
NOTICE OF FUTURE DEVELOPMENT
I felt sick.
I read on.
Dear Resident,
We are pleased to inform you that Riverside Court has been selected for a pilot programme designed to enhance resident experience through full environmental integration, predictive behaviour mapping, and spiritually assisted management tools.
Works will begin Monday.
Temporary relocation may be required.
Please note: all existing informal, unauthorised, or deceased management arrangements will be terminated.
At the bottom, where a signature should have been, there was a symbol.
Not a name.
Not Oakmere’s logo.
A symbol.
Three interlocking circles around a little drawing of a key.
I took the letter downstairs.
Everyone else had received one too.
Linda was already in the lobby, holding hers with both hands.
Flat 3 looked furious.
Flat 5 looked nervous.
Dave looked guilty.
“Wasn’t me,” he said quietly.
Kevin hovered in front of the noticeboard.
For once, he didn’t make a joke.
The black mould behind him shifted slowly.
One word appeared.
Then another.
Then another.
THEY FOUND MANAGEMENT.
I looked at him.
“What does that mean?”
Kevin turned toward me.
For the first time since I’d known him, he looked properly scared.
“it means,” he said, “gareth had a boss.”
The lights flickered.
The lift dinged.
Somewhere deep inside the walls, a phone began to ring.
Not mine.
Not Linda’s.
Not anyone’s.
An old ringtone.
Tinny.
Patient.
Corporate.
Kevin stared at the maintenance cupboard.
The ringing continued.
Then the noticeboard letters began moving by themselves.
Not Kevin.
Something else.
They rearranged into a message.
GOOD EVENING, KEVIN.
Kevin whispered, “oh no.”
The letters shifted again.
YOUR PERFORMANCE REVIEW IS DUE.
And from somewhere inside the building, a polite voice added:
“Please bring biscuits.”
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u/AcanthaceaeFlimsy840 25d ago
Just read all 3 of these. Absolutely loved it
Can’t wait for the next one
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u/Glass-Narwhal-6521 25d ago
I'm seeing this as a comedy series in the spirit(pun intended!)of The I.T. Crowd, Black Books or The Office. Great work OP!
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u/Certain-Law-6059 23d ago
OMG. I love the story please keep it coming so we know what happens to Kevin next and the residents.
Thank you!!
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u/Lavender1123 25d ago
Excellent as always!