She thought her roommate was human.  She was wrong.

Fiona’s African stories.  Sandra was desperately looking for a roommate to share her apartment in Marcory. The rent had become too much for her to bear alone.  The Facebook ad had attracted several candidates, but it was Marlè who won her over.  Beautiful, smiling, punctual for payment, clean, discreet, the perfect roommate, perhaps too perfect, because Marlè was hiding a terrible secret.

  She was not who she claimed to be. She wasn’t even human.  It took Sandra 3 months to notice the first signs.  Marlè never ate, never slept, had no shadow under certain lights, and above all, mirrors did not always reflect her face.  Sometimes he showed something else, something that had nothing human about it.

  When Sandra finally discovered the truth, it was too late.  Marlè had already taken what she came for and it wasn’t just a room she wanted to share. Sandra Cofi was 27 years old. Marketing assistant in a telecom company.  She earned a decent living.  45,000 CFA francs per month.  Not bad for a recent graduate.

  But in Abidjan, even a good salary melts away like snow in the sun.  The apartment in Marcori cost him 300,000 francs per month.  Two bedrooms, living room, open-plan kitchen, balcony with lagoon view.  She had rented it with Kevin, her boyfriend since college.  But Kevin had left her months earlier.  “I need to find myself again,” he said as he left with the girl from the apartment across the hall.

Now, Sandra was left with an impossible rent and a broken heart. The owner, Mrs. Diabaté, was not the compassionate type.  “Either you pay the full 300,000, or you’re out. I have 10 people waiting for this apartment.” Sandra had posted an ad on every Facebook group imaginable. “Looking for a female roommate for a luxury apartment in Marcory, furnished room with air conditioning, 150,000 francs per month, utilities included.

 Non-smoker, clean, quiet, available immediately.” The responses poured in. Penniless students who wanted to negotiate, married women looking for a place to stay for their affairs, strange girls asking odd questions about the apartment’s orientation or whether there was a mirror. Sandra was starting to despair when Marline showed up.

 It was a Tuesday evening. Sandra was coming home exhausted from work when she found her at her door. Tall, slender, with perfect ebony skin and natural hair styled in a majestic afro. She was wearing a modern pagne outfit that must have cost a fortune. “Good evening, I’m Marline Assémiant. I saw your  announcement. Her voice was melodious, almost hypnotic.

 Sandra immediately felt at ease. “Oh, good evening, come in, I’ll show you around.” Marlè walked around the apartment in silence. She lingered in the available bedroom, ran her hand along the walls, gazed for a long time out the window. “It’s perfect,” she said finally. “I’ll take it. You don’t want to discuss the price, the terms? 150,000 a month. That’s right.

 Here’s three months’ rent in advance.” She produced a wad of bills. 450,000 francs in cash. Sandra could n’t believe her eyes. “Are you sure? You don’t want to think about it ?” Marlè smiled. A perfect smile. Too perfect. Her teeth shone like pearls. “I’ve waited a long time to find the right place. This apartment has exactly what I’m looking for.

” “And what exactly are you looking for? A quiet place with someone nice, someone like you?” “Sandra?” she commented.  “First name?” Sandra hadn’t said it, but in the euphoria of the moment, she didn’t pay attention. ” What do you do for a living, a consultant?” “I mainly work nights, due to the time difference with my international clients.

I hope that won’t bother you.” ” No, not at all. As long as you’re discreet.” “Oh, you won’t hear me, I promise.” Marlè moved in the next day. Just two suitcases, no furniture, no boxes, as if she had no past. The first few weeks were heavenly. Marlè was the perfect roommate, always smiling, always clean.

 She cleaned the apartment without being asked. Paid her share of the rent on time, never made a sound. Sandra congratulated herself on her luck. After Kevin’s betrayal, she had found a friend, or at least, that’s what she thought. The first month passed without incident. Sandra worked during the day, comi

ng home around 7 p.m. Marlè left  She would work around 8 p.m. and come back whenever she felt like it . Their paths rarely crossed, but when they did, they chatted pleasantly. Marline was cultured, funny, and thoughtful. She left kind notes on the fridge, bought Sandra’s favorite laundry detergent , and even sometimes made coffee in the morning, even though she never drank it .

 “Don’t you ever eat breakfast?” Sandra asked one morning. “I eat at work,” Marline replied with her perfect smile. It seemed plausible. But little by little, Sandra noticed troubling details. First, the food. Marline had her own shelf in the fridge, but it was always empty. No fruit, no vegetables, not even a bottle of water. Her assigned cupboard was empty too.

 “Do you always eat out?” Sandra asked one evening. “I have specific dietary needs. I prefer to manage them outside so as not to bother you. Allergies, special diets.” Strict, Sandra didn’t insist. Everyone has their own habits. Then there was the bathroom incident. Sandra had gotten up at 3 a.m. to go to the toilet. As she passed the bathroom, she saw a light under the door.

 Marlè must have come home. She was about to continue on her way when she heard a strange noise, like a hiss. No, more like a squeal, like a snake but bigger. Much bigger. “Marlè, are you okay?” The noise stopped instantly. “Yes, very well. Sorry if I woke you up.” Marlè’s voice was normal, but there was something like an echo, as if several voices were speaking at the same time.

 Sandra went back to bed feeling uneasy. The next day, she discreetly inspected the bathroom. Nothing unusual, except for marks on the mirror, like scratches. Four parallel grooves, too far apart to have been made by a human hand. “The mirror is scratched,” she told Marlè that evening. Marlè looked  “The marks,” she frowned.

 “Oh, I’m sorry, I must have bumped it with my ring. I’ll get it replaced.” She was n’t wearing a ring. The next day, the mirror was brand new. How had she done it so quickly? Glaziers didn’t work at night. Other strange things piled up. Sandra’s plants, usually thriving, began to wither whenever Marline went near them.

The neighborhood cats that often came onto the balcony had disappeared. The neighbors’ dog barked hysterically when Marline walked by in the hallway, and then there were the shadows. Sandra had noticed them one evening when they watched TV together. The light from the overhead lamp illuminated the living room.

 Sandra saw her own shadow on the wall. But Marline’s wasn’t there. Or rather, it was somewhere else, shifted, as if it didn’t obey the laws of physics. ” Marline, your shadow.” Marline turned her head so quickly that Sandra jumped. Her  Her usually brown eyes shone with a golden glow. “My shadow, it’s strange.” Marle looked at the wall.

 Her shadow suddenly appeared perfectly normal. “You’re tired, Sandra, you should rest.” The tone was gentle, but there was an underlying command. Sandra suddenly felt very tired. She went to bed without asking any more questions. That night, she had strange dreams. She was in the apartment, but everything was different.

 The walls oozed a black substance. The floor was covered in symbols she didn’t recognize. And in the center of the living room was Marle, but not the Marle she knew. This Marle had scaly skin, entirely golden eyes without pupils, claws instead of nails, and behind her, shifting shadows that were anything but human.

 “Soon,” this Marle said in the dream, “soon, you’ll understand.” Sandra woke up in a sweat. It was 4:00 a.m. She heard the front door  to open. Marlè was coming home, but through the window, Sandra saw something impossible. Marlè was walking in the building’s courtyard, but she wasn’t alone. Dark shapes were following her.

 No, she was leaving her as if she were a door to another place. Sandra went back to bed, her heart pounding. Who was Marlè really? What was she? In the following days, Sandra decided to investigate discreetly. She started with Google. Marlè Assemian returned no results. No Facebook, no LinkedIn, no Instagram.

 As if she didn’t exist . She tried to take her picture to do a reverse image search, but each time the photos were blurry, or Marlè turned her head at the last moment, or the camera mysteriously malfunctioned. One evening, Sandra suggested they have dinner together. ” I’ve made ‘qu de genoux’ (a type of ‘knee’ dish). My specialty, you’ll love it.

” “That’s kind, but I’ve already eaten,” replied Marlène. ” Come on, just for  Marlè reluctantly agreed. She sat down at the table, took a spoonful of rice, brought it to her mouth, and chewed slowly, too slowly, as if mimicking the gesture without really knowing how. “It’s delicious,” she said, swallowing. But Sandra saw the rice slide down her throat, literally as if her throat were transparent for a fraction of a second.

 And the rice wasn’t going down into a stomach it was falling into nothingness. Excuse me. Marlè jumped up and ran to the bathroom. Sandra heard sounds of vomiting, but not normal sounds. It was deeper, more guttural, like something large was regurgitating. When Marlè came back, she was pale. Well, paler than usual. Sorry, my stomach ca n’t handle spicy food.

 The knee quack wasn’t spicy. That night, Sandra didn’t sleep. She pretended to, but kept her eyes half-open. Around two o’clock  In the morning, she heard Marlè’s door open, footsteps in the hallway, but not normal footsteps. Too many, as if several people were walking at once or as if Marlè had more than two legs.

 Sandra got up silently and opened her door a crack. What she saw chilled her. Marlè was in the living room, but she wasn’t alone. There were other Marlè, three, four, maybe more, all identical, all translucent. They moved independently, searching the apartment. One of them approached Sandra’s bedroom. Sandra quickly closed her door, her heart pounding.

She heard the handle turn softly, then nothing. In the morning, Marlè was normal, smiling, friendly. “Did you sleep well?” she asked. “Yes, very well,” Sandra lied. “Good. Sleep is important for humans.” ” For humans,” a strange way to put it. Sandra decided to investigate further.

 She took a day off  After leaving, Sandra waited for Marlè to leave, then searched her room. The room was icy, unnaturally cold. The bed was made, but when Sandra touched the sheets, they were covered in a fine black dust, like lye, but it didn’t stain . The wardrobe was empty, completely empty, not a single garment. Yet, Marlè wore different outfits every day.

 Under the bed, Sandra found something: a locked metal box. She forced the lock with a screwdriver. Inside were old photos, very old. Black and white photos. Sepia tones, clearly decades old, and in every one, Marlè was exactly the same, not a day older. A photo from 1960 of Marlè in front of the old presidential palace.

 One from 1975, Marlè at Grand Bassam beach. One from 1988, Marlè at the Tricheville market. Always the same face, the same age, the same smile. At the bottom of the box was a document, a death certificate. Marlè Assémian, born March 3, 1940, died August 17, 1962, cause of death: drowning. Marlè had died in 1962. More than 60 years ago, Sandra heard the front door open.

 Impossible! Marlè never came home before dark. She quickly put everything back in its place and left the bedroom. Marlè was in the living room. She was smiling, but it wasn’t the same smile anymore. It was a predator’s smile. “Did you find what you were looking for, Sandra?” Sandra froze. Marlè knew. Of course she knew. ” I don’t know what you’re talking about.

 Don’t lie . I can smell you in my room. Fear has a very particular smell. Sweet, almost appetizing.” Marlè approached. Her movements were fluid, too fluid, as if she were gliding rather than walking. “Have you seen the photos? Have you seen the death certificate? Do you have any questions?”  I imagine.

 Sandra backed up against the wall. What are you? The question isn’t what, but why? Why am I here? Why did I choose you? Choose me? I’m the one who placed the ad. Marlè laughed. A laugh that sounded strangely like it came from several throats. You really think it was a coincidence? That Kevin left you by chance? That you ended up alone by chance? You made Kevin leave ? I showed him what he wanted to see.

 The girl across the street, younger, more available. Humans are so easy to manipulate. A little mental push and bam, they do exactly what you want. Sandra felt anger rising. Why? Why destroy my life? Destroy? I improved it. Kevin didn’t deserve you. He’d been cheating on you for months. I just spared you from finding out in a more painful way. That doesn’t answer my question.

What do you want? Marlè  She sat on the sofa and crossed her legs. In that position, Sandra noticed that her feet weren’t quite touching the ground. They were floating a few millimeters above it. I died in 1962, drowned in the lagoon and shone. Accident, they said. But it was murder. My fiancé pushed me.

 He wanted to marry my younger sister , more beautiful in his opinion. And you came back for revenge? Oh, I got my revenge a long time ago. He died in 1963. Heart attack. No one connected it to the scratches on his heart. The scratches from the inside. Sandra shuddered. But after the revenge, there was still emptiness. Neither alive, nor truly dead, stuck between the two worlds.

So, I wandered decade after decade, observing the living, admiring their warmth. And now, now, I’m looking for a way to truly return, to become human again. And for that, I need something that…  It cannot be taken by force. Something that must be given willingly. What? A life.

 A life offered out of friendship, love, or compassion. If someone agrees to give me their life, I can take it, take their place, become mortal again. Sandra understood the horror. You want my life? I want a life. Yours would be perfect. You’re young, healthy, you have a job. No close family to ask questions. Ideal for starting over. Never.

 I don’t force anyone. That’s the rule. The gift must be voluntary. But let me show you something. Marle stood up and took Sandra’s hand. The contact was icy. The world shifted. Suddenly, Sandra saw the world of the dead through Marle’s eyes . The apartment was the same but different. The walls were transparent.

 She could see through them into the other apartments and everywhere. The dead, dozens, hundreds. The old woman on the third floor, Mrs. Quassie, wasn’t alone. Her husband, dead since  Ten years old, he was sitting next to her. They were watching TV together, but he was translucent. The little boy downstairs was playing with his twin brother, the one who had died at birth.

 Everywhere, the dead coexisted with the living, invisible to most. But here, always here, you see, said Marlè, we are everywhere. Death is not an end, it’s a transition. But a painful transition when you’re stuck. Why me? Why not someone else? Because you remind me of myself before: independent, strong, wounded by love but not broken.

 I could be happy in your life. The world returned to normal. Sandra was back in her living room, trembling. I will never give you my life. I’m not asking for it. Not yet. Live with me. Get to know me. Maybe one day you’ll feel pity, or maybe you’ll understand that your life isn’t worth much compared to the eternity of suffering. And if  I’m leaving.

 If I move, I’ll follow you. I’m bound to you now, ever since you invited me to your place. That’s how it works. Once a dead person is invited, they can stay. The following weeks were surreal. Sandra was living with a ghost who no longer hid. Marlè openly used her powers, walked through walls, appeared and disappeared, multiplied her body.

 “It costs you nothing to try to live normally,” Marlè said. “I won’t hurt you, I can’t. Another rule.” Sandra tried to escape. She went to sleep at her friend Patricia’s house. But Marlè was there too, sitting in a corner of the room, smiling. “I told you, I’m bound to you.” She tried the church. The priest sprinkled holy water on the apartment.

Marlè laughed. “I’m not a demon, I ‘m just dead. Holy water doesn’t do anything to the dead.” She tried a  Marabout. He took her money, chanted incantations, burned herbs. Marlè watched him, amused. He’s skilled, but he can’t break a bond he’s willingly formed. You invited me, remember. Sandra was trapped.

 She couldn’t leave, couldn’t drive her away . So, she decided to make do , to coexist, to learn. She asked Marlè questions about death, about the afterlife, about the rules. Do all the dead become like you? No, most pass to the other side, toward the light, rest, whatever you call it, but some remain by choice or by accident. By accident.

Violent death, unjust death, too strong an attachment to the living. The reasons are many. And how many of you are there? Thousands in Abidjan alone. Millions worldwide. You don’t see us, but we are here. Sandra learned to live with this new reality. In the morning, she drank her coffee while Marlè read the newspaper without touching it, just glancing at  across.

 In the evenings, they watched TV together. Marline commented on the programs, criticized the actors, laughed at the almost normal, almost human comedies. “Do you feel emotions?” Sandra asked one evening, echoes of emotion like a memory of what it was like to feel. Eternal joy, sadness is distant. Only nostalgia is real, nostalgia for life.

 That’s why you want my body, not your body, your life, the spark that animates it. If you give it to me , your body remains yours. It is I who depart for eternal rest. And I, I become like you. No, you become me. But with your memories, your personality. Just without a body. It was so much sometimes when Sandra saw her life. Exhausting work, mediocre salary, emotional loneliness.

 What would she really lose? But no, life, even mediocre, was worth more than this half-existence. One evening, Sandra came home from work and found  The apartment transformed, decorated for her birthday. A cake that Marline couldn’t have made but had ordered. Balloons, presents. Happy birthday, Sandra! How did you know ? I saw your passport.

 28 years old today, a good age. To die, to live. That’s why I’m not asking you for anything today. Enjoy. That was the most unsettling thing. Marline could be kind, thoughtful, almost a friend. If you forgot that she was dead and wanted your life. Friends came. Patricia, Yanne, Kouamé. They didn’t see Marlè, who had made herself invisible for the occasion.

 But Sandra saw her in a corner, watching with envy. After they left, Marlè reappeared. Was it good? Yes, thank you. You’re welcome , I loved birthdays. Before, my mother always made a chocolate cake. My father played the guitar. My sister, she stopped. If ghosts could cry, Marline would cry. Your sister, the one for whom your  My fiancé killed you, she didn’t know.

 She married my murderer, had three children with him. She was happy, I think. She died in 2010. Cancer, she passed to the other side. She didn’t stay like me. Are you angry with her? No, she never knew. It’s better that way . Six months passed. Sandra had gotten used to her ghostly roommate. It had become normal.

 Marlè even helped her sometimes. Her powers were useful. When the owner of the neighboring business harassed Sandra, Marlè visited her at night. He quit the next day, terrified. When thieves tried to break into the apartment, they ran away screaming after seeing Marlè in her true form. When Sandra fell ill, Marlè watched over her.  She.

Unable to actually touch her, she called for help, ordered medication, and made sure she was okay.  A strange symbiosis had developed.  Sandra had almost forgotten that Marline wanted her life until that December evening.  Sandra came home from work and found Marline weakened, more transparent than usual, trembling.

  What’s going on? It’s the 17th, December 17th, the birthday.  What ?  From my death. Every year, on that day, I relive the drowning.  I can feel the water entering my lungs.  I feel life slipping away from me again and again.  Marlè was visibly suffering.  Her body dissolved and reformed as if she were dying repeatedly .

  How can I help you?  You can’t , unless I give you my life. Yes, it would be over for both of us. Sandra looked at Marlè, this dead woman who had become her friend despite everything, who had suffered for more than 60 years, who only wanted to rest.  And if I say yes, how does it work?  You say the words.  I give you my life willingly.  I’ll take your place.

  You take mine.  It’s instantaneous and painless.  And then, then, I live your life. A few years, decades if I’m lucky.  Then I die naturally and pass to the other side, and you, I become like you.  Yes, but you can choose to cross to the other side immediately.  Not staying is a choice.  Sandra thinks.

  His life against the liberation of Marlè, his sacrifice to end six decades of suffering.  There was a noise at the door. Kevin, her drunk ex, was crying.  Sandra, I’m sorry, I made a mistake. She left me.  I love you, take me back.  He was banging on the door.  Sandra opened it.  Kevin, go away. No, not until you forgive me.  He pushed her, forced his way in.

Vis Marlè or rather life through Marlè. Perhaps alcohol, or emotional shock.  What is this thing?  Get out of my house!  Kevin was panicking.  He grabbed a lamp, threw it at Marlene, she went right through it, he ran towards the balcony, tripped, and tumbled over the railing.  Sandra and Marline rushed over.

  Too late, Kevin lay dead three floors below.  But his ghost was already rising, floating, confused.  What is it, Sandra?  Where am I ?  He could now see Marline clearly.  He understood what he had become.  No, no, I don’t want to be dead.  “You have a choice,” said Marlen.  Go to the other side or stay.  Stay, Sandra, help me.

  Sandra looked at Kevin the ghost, then at Marlen.  She complied. Kevin would stay, haunt the apartment, haunt her.  Another ghost in his life.  Marline, yes, I give you my life willingly.  A flash of lightning.  Sandra felt something leaving her, her substance, her essence.  It became light, transparent.  Marlè, she became solid.  alive.

  “Thank you,” Marline murmured, using Sandra’s lips. Sandra, now a ghost, looked at her former body.  Marline inhabited it with grace.  Then she saw the light, the passage.  She could leave now, leaving Kevin alone with his regrets. She turned towards Marlè one last time .  “Live my life well, I promise you.

”  Sandra stepped into the light and disappeared.  Marle, now Sandra looked at Kevin the ghost.  You can stay if you want, but the rules are clear. No forced contact, no harassment.  Where can I make you disappear? Kevincha’s head was terrified.  Marlè Sandra smiled.  60 years of waiting.  Finally, she was alive again.  The beating heart , the breathing lungs, the warmth of the blood in the veins.

  She picked up the phone and called emergency services for Kevin.  Then she sat down and savored a sip of coffee.  The taste!  She had forgotten what taste was like.  A new life was beginning.  A life given out of friendship, out of compassion.  The most beautiful gift.  Marline still lives in the apartment in Marcory.

  To everyone, she is Sandra Coffee.  She works, laughs, loves.  No one knows that the real Sandra chose to leave, to give her life to free a troubled soul.  Kevin the ghost is still there, condemned to watch his ex-girlfriend live without him.  Poetic justice for the one who had betrayed him.

  Sometimes new deaths occur.  Marlè Sandra helps them get to the other side.  This is his way of honoring Sandra’s sacrifice.  Because that’s the secret of ghosts.  They are not here to haunt us.  They are there because they cannot leave behind their regrets, their attachments, their suffering.  And sometimes it takes the sacrifice of a living person to free them.

If one day your roommate seems strange, never eats, doesn’t have a normal shadow, ask yourself the question. Is this really a human?  Or is it someone who has been waiting for a very long time to be given a second chance?  Thank you for following this story.  If it chilled you to the bone, subscribe and leave a like.

  See you very soon for a new story