The New Landlord
By Andre Farant


As Edwin reached for the coffee mug it leapt out of the drying rack, flew across the kitchen, and crashed against the far wall.

Edwin stood very still.

Moving slowly, he turned off the flow of water into the sink. He took a step away from the counter and toward the doorway.

A plate, spotted with food and dripping dish water, rose from the sink, hovered, and came at him as though shot from a cannon. Edwin dodged to the left, feeling the air split open an inch from his right ear. China shards stung his face and neck like a swarm of hornets.

Still crouched, he made a run for the doorway. Unseen but powerful hands gripped him by the throat, slammed him against the wall. He felt a man's body press up against him, though he saw no one.

Warm breath tickled his ear.

"Hear that?" The voice was deep, cold. "That's the sound of the shower running upstairs. Your wife, Shannon's in there."

"Wh—H?"

"Shut up, Ed. You know that's been my favourite part of the day for the past week, watching you wife take her shower? I'm skipping that for you, Ed." A snort, derisive. "You don't deserve a woman like that. You don't deserve this house, either."

"Who are you?" Edwin said.

"Just a man. A man making the best of an accident."

"Accident?"

The invisible fingers tightened around his throat. "You really need to focus, Ed."

"What do you want?"

"This house. This house and maybe . . ." The voice trailed off, leaving behind only the distant sound of the shower.

Summoning courage he did not feel, Edwin said, "I'll call the—"

"The police?" The voice laughed. "And what're you going to tell them, Ed? 'There's an invisible man in my house and he won't leave?' Sure. Yeah. Try that." The nearby phone popped off its wall mount and seemed to float before his eyes. "Go ahead."

The phone clattered to the floor.

A sob escaped Edwin's throat.

"Don't cry, Ed," the voice said and Edwin was abruptly released.

His knees failed him and he sat hard on the floor, his back to the wall.

"Look, this is my house now." The intruder's voice faded; he had left the kitchen. "And you're welcome to stay." The stairs creaked; the stairs leading to the second floor, to the bathroom, where the shower was still running. "But I'll warn you," the voice said, "the rent is steep."


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I have been a security guard, a project coordinator for an NGO, a male model, a court services officer, a teacher of South korean students, and a civil servant. I hope to god at least one of these positions will in some way inform my writing. I live in Ottawa, Ontario.