(I decided to do an alternate twist on the prompt, with different perspectives)

My roommate Tom is a pretty nice guy. Donates to charities, does community service with the local Boy Scout troop, that kind of thing.

There’s only one problem about him.

He’s in MY GODDAMN HOUSE.

After I died of “Acute asphyxiation of the larynx” (Clearly, the coroner was getting some use out of her Word-A-Day calendar) the HOA decided to ignore my will and sell my house. Tom bought it, despite my best efforts, and I’ve sort of gotten used to him. Of course, that doesn’t mean I stopped trying to get him the hell out of my house, like how his shower inexplicably turned cold, or when his Wi-Fi mysteriously went out during an important Zoom meeting.

Unfortunately for me, he was determined to stay. He wound up attempting an exorcism, but he botched it and wound up creating a supernatural contract with me that not only allows him to see me, but hear me as well. He started treating me like his personal therapist, whining and griping about all his woes. He never seemed to listen to me when I told him that my major was mechanical engineering, not psychology.

But I guess he finally did understand me, and that led to this: Me, in the house of the HOA president, stealing vital parts from her toaster oven, stand mixer, lawn mower, and anything else I could put my degree to good use on. By the time I was done, the generator in her backyard was useless, and the next time she tried to mow her lawn, she’d find that she could only mow in square patches, since her mower wouldn’t move when it was turned on. My work done, I returned to my house (It was still my house, even though Tom was technically the legal owner) and informed Tom that my sabotage work was done. Soon enough, the entire HOA began moving out due to technical difficulties with their homes. As they moved out, the issues they complained of seemed to fix themselves, as if by magic.

I get the feeling Tom might not be as bad of a guy as I thought.