I'm Not The Only One

In January 2005, my friend Dean moved out of his apartment and was moving back to Ohio. He needed somewhere to stay till he actually left New Orleans, so I said he could stay with me. He stayed for three weeks. No problem.

One day I was at work and Dean called me on my cell phone.
D: Hey, how's it going?
Me: Pretty good. What's up?
D: Not much, but I have a question for you.
Me: OK.
D: Who's that guy in the picture on your fireplace?
Me: That's my dad.
D: Is he dead?
Me: Yeah he died about 10 years ago. Why?
D: 'Cause I think he's here.
Me: (Thoughtful pause) ...I beg your pardon?
D: Yeah I spent the day at the museum, and when I got home, it felt like someone else was here. It just feels like someone else is here in your apartment. And every time I look at that photograph on the fireplace, it just seems to be glowing.

Oh great; Dean's flaking out on me! I think to myself.
Me: Well, are you ok?
D: Oh yeah, I'm fine. I'll try to find out what I can and call you back.
Me: OK, you do that. Let me know what happens with that. Bye!
Click

Terrific. Dean's a flake.
Later...

Ring!
Me: Hello?
D: Does the name "Marty" mean anything to you?
Me: No. Why?
D: Cause I still feel this presence in your apartment, and the name "Marty" keeps popping into my head. You sure it doesn't mean anything to you?
Me: Well, my father's grandfather, my great-grandfather, was Martin, who came here from Ireland. Other than that, no.
D: Well, ok, I'll try to see if I can find out any more.
Me: OK, you do that. Let me know what happens with that. Bye.
Click!

Hmm. I recall the incident with the door a couple of months ago. There's no way that door could have opened by itself. I wonder if these two events are related? Maybe there is something to Dean's story. I've never thought of him as the type to be much of a flake. I wonder what he'll tell me in the morning?