[STORY] She thought her roommate was human…she was wrong.

She Thought Her Roommate Was Human… She Was Wrong

Chapter One: The Perfect Roommate

Sandra Coffie was desperately searching for a roommate to share her apartment in Marcory, Abidjan. The rent had become too heavy to carry alone. The ad she’d posted across every Facebook group she could find had attracted several candidates, but it was Marlène who ultimately won her over. Beautiful, always smiling, punctual with payment, clean, discreet — the perfect roommate.

Too perfect, perhaps.

Because Marlène was hiding a terrible secret. She was not what she claimed to be. She wasn’t even human.

It took Sandra three months to notice the first signs. Marlène never ate, never slept, cast no shadow under certain lights, and — most unsettling of all — mirrors didn’t always reflect her face correctly. Sometimes they showed something else entirely. Something with nothing human about it.

By the time Sandra finally uncovered the truth, it was too late. Marlène had already taken what she’d come looking for — and it wasn’t simply a room to share.

Chapter Two: A Life Already Falling Apart

Sandra Coffie was twenty-seven, a marketing assistant at a telecom company. She earned a decent living — 450,000 CFA francs a month, not bad for a young graduate. But in Abidjan, even a good salary melts like snow in the sun.

The apartment in Marcory cost her 300,000 francs a month: two bedrooms, a living room, an open kitchen, a balcony overlooking the lagoon. She had rented it with Kevin, her boyfriend since university. But Kevin had left three months earlier.

“I need to find myself,” he’d said, walking out the door with the girl from the apartment across the hall.

Now Sandra was left with an impossible rent and a heart in pieces. Her landlady, Madame Diabaté, wasn’t the sympathetic type. “Either you pay the full 300,000, or you’re out. I have ten people waiting for this apartment.”

Sandra posted an ad on every Facebook group imaginable: Looking for a female roommate for an upscale apartment in Marcory. Furnished, air-conditioned room, 150,000 francs a month, utilities included. Non-smoker, clean, quiet, available immediately.

The replies poured in — broke students trying to negotiate, married women looking for a place to conduct affairs, strange girls asking bizarre questions about the apartment’s orientation or whether it had mirrors. Sandra was beginning to despair when Marlène appeared.

Chapter Three: The Woman at the Door

It was a Tuesday evening. Sandra came home exhausted from work and found her standing at the door — tall, slender, skin like flawless ebony, natural hair styled into a majestic afro. She wore a modern wax-print outfit that must have cost a fortune.

“Good evening, I’m Marlène Assémian. I saw your ad.”

Her voice was melodic, almost hypnotic. Sandra felt an immediate, inexplicable sense of trust.

“Oh — good evening, come in, I’ll show you around.”

Marlène toured the apartment in silence. She lingered in the available bedroom, ran her hand along the walls, stared out the window for a long moment.

“It’s perfect,” she said finally. “I’ll take it.”

“Don’t you want to discuss the price, the conditions?”

“150,000 a month. That’s correct?” She pulled out a stack of bills. “Here’s three months in advance.” 450,000 francs, in cash.

Sandra couldn’t believe her eyes. “Are you sure? Don’t you want to think it over?”

Marlène smiled — a perfect smile. Too perfect. Her teeth gleamed 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 decent. Someone like you, Sandra.”

How did she know her name? Sandra hadn’t given it. But caught up in the euphoria of the moment, she didn’t think twice.

“What do you do for a living?”

“Consulting. I work mostly at night — time differences with my international clients. I hope that won’t bother you.”

“Not at all. As long as you’re discreet.”

“Oh, you won’t hear me. I promise.”

Chapter Four: The Honeymoon Period

Marlène moved in the next day. Two suitcases only — no furniture, no boxes, as though she had no past at all. The first weeks were paradise. Marlène was the roommate of everyone’s dreams: always smiling, always clean. She cleaned the apartment without being asked, paid her share on the dot, never made noise.

Sandra congratulated herself on her luck. After Kevin’s betrayal, she’d found a friend — or so she believed. The first month passed without incident. Sandra worked during the day, came home around 7 p.m. Marlène left for “work” around 8 p.m., returned no one knew when. Their paths rarely crossed, but when they did, Marlène chatted pleasantly. She was cultured, funny, thoughtful. She left little notes on the fridge, bought Sandra’s favorite laundry detergent, sometimes even made coffee in the morning — though she never drank it herself.

“You never eat breakfast?” Sandra asked one morning.

“I eat at work,” Marlène replied with her perfect smile.

Plausible enough. But little by little, Sandra began noticing troubling details.

Chapter Five: The First Cracks

First, the food. Marlène 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 — empty too.

“You always eat out?” Sandra asked one evening.

“I have specific dietary needs. I prefer to handle that outside so I don’t inconvenience you.”

Allergies, a strict diet — Sandra didn’t push. Everyone has their habits.

Then came the bathroom incident. Sandra got up at 3 a.m. to use the toilet. Passing the bathroom, she saw light under the door — Marlène must have come home. She was about to keep walking when she heard a strange sound. A hissing. No — more like a low groan, like a snake, but far larger. Much larger.

“Marlène, are you okay?”

The sound stopped instantly. “Yes, I’m fine. Sorry if I woke you.”

Marlène’s voice was normal, but there was something underneath it — an echo, as though several voices were speaking at once.

Sandra went back to bed, uneasy. The next day she discreetly inspected the bathroom. Nothing unusual, except marks on the mirror — scratches. Four parallel grooves, too widely spaced to have been made by a human hand.

“The mirror’s scratched,” she told Marlène that evening. Marlène looked at the marks, frowned. “Oh, I must have hit it with my ring. I’ll have it replaced.”

She wasn’t wearing a ring.

The next day, the mirror was brand new. How had she managed it so fast? Glaziers didn’t work at night.

Other strange things accumulated. Sandra’s plants, usually thriving, began wilting the moment Marlène came near them. The neighborhood cats that used to gather on the balcony disappeared. The neighbor’s dog barked hysterically whenever Marlène passed in the hallway.

And then there were the shadows.

Chapter Six: The Shadow on the Wall

Sandra noticed it one evening while they watched TV together. The ceiling light lit the living room. Sandra could see her own shadow on the wall — but Marlène’s wasn’t there. Or rather, it was elsewhere, displaced, as though it didn’t obey the laws of physics.

“Marlène — your shadow.”

Marlène turned her head so fast that Sandra flinched. Her usually brown eyes glinted with a golden light.

“My shadow? It’s odd.” She 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 in it. Sandra suddenly felt very tired. She went to bed without asking further 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 stood Marlène — but not the Marlène she knew. This Marlène had scaled skin, eyes entirely gold with no pupils, claws instead of nails, and behind her, shifting shadows that had nothing human about them.

“Soon,” this Marlène said in the dream. “Soon, you’ll understand.”

Sandra woke up drenched in sweat. It was 4 a.m. She heard the front door open — Marlène was coming home. But through the window, Sandra saw something impossible. Marlène was walking through the courtyard, but she wasn’t alone. Dark shapes followed her. No — they emerged from her, as though she were a doorway to somewhere else.

Sandra lay back down, heart pounding. Who was Marlène, really? What was she?

Chapter Seven: The Investigation

In the days that followed, Sandra decided to investigate quietly. She started with Google. Marlène Assémian returned no results — no Facebook, no LinkedIn, no Instagram, as though she didn’t exist. She tried taking photos to run a reverse image search, but every time, the pictures came out blurred — Marlène turning her head at the last second, or the camera glitching mysteriously.

One evening, Sandra suggested they have dinner together. “I made kedjenou. My specialty — you’ll love it.”

“That’s kind, but I’ve already eaten,” Marlène said.

“Come on, just to taste.”

Marlène agreed reluctantly. She sat at the table, took a spoonful of rice, brought it to her mouth, chewed slowly — too slowly, as though she were imitating the motion without truly knowing how to perform it.

“Delicious,” she said, swallowing. But Sandra saw the rice travel down her throat, literally, as if her throat had turned transparent for a fraction of a second. And the rice didn’t land in a stomach — it fell into emptiness.

“Excuse me.” Marlène stood abruptly, rushed to the bathroom. Sandra heard sounds of vomiting — but not normal sounds. Deeper, more guttural, as though something enormous were regurgitating.

When Marlène came back, she was pale — paler than usual. “Sorry, my stomach can’t handle spicy food.”

The kedjenou hadn’t been spicy.

That night, Sandra didn’t sleep. She pretended to, keeping her eyes half open. Around two in the morning, she heard Marlène’s door open, footsteps in the hallway — but not normal footsteps. Too many of them, as though several people were walking at once, or as though Marlène had more than two legs.

Sandra rose silently, cracked her door open. What she saw froze her blood.

Marlène was in the living room — but she wasn’t alone. There were other Marlènes. Three, four, maybe more, all identical, all translucent, moving independently, searching through the apartment. One of them approached Sandra’s bedroom. She quickly shut her door, heart pounding. She heard the handle turn slowly, then nothing.

In the morning, Marlène was normal again — smiling, pleasant. “Sleep well?” she asked.

“Yes, very well,” Sandra lied.

“Good. Sleep is important — for humans.”

For humans. A strange way to put it.

Chapter Eight: The Box Under the Bed

Sandra decided to push her investigation further. She took a day off, waited for Marlène to leave, then searched her room. The room was glacial, unnaturally cold. The bed was made, but when Sandra touched the sheets, they were covered in a fine black dust — like soot, but it didn’t stain.

The wardrobe was empty. Completely empty — not a single piece of clothing. And yet Marlène wore a different outfit every day.

Under the bed, Sandra found something: a locked metal box. She forced the lock with a screwdriver. Inside were old photographs — very old, sepia, black and white, clearly decades old. And in every one: Marlène. Exactly the same. Not aged a single day.

A photo from 1960 — Marlène in front of the old presidential palace. One from 1975 — Marlène at the beach in Grand-Bassam. One from 1988 — Marlène at the Treichville market. Always the same face, the same age, the same smile.

At the bottom of the box, a document. A death certificate.

Marlène Assémian, born March 3, 1940. Died August 17, 1962. Cause of death: drowning.

Marlène had died in 1962. Over sixty years ago.

Sandra heard the front door open. Impossible — Marlène never came home before nightfall. She hastily put everything back and slipped out of the room.

Chapter Nine: The Truth Revealed

Marlène was in the living room. She was smiling — but it was no longer the same smile. It was a predator’s smile.

“Did you find what you were looking for, Sandra?”

Sandra froze. Marlène 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 scent. Sweet. Almost appetizing.” Marlène moved closer, her motion fluid — too fluid, as if she were gliding rather than walking. “You saw the photographs? You saw the death certificate? You must have questions, I imagine.”

Sandra backed against the wall. “What are you?”

“The question isn’t what — it’s why. Why am I here? Why did I choose you?”

“Choose me? I’m the one who posted the ad.”

Marlène laughed — a laugh that echoed strangely, as though it came from several throats at once. “Do you really believe that 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 hall — younger, more available. Humans are so easy to manipulate. One small mental push, and — voilà — they do exactly what you want.”

Sandra felt anger rise in her chest. “Why? Why destroy my life?”

“Destroy? I improved it. Kevin didn’t deserve you. He’d been cheating on you for months. I simply spared you discovering it in a more painful way.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. What do you want?”

Chapter Ten: A Story of Betrayal, Sixty Years Old

Marlène sat on the couch, crossed her legs. In that position, Sandra noticed her feet weren’t quite touching the floor. They floated a few millimeters above it.

“I died in 1962. Drowned in the lagoon. An accident, they said. But it was murder. My fiancé pushed me. He wanted to marry my sister instead — younger, prettier, in his opinion.”

“And you came back for revenge?”

“Oh, I got my revenge long ago. He died in 1963. Heart attack. No one connected it to the scratches found on his heart.”

“Scratches — from the inside.”

Sandra shivered.

“But after the revenge, there was only emptiness. Not alive, not truly dead — stuck between the two worlds. So I wandered, decade after decade, watching the living, envying their warmth. And now — now I’m looking for a way to truly come back. To become human again. And for that, I need something that cannot be taken by force. Something that must be given freely.”

“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 of it. “You want my life?”

“I want a life. Yours would be perfect. You’re young, healthy, employed. 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.”

Chapter Eleven: The World of the Dead

Marlène rose and took Sandra’s hand. The touch was ice-cold. The world tilted. Suddenly Sandra was seeing through Marlène’s eyes — the world of the dead. The apartment was the same, but different. The walls were transparent; she could see through into the neighboring apartments, and everywhere — the dead. Dozens. Hundreds.

The elderly woman on the third floor, Madame Kouassi, wasn’t alone. Her husband, dead ten years, sat beside her, watching television together — though he was translucent. The little boy on the ground floor played with his twin brother, the one who had died at birth. Everywhere, the dead coexisted with the living, invisible to most, but there. Always there.

“You see,” Marlène said. “We are everywhere. Death isn’t an ending — it’s a transition. But a painful one, when you get 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, living your life.”

The world snapped back to normal. Sandra was in her living room again, trembling.

“I will never give you my life.”

“I’m not asking for it. Not yet. Live with me. Get to know me. Perhaps one day you’ll take pity. Or perhaps you’ll understand that your life isn’t worth much compared to an eternity of suffering. And if I leave — if I move out — I will follow you. I am bound to you now, from the moment you invited me into your home. That’s how it works. Once a spirit is invited, it can stay.”

Chapter Twelve: Learning to Live With a Ghost

The weeks that followed were surreal. Sandra was living with a ghost who no longer bothered to hide. Marlène used her powers openly — passing through walls, appearing and disappearing, multiplying her body.

“It costs you nothing to try living normally,” Marlène would say. “I won’t hurt you. I can’t. Another rule.”

Sandra tried to flee. She went to sleep at her friend Patricia’s place. But Marlène was there too, sitting quietly in a corner of the room, smiling. “I told you — I’m bound to you.”

She tried the church. The priest sprinkled the apartment with holy water. Marlène laughed. “I’m not a demon. I’m just dead. Holy water does nothing to the dead.”

She tried a marabout. He took her money, performed incantations, burned herbs. Marlène watched, amused. “He’s skilled, but he can’t undo a voluntary bond. You invited me — remember?”

Sandra was trapped. She couldn’t leave, couldn’t drive her out. So she decided to live with it — to coexist, to learn. She asked Marlène questions about death, about the afterlife, about the rules.

“Do all the dead become like you?”

“No. Most cross over — toward the light, toward rest, whatever you want to call it. But some stay, 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, just in Abidjan. Millions worldwide. You don’t see us, but we’re there.”

Chapter Thirteen: A Strange Kind of Friendship

Sandra learned to live with this new reality. In the mornings, she drank her coffee while Marlène read the newspaper without touching it, simply looking through it. In the evenings, they watched television together. Marlène commented on the shows, criticized the actors, laughed at the comedies — almost normal, almost human.

“Do you feel emotions?” Sandra asked one evening.

“Echoes of emotion. Like a memory of what it used to feel like. Joy fades. Sadness feels distant. Only nostalgia is real — nostalgia for life.”

“Is that why you want my body?”

“Not your body. Your life. The spark that animates it. If you give it to me, your body stays yours. It’s me who moves on to eternal rest. And I become you.”

“No. You become me — but with your memories, your personality. Just without a body.”

It stung sometimes, when Sandra looked at her own life. Exhausting work, mediocre pay, emotional loneliness. What would she really lose? But no — a life, even a mediocre one, was worth more than that half-existence.

One evening, Sandra came home from work to find the apartment transformed, decorated for her birthday. A cake Marlène couldn’t have baked but had clearly ordered. Balloons. Gifts.

“Happy birthday, Sandra!”

“How did you know?”

“I saw your passport. Twenty-eight today. A good age. To die. To live. That’s why I’m not asking you for anything today. Enjoy it.”

That was the most unsettling part of it all. Marlène could be kind, thoughtful — almost a friend, if you could forget that she was dead and wanted your life.

Friends came over — Patricia, Yann, Kouamé. They didn’t see Marlène, who had made herself invisible for the occasion. But Sandra saw her in a corner, watching with envy. After they left, Marlène reappeared.

“Was it nice?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I loved birthdays — before. My mother always made a chocolate cake. My father played guitar. My sister—” She stopped. If ghosts could cry, Marlène would have.

“Your sister — the one your fiancé killed you for.”

“She never knew. She married my murderer. Had three children with him. She was happy, I think. She died in 2010. Cancer. She crossed over. She didn’t stay, like me.”

“Do you resent her?”

“No. She never knew. It’s better that way.”

Chapter Fourteen: A Fragile Symbiosis

Six months passed. Sandra had grown used to her ghostly roommate. It had become normal. Marlène even helped, sometimes — her powers proved useful. When the owner of the neighboring business began harassing Sandra, Marlène paid him a visit at night. He resigned the next day, terrified. When burglars tried to break into the apartment, they fled screaming after glimpsing Marlène in her true form. When Sandra fell ill, Marlène watched over her — unable to truly touch her, she called for help, ordered medication, made sure she was all right.

A strange symbiosis had settled between them. Sandra had almost forgotten that Marlène wanted her life — until that December evening.

Sandra came home from work and found Marlène weakened, more transparent than usual, trembling.

“What’s happening?”

“It’s the 17th. December 17th. The anniversary.”

“Of what?”

“Of my death. Every year, on this day, I relive the drowning. I feel the water fill my lungs. I feel life leave me, again and again.”

Marlène was visibly suffering, her body dissolving and reforming as though she were dying on a loop.

“How can I help you?”

“You can’t. Unless you give me your life.”

“And then?”

“It would be over — for both of us.”

Chapter Fifteen: The Choice

Sandra looked at Marlène — this dead woman who had, despite everything, become her friend. Who had suffered for more than sixty years. Who asked for nothing but rest.

“If I say yes — how does it work?”

“You say the words. I give you my life voluntarily. I take your place. You take mine. It’s instant. Painless. And afterward — afterward, I live your life. A few years, decades if I’m lucky. Then I die naturally, and I cross over. And you — you become like me.”

“But you can choose to cross over immediately. Not stay. It’s a choice.”

Sandra considered it. Her life, in exchange for Marlène’s release. Her sacrifice, to end six decades of suffering.

“I—”

A noise at the door.

Chapter Sixteen: Kevin’s Fall

Kevin. Her ex, drunk, crying. “Sandra, I’m sorry. I made a mistake. She left me. I love you — take me back.” He pounded on the door.

Sandra opened it. “Kevin, go away.”

“No — not until you forgive me.” He pushed his way in by force, saw Marlène — or rather, saw through Marlène. The alcohol, perhaps, or the emotional shock. “What is that thing? Get out of my — ”

“Get out of my house!” Sandra shouted.

Kevin panicked. He grabbed a lamp, hurled it at Marlène — it passed straight through her. He bolted toward the balcony, tripped, and went over the railing.

Sandra and Marlène rushed forward. Too late. Kevin lay three floors below, dead. But his ghost was already rising, floating, confused.

“What’s — Sandra? Where am I?” He could see Marlène clearly now. He understood what he had become. “No — no, I don’t want to be dead.”

“You have a choice,” Marlène said. “Cross over — or stay.”

“Stay! Sandra, help me!”

Sandra looked at Kevin’s ghost, then at Marlène. She understood immediately — if Kevin stayed, he would haunt the apartment. Haunt her. Yet another ghost in her life.

“Marlène — yes. I give you my life. Voluntarily.”

Chapter Seventeen: The Exchange

A flash of light. Sandra felt something leave her — her substance, her essence. She became light, transparent. Marlène became solid. Alive.

“Thank you,” Marlène murmured, with Sandra’s own lips.

Sandra, now a ghost, looked at her former body. Marlène inhabited it with grace. Then Sandra saw the light — the passage. She could leave now, leave Kevin alone with his regrets.

She turned one last time toward Marlène. “Live my life well. I trust you.” And Sandra stepped into the light, and vanished.

Chapter Eighteen: A New Life

Marlène — now Sandra — looked at Kevin’s ghost. “You can stay, if you want. But the rules are clear. No forced contact. No harassment. Or I make you disappear.”

Kevin shook his head, terrified.

Marlène-Sandra smiled. Sixty years of waiting. Finally, she was living again. The heart beating. The lungs breathing. The warmth of blood in her veins. She picked up the phone, called for help for Kevin. Then she sat down and savored a sip of coffee.

The taste. She had forgotten the taste.

A new life was beginning — a life given out of friendship, out of compassion. The most beautiful gift of all.

Epilogue: The Secret of Ghosts

Marlène still lives in the apartment in Marcory. To everyone who knows her, she is Sandra Coffie. She works, she laughs, she loves. No one knows that the real Sandra chose to leave — to give her life to free a suffering soul.

Kevin’s ghost is still there, condemned to watch his ex-girlfriend live on without him — a kind of poetic justice for the man who betrayed her first. Sometimes new ghosts arrive, confused and frightened. Marlène-Sandra helps them cross over. It’s her way of honoring Sandra’s sacrifice.

Because that is the secret of ghosts: they are not there to haunt us. They are there because they cannot let go of their regrets, their attachments, their suffering. And sometimes, it takes the sacrifice of the living to finally set them free.

So if one day your roommate seems strange — never eats, casts no proper shadow, ask yourself the question. Is this really a human being? Or is it someone who has been waiting, for a very long time, for someone to offer them a second chance?

THE END