The Ghost Who Wouldn’t Leave a Bad Review

Mark knew the Airbnb was haunted the second he walked in.

It wasn’t the creaky floors or the flickering lights. It wasn’t even the way the temperature dropped ten degrees every time he passed the bathroom. It was the muttering.

Low, whispering complaints from the walls, like a disappointed pensioner in a supermarket queue.

At first, he thought it was his imagination. Then, on his first night, as he settled into bed, a voice groaned from the corner of the room:

“Ugh. This place used to be so much nicer.”

Mark sat up, in a panic. “What?”

The voice sighed. “Back when Mrs. Holloway owned it. Before they put in those godawful spotlights. I mean, honestly. Who renovates a Victorian home with IKEA lighting?”

Mark turned on the bedside lamp. The room was empty.

“Are you… a… a… ghost?” he barely managed to ask.

“Obviously. Who else would be complaining at this hour?”

Mark blinked. “You’re… upset about the lighting?”

“And the décor,” the ghost grumbled. “They painted over the original wallpaper, you know. Floral print. Absolutely stunning. Now? Just blank white walls. No personality. No history. No soul.”

Mark pulled the covers up. “You don’t, like… want to kill me or anything, do you?”

“What? No, no, I’m not that kind of ghost. I just want people to know this place has gone downhill.”

Mark exhaled. “Oh. Well, I mean, I guess you could leave a bad review?”

There was a long pause.

“I couldn’t do that.”

“…Why not?”

“Because Jeremy is lovely.”

“Jeremy?”

“The host. Sweet man. Bakes his own bread. Uses real butter, not that margarine rubbish. You can’t just destroy someone’s livelihood over a few bad design choices.”

Mark stared at the ceiling. “So you’re just going to… haunt this place forever and complain about it?”

“Pretty much, yes.”

“Have you talked to Jeremy?”

“Oh, sure. I ruffled some curtains. Moved a mug. He thought it was a draft.”

Mark sighed. “Look, I’ll mention it in my review if you want. I’ll just say, like, ‘Great stay, friendly host, but the ghost thinks the house has lost its charm.’”

“Hmm. Maybe also note that the pillows are a bit too firm?”

“Sure.”

“And that the Wi-Fi cuts out at night?”

“Okay.”

“And that it wouldn’t kill them to put one antique back in here? Just one. For the aesthetic.”

“Fine.”

“You’re a good man, Mark.”

“Thanks, Ghost.”

He heard a satisfied sigh. Then silence.

The next morning, Mark left a five-star review.

Jeremy replied, thanking him for the feedback and promising to look into the Wi-Fi issue. He didn’t mention the ghost.

But when Mark checked the listing a month later, he noticed the place had been updated.

A single antique chair in the corner.

Mark smiled. Somewhere, a ghost was finally at peace.