(And the good things that came from it)

Yesterday, I had a friend over to drink wine after dinner. We sat on the porch, watched the thunderstorm, and enjoyed a few small glasses of a good prosecco. Then we brought the glasses and re-corked bottle inside and I drove her home.

When I got back, I went to my room and started to watch Netflix. Suddenly, I heard the tell-tale tinkle of breaking glass in the kitchen.

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Thought #1: Only one of my housemates is currently in town. He must have come home while I was out and just knocked a glass over.

Thought #2: The previous residents had an issue with mice. We've managed to avoid this thus far, but maybe a mouse got in and knocked something over.

I go to the kitchen. The lights are still off. It is pitch dark. This rules out Thought #1. I turn the lights on and look around. No sign of a mouse, nothing has been knocked over. This rules out Thought #2.

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When I take a closer look, I realize that one of the wine glasses now has a big chip out of it and a crack. The fancy metal re-sealable pouring "cork" I use is sitting on the island, two feet away from the bottle. It's not in any logical place where I might have set the cork, and I have no idea why I would have uncorked the bottle anyway.

This is really really unnerving. I call my friend and ask if her glass had a chip out of it before — I think I would have noticed if I gave her a chipped glass, and I know I would have noticed if my glass was. It wasn't. So either someone else is in the house, or I have a ghost.

My friend stays on the phone with me as I grab a butcher knife and a long, pointy umbrella. I do a cursory search of the house, although not a detailed one, since I'm alone. I live in a big, rambling old house with four other people, three of whom are out of town for the summer. Nothing seems out of the ordinary. The doors are still bolted (and were when I left). The only open window hasn't been disturbed, and the screen is intact. I text my remaining housemate and ask him to come talk to me when he gets home. Then I lock myself in my room.

I'm pretty freaked out at this point. The only thing that has been disturbed is the bottle of wine and the chipped glass. I live in an area that had a huge rash of break-ins last year, but those were armed robberies. We also have a homelessness issue, although not usually in my neighborhood. All I can think about is the stories about people who find out someone was living in their closet or walls after months or years. Either that or we have a ghost, which is much more comforting, honestly. I don't mind sharing a glass or two of prosecco with a ghost.

I text WND, because I need a distraction and it's an excuse to talk to him. (Previously...) He asks what's up, I ask if he minds if we talk on the phone, since I'm freaked out and I don't want to type out everything that's happened. He calls after about 15 minutes, and agrees that it's freaky, but probably not a break-in.

We talk for about 45 minutes, laugh, joke. We actually ended up hitting a lot of serious topics... He admits that he's very monogamous (as am I) and hasn't been seeing anyone else, and that he's at a point in life where he's interested in a committed relationship. We're agreed that we prefer direct communication about any issues and are comfortable answering any question the other might have about our pasts. I feel a lot better about the future-oriented discussion we need to have this week when he's in town, based on this call. Goddammit, I like him so much.

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My housemate comes home and I explain the situation, then we search the house top-to-bottom, just to be safe. Nothing is out of the ordinary. No resolution, but at least no one is hiding in our house. Conclusion: this is really fucking weird, and we might have a ghost that likes wine. Maybe I'll pour out a glass, like milk for the faeries.

The Wine Ghost, resolved:

I had put the prosecco in the fridge after searching the house last night. This afternoon, I went to make lunch, and the cork is in the bottom of the fridge, next to the bottle. Conclusion: The prosecco is so highly pressurized, even after drinking a few glasses and leaving it open for a few hours, that it pushes the cork out of the bottle.

The end.