Haunted Living


Living in a haunted house is hard work.  During the night, there are bumps, groans, creaks, and bangs.  Footsteps walk invisible paths throughout the house, sometimes barely audible, sometimes loud enough to shake the walls and floorboards.  Doors open and close.  They’ll slam shut with such force, it sounds like a shotgun has gone off or they’ll gently whisper closed.  At times, they seem to lock for no reason or the door will refuse to close, like someone is leaning against it.

Visitors are a nightmare.  Most leave hastily and never return.  A few knocks on the walls and quiet conversations emanating from places where no one is standing convinces visitors to leave.  If they do come back, they want to take pictures or video or record the noises coming from inside the walls.

The last party I hosted ended when the table up-ended itself, pirouetted on one leg and then crashed onto its top.  The food and drinks went with it.  It had been a boring party anyway, the table dancing had been the most exciting part.

However, I’ve lived here for over a decade.  Maybe I’m just jaded about entertainment.  Last night, my bedroom door locked itself.  A feat to be sure, since it doesn’t have a lock.  I sat in my room for three hours needing to use the bathroom before finally opening the window and peeing onto the roof.  One of those times when it’s good to be a guy.  I’d build a master bathroom, but I’m sure the spirits would flood my bedroom.

My last girlfriend left about six years ago.  She went downstairs for a glass of water in the middle of the night.  She ended up running out, screaming, in just her underwear.  Her car sat in my driveway for three days before her friend finally came and got it.  After she ran out screaming, I checked the kitchen.  Several glasses were turned upside down on the counter with spiders trapped under them.  A handful of plates were standing on their edges and fridge door refused to close.

I couldn’t really blame her.  I stopped dating after that. 

But it’s no big deal, I’m never really alone.

*this is a work of fiction.  any resemblance to persons dead or alive is completely coincidental.

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