This Nightmare Threads original story focuses on a man named Flynt who is just your average everyday joe, with just one exception...his house is haunted.
A Ghost Story - Part One
Hi, my name's Flynt, and my house is haunted. I know I sound like one of those sad sacks at those meetings and I know, there's no such things as ghosts, but I've seen things that would make your shit turn white. I've never told anybody about this before. Mainly cause I don’t got anyone to tell. I live a pretty solitary life, if you can even call it a life. I don’t get out much. Just home and work. I sit in front of a computer all day and in front of my TV at night. Same shit every day. I’m so entrenched in my goddamn routine, I don’t think even dying could interrupt it. So, I don’t got no friends to tell, plus I’m not one of those pussies who feels the need to cry about their feelings like one of those fruits on one of those reality shows, but I feel like I need to tell somebody before I go nuts. A guy could go crazy living in my place. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm completely stable, I don’t have dogs telling me to kill anyone or anything like that. I'm just afraid of what might happen if I don't tell somebody about the weird-ass things at my house. I don’t know, maybe I should just move.
It all started one night after I got home from work. Up until then it was a completely normal day, nothing much to mention, not that there's ever anything to mention about work. It’s like I’m the invisible man at work. I like it that way. If you stay under the radar people won’t be bugging the shit out of you to do things. I don’t really talk to my coworkers and they don’t really talk to me. I just sit in my cubicle and stare at my screen. Anyway, I got home right after sunset, like I do every day. I can’t remember the last time I saw the sun through my own windows. Up before dawn, dragging myself into work like The Walking Dead and home after sunset just as dead on my feet. Work, work, work. It’s really killing me but I guess a guy’s gotta make a living or die trying. No sooner than I walked through the door, I noticed everything seemed different. I was almost tempted to walk back outside and make sure I entered the right house. Everything seemed a little out of whack. The furniture, for example, wasn't where I remembered it was when I left. It even looked different, almost like I didn't recognize it. At first I just shrugged it off. Everyone feels that way sometime, don't they? You look at something from a different angle or under the wrong light and something as familiar as their own face looks strange. Right? Anyways, I went to the fridge to grab a beer and then watch the news and then some Monday Night Football. But when I opened the fridge there wasn't any beer. I could have sworn I had at least a six pack in there, but like old Mother Hubbard my cupboard was bare. So I grabbed a coke instead and went into the living room for some nightly entertainment. This was when shit really got weird.
Up until this point I could have chalked everything up to old age, you know failing eyesight, feeble mind and all that good stuff. But there was no real explanation for what happened next. I walked into the living room and the television was already on, I know I didn't turn it on myself without realizing it. I'm not that old. Anyway, I turned it to six to catch the news and sat down in my easy chair, but as soon as a cheek hit the cushion the TV switched back to channel eleven. I got up switched six and then it popped back to eleven by itself I was getting pissed cause I just bought the goddamn thing and now it was screwed. With authority I switched it back to six when I heard a "What the fuck?" from behind me. I turned around and there was some dude laying on my couch beating my remote control on his thigh, I jumped back so quick I almost shit my pants and just about knocked the TV off the stand too. Thinking he was some vagrant off the street I screamed at him, "What the hell are you doing in my house?"
He just sat up and looked at me with this weird ass look like he couldn't figure out why I was standing in my own living room shouting at him. Then he did the strangest thing. He lifted the remote pointed it at me, flipped the channel back to eleven and laid back down. I couldn't believe the nerve of the guy. First he broke into my house, drank all my beer, and then acted like he was the King of the Remote Control. Little did I know then, he was a ghost. Pissed at his total lack of respect I grabbed a vase off of an end table, smashed it on the floor and yelled "Get the fuck out before I call the cops!"…That must have put the fear of God in him because he got up and bolted out the door quicker than two jiggles of a jackrabbit’s ass. After he left I sat down and watched my news. Now that I look back on it I can't figure out for the life of me why he'd be so afraid of the police. They can't arrest ghosts.
I didn't figure it out until later that night that my house was officially haunted. I had fallen asleep in front of the TV before the game was over. That pissed me off just as much as the intruder reigning over my remote. It was a great game, what I saw of it, and I was dying to know who won. Last I could remember it was zip, zip in the third. Philadelphia just couldn't penetrate the Cowboy's defense and vice versa. You know, I must have had a trying day at work to have been that tired. That place really drains the life right out of me, dead on my feet every night after work with not much to show for it on payday. I think I need a new job. Anyway, I must have fall asleep on the remote because instead of cheesy late night infomercials like there should have been there was Casper the friendly ghost flying across my screen. I turned it to ESPN and watched it for nearly two hours without seeing a Sports Center or even one of those reports at the bottom of the screen. They were replaying a documentary about the 1969 World Series, like anybody actually gives a shit. Frustrated, I flipped off the tube and headed off to bed. I was about to hit the light switch and call it a night when, once again I saw a stirring on my couch. This time it wasn't a remote-hogging bum but a sleeping little girl. She had long blonde hair, a face like I kewpie doll, and a pair of little blue pajamas with feet in them. I've heard of people leaving children in a basket on your doorstep before, but leaving them on your couch while you were sleeping was a bit ridiculous. She must have felt me staring at her cause she sat up and rubbed her tiny little eyes. Still half asleep she walked to the doorway where I was standing and stopped. I knelt down so I was at her eye level. "Where did you come from, pumpkin?" I thought she was still sleeping because she totally ignored me and started walking again. Now, this next part is the spookiest shit that ever happened to me before or since. Instead of knocking foreheads, she passed right through me. It felt warm like a gust of air from a heating vent on a cold day, and almost as warm as the piss that was running down my leg. I was frozen where I knelt. And then I felt a shock…
