Part One
This is part two of Nightmare Threads original story that 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 Two
…Thirty five fucking years and they let him go. Fuck them. No seniority, no nothing, not one of those thirty five years meant shit when it came right down to it. They let him go so they can save a few bucks and hire some college piss ant…What the fuck am I thinking? I wasn’t layed off...Goddamn it, there was no way he wanted to go back on the job market. He would almost rather kill himself than write a new resume…
…Then I there with piss running down my leg and I couldn't even turn around to see where she went. At that moment I knew my house was haunted. It took a little while for my heart to start beating once again. I made it to the couch where the ghost-girl had been and plopped down. I felt like I was stoned. I had no idea what to do. Call a priest? Say a couple of Hail Marys and Our Fathers? Wipe up the piss on my carpet? I probably would have given my left nut for the Ghostbusters’ phone number right then. My legs didn't have enough power to stand up again let alone walk upstairs to bed. So I fell asleep right where I was, with the lights on.
From that day on weird shit was a nightly occurrence at my house. I'd get home from work and step right into the Twilight Zone. Honestly, I was waiting for Rod Sterling to meet me at the door one night. I still am, and if he ever shows up, I'm gonna kick his ass. This kind of shit is cool to watch on TV, but not when it actually happens in your own house. One night after I got home dead ass tired as usual, I went directly upstairs to get a shower and try to put a little life back into my step. After a nice healthy dump, I stood in front of the mirror getting ready to shave. I looked like shit. I really needed a new job, mine was putting me in my grave. As I was lathering up, the door opened behind me and in stepped a woman in her bathrobe. I spun around still looking like Kenny Rodgers with my shaving cream beard and pressed up against the sink as far as I could without actually standing in the thing. After my experience with the ghost girl the last thing I wanted to do was touch another one of them. She didn't even see me standing there because she just dropped her robe and turned on the shower. I'll have to say one thing about her, she had nice tits for a dead girl. But a good set of knockers or not I wasn't sticking around while a ghost took a shower, so I took my shaving to the kitchen. I found something out that night. Ghosts must have feelings because I could hear that broad screaming when I turned the hot water on downstairs.
It's not only the fact that they walk around like they own the place that really irritates me, it’s a bunch of little things too. For one, they're always moving things. Like the remote control, my car keys, and my wallet. I like to keep things where I can find them. My wallet for example I like to keep on my dresser but they keep moving it to the night stand. The remote control I like to keep next to my easy chair, but they would always move it next to the couch. Those damned ghosts were really getting on my nerves until I realized that I have to start hiding things so they won't be able to find them and keep moving them around.
Another thing that pisses me off is that they're so damn messy. I'm constantly cleaning up after them. One time after work I got home to find a whole bunch of tax forms and receipts scattered all over the dining room table. Most of them were already filled out. The names on them were Rob and Tammy Gaines. God knows where they got them from or how they got them into the house. I don't know whether they're trying to be funny or just piss me off, but it really annoys the hell out of me. I had to pick up all those papers and take them down to the furnace when I should have been watching the news enjoying a cold one. Fuck Rob and Tammy Gaines. Gaines. Where do I know that name from? Some lady, she called them that. She said…
… “Mr and Mrs Gaines, you and your family will love this house.” The young couple looked around and imagined their family photos on the walls and their son’s toys on the floor of the empty house. The fuck they will. This is my house. Why the fuck is this lady trying to sell my house. And where is all my shit?
Rob didn’t even have to ask his wife, he could tell just by looking at her. “We’ll take it,” he said and he feel his little wife shudder when he put his arm around her.
“Great, Mr Gaines. I’ll get right on it. Now…ummm…just for full disclosure and all. It’s not a big deal but…ummm…the previous owner…” I sort of remember something like that, but why the fuck would some lady be selling my house? I don’t know but I do know I heard that name before.
At one point I thought they were actually starting to feel sorry for me and be friends. I got home one night and the table was spread out with a feast like you wouldn't believe, turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, and com, if I was on death row I’d probably request the same thing with maybe a couple cold ones on the side. They must have thought I was having a couple of friends over or something because there were six place settings. I only used one of them, but I ate half the food myself It was good too. I felt like I hadn't eaten in ages. After the hearty meal, I was feeling pretty good about my ghostly roommates, until I realized they had tried to poison me. I let out a belch, farted and then my stomach began to gurgle. I felt like the dead. The pain was comparable to giving birth, I imagine. I spent the rest of the night in my easy chair moaning like a banshee because it hurt so badly. They had gone too far that time. They could have killed me. The next day I was going to do something about them.
I got home the next night determined that it was going to be either me or them. I wasn't going to put up with their shit any longer. But they must have had the same idea because when I walked through the door I found all my stuff packed into boxes like they expected me to move. Those conceited bastards, they were we're kicking me out of my own house! Worst of all, they were going to ship all my shit to those people they stole the tax forms from. Each box was marked clearly "SHIP TO ROB & TAMMY GAINES". They weren't getting off that easy. I'm the king of this castle, not a bunch of worm ridden corpses. I ripped open the closest box and started unpacking my shit, making sure I put everything exactly where I wanted it. They tried to kick me out three more times, but each time I got home and unpacked my shit all over again. After the fourth time I guess they got the hint because they didn’t try it again and left my shit behind.
Well, that's my story. I wish I could give you some epiphany but I didn’t see no white light. I didn’t learn any deeper truth. I'm still here, but so are they. Not the same ones though. It's never the same ones for long. I guess this place must be a rest stop on the way to the afterlife or something. They keep coming or going. None of them stay long, but they stay long enough to make my life hell. I’m at the end of my rope, maybe I should move. But who am I kidding? I can’t move on. I’m too much of a creature of habit for that.
