I never thought it would come to this. There I was minding my own business and, bam! A family just waltzes in like they own the place.
Now. How to get them out? The last people who thought they could take my home all died from gas inhalation. The time before that it was a man, a priest I think. He ended up shoving an ice pick through his eye. The people that came in to clean up the mess said it was a suicide.
Whispering in their ears is fine, but I prefer the old ways, when I had hands that I could get dirty.
These new people, I can hear them talking about me. A ghost, they say. Like I’m bloody Casper from that God awful movie.
Nah. I never liked yelling ‘boo,’ anyway. I like it when they don’t know I’m coming.
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