check your sugarcoat at the door

ghost stories

Early yesterday morning, when there was still hardly anyone in the office and the air was perfectly still, when the sound of my swishing slacks is deafening on the walk to my desk and the clicking of my fingers on the keyboard is the only sound for miles… I was typing away on the one program I had opened when my tower randomly opened rather noisily, and spat the CD that Mix Master Skelly had made me (the disk drive sits vertically) and the disc went rolling on the floor, across the office like a little silver wheel, running for its life. I trailed the CD’s path with wide eyes, wondering what in the fuck had caused that little outburst. Of course, no one was around to see it.

It was all, This machines rejects The Dead Weather, Why?, Minus the Bear and My Toys Like Me, among others. Pa-tooey.

Not only has it never randomly opened, CDs never fall out. Some disgruntled employee of furniture past is fucking with me.

Also, my house is haunted by my roommate’s dead aunt.

Dead Aunt passed along a broken grandmother clock that doesn’t tell time but it also doesn’t chime at all hours, so I don’t mind it in the slightest. It’s actually super cool. It sits in the corner of my dining room, adjacent to beer and poker related paraphenalia:

One afternoon while cleaning the floors of their protective layer of rabbit and dog hairs, I moved the grandmother clock forward enough to fit a mop behind it. This was the first time that clock has been touched in the many moons since I’ve been in 2B. Within seconds of the slight, 12-15″ move, the black poker clock on the far left? SHOT. OFF. THE WALL.

Fuck you, don’t roll your eyes. There were several steps between the wall and the clock’s landing. This clock also doesn’t work and will apparently remain broken forever after that fall. It has never so much as leaned to the side, let alone fallen off the nail. The nail that didn’t fall with the clock. Dead Aunt lifted and tossed that thing with playful delight. Wild-eyed, I picked it up and inspected the damage, leaving creepy grandmother clock to my back, when one of the verticals over my sliding door, leading to my backyard, decided then would be a good time to detach from the headrail and flop to the floor, with no assistance whatsoever. Fed up and slightly freaked out that the next item would land on me or break something I treasured, I announced loudly, “OKAY, I’M SORRY.”

I softly pushed the large clock back into her place in the dining room. I’ve yet to touch it again, as she’s clearly comfortable there, regardless of dust underneath. The verticals only ever fall out when roused by walking through them or they catch on each other when I open them. The poker clock hasn’t moved since. We’re at peace though I wish Dead Aunt could like, play cards or something.

-CJ

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