Heather walked out into the living room, following the sounds of gunfire and chainsaws. On the couch, Justin sat playing a video game, the television showing a liquid spattering of red, some horrific violence, and a grey-skinned monster who looked like he was having a good time.
"That grey-skinned monster seems like he's having a good time," said Heather. "Is that one you?"
Justin answered with a (possibly unrelated to the query) sound that can be approximated with these letters: TSCZCH!
20 years ago on the very spot Heather and Justin were situated, a flower pushed itself up through the soil after quite a bit of effort.
The kinds of ghosts that I think I could live with if I were living in a nice house:
- Ghosts who write on the walls in blood
- Ghosts who walk around downstairs at night
- Ghosts who like to close doors and sometimes keep them shut for awhile
- Ghosts who like to stand in dark corners and just stare
- Ghosts who want crimes solved, such as their own murder
- Ghosts who tidy up
The kinds of ghosts that I could not live with, regardless of how nice the house was:
- Ghosts who scream and scream and scream
- Ghosts who like to position their faces right above my sleeping face so that they're the first thing I see when I wake up
- Ghosts who start fires
- Ghosts that smell bad
- Ghosts that can touch me, no matter how lightly
- Ghosts that insist on sleeping in the same bed as me
- Ghosts who never get around to telling me that the reason I can see them is because I am also dead, and a ghost. Those ghosts are real jerks.
The problem with getting a beard of bees for your Halloween costume is that it's really easy to lose the instructions that come with the beard. Before you know it, it's mid-November, your apartment has dead bees all over, and you have no idea what you were supposed to be feeding these things, but it's obviously too late now.
Thank you for inviting me to your party. I'm very sorry that I was not able to attend.
As you know, I don't have a car, which makes it difficult to attend any events that are further away than my stumpy legs can carry me. I was not able to arrange a ride to your house, and I don't know the first thing about how to hot-wire a car, plus I'm not sure the party justifies the risk of arrest, should I get caught. But I want you to know that I tried up until the very last minute to arrange to be there. I priced rental cars and cabs and ferries. I checked how much my bank charges in overdraft fees. On the night of, I stuck my thumb out and attempted to hitchhike, even using what I thought would be an eye-catching "kissy face" that I see all the kids using at club parties on Facebook. All without success.
Such was my dedication that I waited these last two weeks after the party before writing to apologize for not making it to your party, because if time travel is discovered and made usable within those two weeks, I intended to go back in time and try again to attend the party using what I've learned in the last two weeks. Which, sadly, probably would not have helped. I haven't really learned anything.
It then occurred to me that actually, if time travel is invented at ANY POINT during my life time, I could always go back and attend your party, so there is some chance that I was there. If that was the case, then please disregard the apology above.
All the detectives in town gathered together on New Year's Eve, the same way they did every year. Gumshoes shuffled down the aisles as everyone took their seats in the pews, shifting around on the hard wood to find a position where their hidden black jacks, pistols and knuckle-dusters weren't digging into them from where they were hidden in their trenchcoats. (READ THE REST)