Home Sweet Home

vanilla sheets

I was about to fucking freak out.

Here I was, just a few hours in my new home and I already had visitors.

And not the kind of visitors I really wanted.

I never really believed in ghosts, but I was quickly becoming convinced that they may well exist ...

Considering two were sitting across from me.

I sipped my scotch and puffed my cigar.

The two sat in silence.

"Who the fuck are you guys?" I asked, finally.

"I am Harold," the leather jacket greaser snapped.

"And that," he pointed at the blonde, "is Calvin."

I nodded.

"Okay Harold and Calvin. What the fuck are you doing in my house?"

They looked at each other for a moment.

It was Calvin that answered.

"We live here."

"But you're dead," I reminded him.

"Technically, yes," he snapped back.

"But for some reason we are still free to roam the Earth."

I waved my arm toward the huge common room windows.

"Then go roam," I suggested, as I sipped my scotch.

"But it's dark outside," Harold barked.

I spit out my scotch.

Fuck, what a waste of good scotch.

I stared at the two idiots, no morons, sitting across from me.

"But you are a ghost."

Harold looked confused. "So."

"Shouldn't you be haunting a graveyard or something or sleeping with your body?"

I should have known better than to ask.

"Out there?" Calvin half yelled.

"In the dark. In a graveyard."

He leaned forward. "It is spooky out there."

I was honestly flabbergasted. I didn't know what to say.

Harold started laughing.

"Have you ever seen what a body looks like after being in the ground for 60 years. it's disgusting man."