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Flashes of Speculation

Trouble at Home - Linda Courtland

“If you can’t live by our rules, you’ll have to leave,” the woman says, as the last coffee cup whizzes by her ear, crashing against the kitchen counter.
The poltergeist’s invisible energy sizzles.
“In this house, we don’t throw tantrums and break perfectly good stoneware every time we don’t get our way.”
The radio switches on, blasting [...]

“If you can’t live by our rules, you’ll have to leave,” the woman says, as the last coffee cup whizzes by her ear, crashing against the kitchen counter.

The poltergeist’s invisible energy sizzles.

“In this house, we don’t throw tantrums and break perfectly good stoneware every time we don’t get our way.”

The radio switches on, blasting alternative rock.

“I know you’ve been through some trauma, being dead and all, but that’s no excuse for your behavior,” the woman says, turning down the music.

The lights flicker, throwing scary shadows.

“From now on, your bedtime is nine o’clock.”

The refrigerator flies open and condiment bottles rattle together in a war cry.

“And you’ll eat when the rest of the family eats.” She pushes the door shut. 

A cold wind rushes through the room. The woman puts her coat back on.

“We’ve tried everything with you,” she sighs. “We brought that nice psychic medium over to help us work things through, but all you wanted to do was pretend to be Elvis. I’ve had it with the lying.”

The phone bursts into a quick succession of rings, then stops.

“Naughty children need discipline.” The woman reaches into her purse.

The poltergeist wonders how this woman could possibly touch her.

She pulls out a bundle of sacred dried sage. “I got this at the ghost-busting store.” She waves it around like a knife. “If you turn on the television at 3AM one more time, we’re taking away your TV privileges for good.”

“You’re so unfair,” the poltergeist thinks, rushing toward the room she died in.

The woman knows that tough love is the best approach. She saw it on Oprah.

And later that night, the sad little ghost sees phantom traces of blood on the wall and remembers the stabbing. She turns on the TV one last time, and reluctantly floats toward the light. 

Linda Courtland lives and writes in the city of angels. Check out her other flashes at Fictional Musings, FlashShot and Six Sentences.

One Response

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I like this, it’s a quirky take on the poltergeist theme.

1 Stephanie Vann March 04, 2008 7:39 am

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