(posted by josh golden)
I kept hearing noises when I lay in bed at night. Every five minutes I sprung awake like that damn Don’t Wake Daddy board game. What was waking daddy, you ask? I have a theory. You see, just a two weeks ago I relocated from my well-hidden studio in a quiet neighborhood tucked in the Silverlake hills, down to a city street bungalow, and I have noticed a certain difference. I think I have finally been exposed to ghosts.
It makes perfect sense. The sounds of things falling in the night, the figures peering in my window. My apartment is obviously haunted; my entire neighborhood even! These ghosts only come out at night, though, because during the day the only signs of the haunting are found in pairs of tennis shoes tied to power lines. Only a ghost could float up there and play such a devious trick.
One night I was sure I heard the sound of a car possessed by the spirit of a driver who must’ve enjoyed Reggaeton during his living life. I threw open the blinds, my curiousity getting the best of me. I had to see one of these spirits. There they were! Three of them huddled under the yellow glow of a street lamp. Each shrouded in a black hood, like the reaper. Their spirit energy was escaping from their mouths in clouds. I had to make contact!
I stumbled out the door in my pajamas holding an old oil lantern and slowly approach. “Wut up, Ol’ Bitch?!” a ghost booms out, nodding to me. Quickly I pretend that I’m going to my car to get something, keeping my head down and my mouth shut.
Since then I have made peace with the spirits doomed to wander my neighborhood for all existence, tormented by spells and invisible boundaries. They’re actually really wonderful. So you see, there really never was a reason to hide under my bed sheets in the first place. From the ghosts. Not minorities.
. . .
Someone should probably tell the South about this. Y’know, because of their racism towards ghosts.
My name is Josh and I’ve got the spirit.