Skip navigation

Here it is.

I’m back.

And this time, it’s for good (meaning permanently. Intention-wise, it’s for evil). As they say in the trailers for those movies where communists blow up a helicopter and Steven Seagal’s wife is on the helicopter so Steven lubes up his p-tail and puts his fist through a Russian, “This time, it’s personal!”

I’ve been contemplating a lot in the interim. I’ve also gotten good at rattling chains. I’ve even rattled one of those big ship chains where every link is almost the size of an entire regular chain (waste of time). I do like thinking of obscene messages and then firing them down into slumber party Ouija board pointers.

Child screams are like The Beatles for me now, but I guess you knew that already.

I’m getting off topic.

As I said, I’ve been contemplating a lot in the interim, and what I contemplated is that I’m going to haunt you now, but not for the reasons you’d think.

Like, you probably remember the time we summoned that Norse god of passion because you said your sister didn’t have anyone to ask to the Sadie Hawkins dance, but then it actually just turned out that you didn’t have anyone dressed in a Viking helmet to blow in the hot tub. Well, guess what? I’m over that. Fate balanced those scales when I took your sister to the Sadie Hawkins dance and we had a really fun time. Her friends are so funny!

I know you too well. Right now, you’re thinking about when we needed to make a blood offering to Mithros and, even though you were on your period, you made me cut off my pinky because you said that Mithros didn’t like “box wine.” There I was, standing around like an idiot, hand gushing blood into the runic incisions on the altar, when Mithros rose out of the black flames, high fived you and handed you $10. And he was all, “Holy thunderforce, I can’t believe he actually did it.” And then you guys left me and went to some hoity-toity wine tasting. Can’t believe I did what? You never told me. I guess it was some inside joke between you and Mithros.

HONK, HONK, Chocolate goose!

Oh, sorry. Inside joke. From the Sadie Hawkins dance. Your sister’s friends really are so funny! I mean, don’t get me wrong, Mithros is pretty funny, too. I guess. But let’s face it, he’s no Jocelyn Evans. I tell you…that girl… well, nevermind. I’m getting off topic again. I’m not haunting you because of Mithros.

Now that you know that, you’re probably asking the big question: “Is it because of that time I acted like a total bitch, slit your throat with a cursed Babylonian dagger and then shoved the Amulet of N’rholabm into the wound so that you’d be forced to forever roam the ruined vapor lands between Earth and the underrealm, craving blood, but unable to drink, and hearing the chorus of ‘Love Me Do’ in the screams of every living child?”

Sorry. Wrong again.

I don’t mind it here. I get to float around and rattle chains and listen in on Jocelyn’s hilarious jokes when she’s out with your sister. Plus, ever since the dimensional re-zoning kick-started gentrification, the vapor lands really aren’t even that ruined anymore.

No. I’m haunting you for the same reason you gave last Halloween when I asked you why you ate more than half of my candy corn and laid that massive Chinese food fart in my werewolf mask.

The same reason you gleefully stated when I demanded to know why you used that nard-rupturing spell to kill the divorce attorney I hired.

A precise echo of the explanation, which you made through gritted teeth and an (I have to admit) erotic sneer, that I begged for as I choked and sweated against the stone Babylonian blade that you enthusiastically pressed against my throat before letting my blood spray all over that white dress you insisted on buying, even though I told you when we were there at Banana Republic that you were just going to end up spilling something on it.

And there you were swearing that everything I said was bullshit. Well, now take a look at that dress you had to have, sweetheart.

I know. Off topic.

Why am I haunting you?

Because.

That’s right.

Just because.

How’s that feel?

No, really. I want to know. Use the enchanted semaphore flag you bought at that grand magus’ estate sale to tell me. And don’t pretend that you don’t feel like the biggest idiot ever. Also, try to use fairly basic signals because I don’t actually understand semaphore.

If the flag’s, like, pointing down at the ground, it means sadness. And upsetness.

And the humble admission of one’s guilt and utter wrongness.

I think we both know which way the flag will point.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: