A short, short story inspired by the old man ghost in my house: There is a ghost behind my back whispering soft words into my ear: tissue, lily, cellar, simple, sweet, lettuce, lady. Still, I don't believe in ghosts, only in what they do. I have heard stories. One ghost trips an older man while he takes a midnight piss. One ghost eats the inside of a stranger's pomegranate. One ghost arm wrestles an unsuspecting man. One ghost pushes an infant down the stairs.
And what will this ghost to do me? It continues; silk, tuesday, sun, story, ephemeral, lean, fester, fill, free, slippery, din, do, swindle, dull, sin, subtle; then surreptitiously climbs inside me, grabbing hold of my voice, taking it with him forever.