We had an agreement. He’d do chores; I’d handle security. A clean house meant no unwanted pests, a secure house meant no unwanted humans or otherwise. Both essential precautions when on this side of town.
I glided into the kitchen. Saw dirty dishes, overflowing garbage cans. I floated up onto the second floor. Found unmade beds and a messy bathroom. Very disappointing.
We’d talked about this before too. Now, no other choice: I was going to haunt the hell out of this untrustworthy human. Creaking doors, loud screams, the works.
I was not an otherworldly being to be trifled with.
The Weekday One Hundred 