by Daniel Dominguez

Honestly guys, this is awkward for me to write. I have been trying to scare you for over a year now and I don’t know what the hell your problem is. Don’t you understand this is all I have? Can’t you at least act scared when I stack all the chairs in the kitchen? How would you like it if I came to your work and just stood around not being impressed with what you do for a living? I can’t do that because I died in this house so I can’t leave, but you get my point.

My friend, the ghost next door, says all he needed to do was make a few scary noises and a cold spot or two and that family flipped the F out and left. With you assholes, I make some terrifying noises late at night and you don’t wake up. I make scary noises during the day and you call it “the house settling.” How in the heck does me gibbering “I’m going to kill you” over and over sound like a “house settling?” That’s just being obstinate.

And what about the time I made YOUR DOG LEVITATE. You blamed that on the wind! He was floating in midair for a full minute. Wind can’t do that! That’s me doing that! I turned him upside down, made his eyes glow red, and made him bark the phrase, “God is dead and so are you,” and you said he must have a throat infection!

Or what about the time I sucked your daughter into the television, and then you found her inside her closet, except I had turned her closet into an endless white void filled with skeletal apparitions, and when you finally wrestled her free from a cackling skeletal horse that was trying to suck her into the vortex you said, “We’re really going to have to get someone to take a look at that closet.”

Are you fucking retarded?! That was amazing ghosting! What the hell is wrong with you people.

But that’s not why I’m killing myself. It’s because the day after the closet thing a mouse scampered across your couch and you all flipped out and ran upstairs and wouldn’t go downstairs to get the phone and call an exterminator.

For Christ sakes. I make your son vomit flies and you tell him he can’t fake his way into staying home from school, but a mouse traps you in your bedroom for half an hour. Fuck you people. I’m done. I hope you all burn in hell, not that you’ll be scared of anything there either, unless there are mice in hell, you jerks.