My Un-Adult Confession

I’m afraid of ghosts, even though I don’t believe in ghosts.

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Ghosts are usually Victorian children.

To start with, it doesn’t make sense that most ghosts come from the 19th century. Where are all the old guys in Bermuda shorts? You never hear about mundane ghost problems like Uncle Rob eating all the mixed nuts every time you leave the room.

It’s never Aunt Josie hanging her orthopedic bra over your shower or some 80’s kid who keeps flipping the stereo to Michael Jackson hits. No, it’s always some  creepy little girl in a white dress staring you down in the hallway, or an axe murderer writing blood messages on the mirror. What about Neanderthals?

The rational part of my brain doesn’t believe in ghosts for a second, but that doesn’t stop me from flipping the light on every time I think about them too long.  I’d never be able to sleep in a haunted house because I’d be too busy curling into a quivering ball at every random noise (Being a ball totally protects me from supernatural powers, right?)

So, I have a completely irrational fear of ghosts and to make matters worse, I now have two little kids running around. There’s a fine line between kid stuff and haunted ghost paraphernalia.

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How thirsty are you?

These days, if I need to walk across my house in the middle of the night, there’s a very good chance of encountering a discarded doll along my journey. She’ll just be lying on the floor, staring at me in the quiet darkness with her menacing dead eyes as I crab-walk sideways to grab a glass of water.

And it was in this creepy hellscape of frozen dolls and off-key music boxes last night that my four-year-old daughter Brontë asked me, “I don’t like dead bodies, mommy. Do you?”

“NO. I do not like dead bodies,” I told her while wondering what put this idea in her head.

“Where have you seen dead bodies?” I asked.

“I’m seeing them right now.”

Aaaand that’s when my blood turned to ice.

Heart pounding, I looked down at the Wii balance board I was fixing up for her, sorting out what direction to insert the double AA’s. Something clicked.

“Dead… BAT-TER-IES?” I ask.

“Yeah,” Brontë says. “Dead batteries means your stuff doesn’t work! You don’t like them, right?”

Okay, maybe I overreacted.

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25 thoughts on “My Un-Adult Confession”

  1. That’s funny, but I’m pretty sure her little Freudian slip means something creepy is going on in your house. The ghosts made her change it after it slipped out. They’re sly like that. BTW, if I ever pass away I am going to become a ghost.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Well THANKS, Phil! 🙂

      So if you become a ghost, I’d really appreciate you telling me about it. But maybe you could leave a note or something. No showing up behind me when I’m looking in the mirror at midnight crap, alright?

      Liked by 1 person

        1. No worries, I didn’t take it it that way except for the creepy weirdness of you scaring me when you’re a GHOST.

          Can you at least show up during the daytime or give me some pointers on the afterlife in return? Because if you just torment me, you know I’m gonna come FIND you when I become a ghost 🙂

          Liked by 1 person

            1. That’s okay then. I’m willing to trade some near-heart-attacks for solid insider info about the afterlife.

              Read your Afterlife To-Do list and it’s great. Made sure to read it since you want company in the afterlife, so I figured we could joke about how naive we once were, before experiencing the realities of ghost professions.

              You’ll bring up the comedian idea and the other ghosts will shake their heads. “Look kid,” they’ll say. “You’ve got rattling chains, writing creepy blood notes on walls and mirrors, knocking stuff over, and floating down hallways. What floats your boat?”

              But we can always hope.

              Liked by 1 person

            1. Well, the cat wasn’t very good, to be honest… but I figure any cat attempts to play the piano are praiseworthy.

              I do have a weird knack with animals though. I’ve tamed squirrels, raccoons, bluejays, and feral cats. I’d definitely be the Druid in an RPG game, lol

              Liked by 1 person

    1. That hasn’t happened to me yet, but it happened to my husband. He opened his eyes at 3 AM and our 4 year old was just STARING at him. Creeped him out and he isn’t even the type to get creeped out.

      Turns out she’d had a nightmare, so we just bundled her into bed. But I can imagine sleepwalking toddlers could be terrifying, because they’d look mindless and possessed.

      Liked by 1 person

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