The Gay Ghost
This one is a true story, honest.
When we moved into the little flat, we had this joke: there’s a ghost floor. A bit a la Hogwarts, you know. Sometimes you’d pass the second floor and find your self in it again. Just sometimes. That was funny. Ha ha. We always agreed on when this would happen, we were probably just more tired than usual. Ha ha.
Then there was the in-built wardrobe. You’d see its doors open and you’d be sure those were closed just a sec ago. You must remember incorrectly. One night, we were peacefully sleeping (I sleep on the side of the wardrobe) and the door just blasted open. That was just the wardrobe. Ha ha. Funny. Air currents. Or something, yeah. Ha ha.
Then the silver flakes started appearing everywhere. I mean EVERYWHERE. Our guests found them on their skin. The LP player had it on it too. So had the kettle. And the furniture. And we found them too on our necks, on our arms, on our hair. The sofa had them too. Now, that was a bit too strange. We had no glitter at home, or silver foil for crafts, for that matter. We had no aluminium foil because we were eco-friendly. What on earth were the silver flakes, then?
Then we saw it all clear: we had a gay ghost. It would come out of the closet and spread glitter everywhere. Ha ha. Gay ghost, hilarious. Ha ha ha ha.
Friends would call to report on how many silver bits they found on themselves when they got home. We’d tell newcomers about it and immediately, some silver piece would voluntarily show up on their glass. So funny (ha ha).
I was evaluating the possibility of our inner minerals being sweated off and solidifying on our skins. I seemed to convince no-one. Mum said it was obviously something to do with the aircon. Obviously. All aircons spread glitter like mad. Ha ha, of course.
One day, though, I looked at the handles of the oldish IKEA kitchen cupboards. They are a soft dulled silver color. And yes, they are peeling from behind, from where you cannot see. So that was it. We’d be constantly fiddling in the kitchen, getting the bits on our hands whilst busy and distracted and we’d only see them once they’d lay somewhere else.
Ha ha ha. that was it. Ha ha. No gay ghost. Just old Ikea handles. I now just try not to think too much about the wardrobe door: if it’s suddenly open I just close it softly. Those air currents are stubborn, damn. Ha ha.
