There are beings in our houses, beings that we cannot see, but who exist just the same. In every house I have ever resided in, these beings have existed. Maybe some people will call me crazy, maybe some people will say I am mistaken, but I have SEEN ghosts, I have heard them. And gremlins, not the movie kind but the little mythical creatures who steal stuff from you, they exist too. Explain to me how else your wallet that you use every day, that you have never misplaced, somehow ends up in the hall closet, top shelf, behind the shoebox full of faded photographs and love letters from the third grade? Or how your car keys, always hanging faithfully on the third hook from the right, on that key holder cutely carved in the shape of the word keys, how those car keys were in the back of the bottom drawer of the bureau in the third floor guest room, the room that you never use cause it smelled like a litter box when you moved into the house and no matter how many times you’ve shampooed the carpet you can’t get the smell out and you’re planning refinishing the hardwood floors next Tuesday? The ghosts and gremlins in my house are harmless, I suppose, but it bothers me when I walk into the bathroom to take a shower late at night and discover that the tub is full of icy cold water that should not have been there, or when I walk into my bedroom at 3am to retire for the night, only to discover that it smells like someone has just finished smoking a cigarette, though Robert and I are both nonsmokers. And the gremlins? With it irks me that they take all my left gym socks, or my Sims game, or my car keys, or my nail file, or little handheld mirror I purchased three years ago when I decided to become for effiminate and which has suddenly just become the very most important thing in the world to find. It annoys the piss out of me to search the house from top to bottom, leaving no cushion unturned, and not find what I’m searching for. But I get over it, I do, and I go on with my life, and as long as the ghosts and gremlins and goblins and ghouls and guys named Beelzebub don’t harm anyone in my family then I suppose I won’t get too mad at them for playing tricks on my senses; if only I could get a little rent money out of them… Amos Lee–Now most days I spend like a child who’s afraid of ghosts in my mind. I know there ain’t nothing out there; I’m still afraid to turn on the lights.
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