My mother joyfully hummed to herself as she cleaned the dining room and kitchen.  Her humming resonated through the house only broken by the clanging of pots and pans as she dismantled the mountain of dishes from the delicious meal she had prepared.    

Jackson sat in front of the television digesting every bit of comical genius the Simpsons had to offer.  His shirt, hell, his entire wardrobe was covered in lasagna stains but that just showed how much he loved it.  Every now and then he would impersonate Ralph, the silly kid from the Simpsons, and yell ‘I ate the purple berries!’ in his goofy voice.  That was the best.  

Poor kid had no idea his entire life may depend on Jennifer spending the night.  What if an emergency came up and she had to rush home or she fell ill and had to be rushed to the hospital?  Judging by the seriousness of the ghost boy voice, I was not willing to test him and his ominous threats.  

My father puffed on a cigar, his one vice, in his favorite lounge chair and ready a car magazine showing luxurious and exotic cars that we could never afford, not in a thousand lifetimes.    

“So ladies, I hear you have a special project you’ve got to work on.  That sounds stressful,” he said.   

We peered at one another, Jennifer and I, and proceeded to break into our rehearsed speech.  Before we even got started my father interjected.   

“No need to explain.  I get it.  I lived it.  Have fun and let me know if you need any help.”   

Maybe he was just saving us our breath, or he was too busy to be bothered with the details of a high school project because he was learning the sixty-foot times for the 2019 Lamborghini Urus or the one hundred to zero stopping power of the upcoming 2021 Ford Shelby GT 500.  It did not matter to us, saved us the opportunity of making a mistake and blowing our cover story.  

My mother stopped in the middle of laboring in the kitchen and whipped her brow.     

“Better hop to it, deadlines are deadlines girls.”    

That was all the push we needed to head on up the stairs to my room.  The walls were plastered with boy bands and random artwork I had made throughout my life in this house.  Close your eyes, imagine the stereotypical teenage girls' room, add in a few educational items like a globe and a set of encyclopedias and that was my room.  Nothing out of the ordinary. 

Jennifer took up camp in my desk chair, spinning wildly until her face turned the faintest shade of gray.  Her laughter quickly transitioned to murmurs of concern but that did not stop my tremendous roar of giggles.  She was always wild and bouncing off the walls, she never ceased to amaze me. 

It did not take long for our childhood fun and games to turn into a living nightmare as the voice had returned, louder than before and for both of us to hear.   

It said, “Having fun ladies?  Not taking this as seriously as you should, huh?  Maybe I should prove the level of severity and gut one of you here and now.  Sound fair?”  

Jennifer was more of an antagonist than a sheep that did exactly as she was told.  She stood quickly from the chair and took a defensive stance. 

“Guess what little ghost boy.  You can just fuck off.  I do not know everything, but I do know that you cannot do shit to us.  Not a damn little hair on my head can be put out of place unless I let it happen.  We want to help but trying to scare a couple of girls is childish, just like you,” She said.   

The room fell silent, far more silent than it had ever been before.  All the noises from downstairs, the laughter from Jackson, the dishes being cleansed by my mother, it had all been put on mute.    

“Oh, we have a brave one on our hands don't we Naomi?  Perhaps you children should step on out of the room and have a look downstairs.  Perhaps that will prove my point and you will fall in line.  If not, you will meet the same fate,” it said.  

Hesitantly, we approached the bedroom door.  Grasping the handle and attempting to turn it resulted in massive resistance.  We were locked in.  Jennifer moved me delicately aside and proceeded to take her ‘Sword in the Stone’ moment.  Nothing.  The door was sealed shut. 

It said, “My apologies children, let me get that for you.” 

The door immediately opened, and we were freed from my bedroom only to be overcome with the smell of copper in the air.  Jennifer rushed downstairs, slipped in something, and busted her butt on the hard floor.  I, on the other hand, took a slow and steady approach only to see a lake of crimson that had filled my entire downstairs.    

Jackson was belly up floating in a sea of thick red blood.  So red that it almost appeared brown.  My father and mother were both face down, the backs of their heads opened, and their brains exposed.  Jackson was gurgling, crying, screaming without a voice, only a hiss escaped his mouth.  His throat had been slit from ear to ear.    

I had to swim to him to get through the thickness of all the blood.  I grasped him and stared deeply into his eyes.  He was crying, not hard, but crying, nonetheless.  The hissing from his open mouth continued and never stopped.  It was as if he were a balloon slowly deflating.  Bobbing up and down in the crimson death.    

Jennifer emerged from the copper pool of blood clutching her back and hobbled over to me.  Her face remained stubborn and agitated even with all the horror surrounding us.    

“What the hell is this?  This room did not just magically fill up with blood, your family didn’t just die without a single sound made.  Not even one scream?  This little fuck is performing magic tricks for the damned and you’re falling for it,” she said.  

She slapped my face miraculously hard.  Enough to rock me off my feet and cause me to drop below the bloodline.  I broke the surface quickly, scrambling to get back to Jackson.   

“Jennifer!  I think we better start listening and stop fighting.  You do see all this right?  Real or not, look at what our spirit friend is capable of and how that might cause some irreparable mental damage,” I said. 

Before her response was developed in her brain and spat out from her opened mouth, a mind-numbing hellacious roar filled the house.  My vision became blurred, the windows rattled and shattered, the dishes crashed into the pool of blood.     

“Girls, yoo-hoo, do you get my point?  Do you understand the level of torment I can drop on your mindless little heads?  Get back upstairs and start helping me before I cut out little Jackson’s tongue,” it said.  

Apparently, we hesitated a touch too long, wading through the crimson to the stairwell.  A large, serrated blade floated through the air as Jackson’s tongue stuck straight out from his mouth.  Faster and faster, we pushed our way through the thick life juice, fighting to get upstairs.  It was not fast enough.  Jackson’s tongue was centimeter by centimeter detached from his body.  The hissing turned to an agony of moans.  The suffering filled the air covering the copper smell with death. 

Jennifer and I made it back to my room, the door slammed behind us even though neither of us had touched it.    

It said, “Now that we are on the same page, get your act in gear and get to work.  Find me, find the thumping, and save me.  That’s all you have to do.” 

The painful silence evaporated, and the sound of that silly laughter entered my room once more, the washing of the dishes as well.  Jennifer looked at me, not phased one bit.   

“Oh Naomi, it’s on now.  I am the master of mind games.  I can’t fill a room with blood or fake kill people, but you know I can seriously decimate anyone’s brain.  This little monster will regret what he’s just done,” she said.  

My lovely friend, friends since forever, will never learn.  She truly thought that talking tough to an entity that we could not see, sense, smell, touch, prove, was a smart thing to do.  My letter opener, given to me by my father for ‘all those college applications’ that would come rolling in (at least that is what he said) floated its way through the air and pressed directly against Jennifer’s throat, her jugular to be precise.  

“I’m so sorry.  I guess you thought I was gone.  Maybe I had just gone on about my business like all the other ghosts do?  Child, trust me, I hear all and I know all.  One more word and it will be your last.  Pinkie promise,” it said. 

Tears feel from my eyes, like they already have numerous times in this tale already.  Not Jennifer though, her eyes remained enraged, a fire burned in them that raged on even with the threat of death being literally pressed against her throat.  

She said, “I double dare you kiddo or are you missing those little boy balls that push the testosterone throughout your tiny little frail body?  Go on now, you cannot turn down a double dare.  That makes you a pussy.”  

A sigh of frustration filled my room.  Followed by a low rumbling growl.  The letter opener floated back to its resting place on my desk where it patiently waited for all those college scholarships to come rolling in.

She said, “That’s what I thought bitch.” 

As she triumphantly crossed her arms and smiled at me, the letter opener flew across the room and went straight through her neck.  Instincts quickly went into action as she grabbed both sides of her now gushing neck.  She spray painted my room with her blood.  Her eyes fell gray and lifeless.  If that was not enough, her hair seemed to be grabbed by something and she was raised in the air, dangling by a handful of hair.  She managed a wink and then fell limp.    

My room had been accented with my best friend's blood and her body was the pinata I never wanted.  My scream alerted everyone in the house as without a seconds notice my door burst open, my father to save me.  As the door burst, everything returned to normal.  Jennifer had experienced all that had happened, the suffering, the pain, the death, but she was back and cool as a cucumber.  I, on the other hand, was hyperventilating and entering the first phase of a panic attack.  Something I was all too familiar with.  

My father caught his breath and attempted to spit out some words. 

“Girls, what...are you...are you guys okay?  What was that scream?  What happened?” he said. 

Not ready to fill him in just yet, we played it off as much as possible.  Jennifer took the lead.  

“Mr. Ericson, I’m so sorry.  I dared her to scream as if she were terrified.  We were going to have a contest, but I did not know she was going to scream so loud.  You know me, I would have warned you.”  

She threw out a solid wink which caused my father to pat his chest, right over his heart, laugh and they all exited the room as quickly as they had entered. 

I supposed it was time to call Mrs. Tannell.  This was far beyond our comprehension and we needed help desperately before the little bastard showed off some more. 

“I have yet to begin my lesson, you wayward pupil. But, fear not, you will learn before sunrise.”

― Azaaa Davis, Hiss, Rattle and Bite