The Phantom Ankle-Biter’s Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Haunting

Elmer — jokingly called the ankle-biting phantom by his fellow spectres — who finally got promoted to the head poltergeist in the lower realms of the mansion, was having a spectacularly bad Friday. His latest attempt to loom in the attic had resulted in him only clearing the floorboards by an inch, making him look less like an apparition and more like a glowing, ill-fitting bathmat.

“Fear my furious rumble!” he squeaked, his voice strained. He put his non-corporeal shoulder into the effort, trying to move a heavy bowling ball towards the stairs to create a terrifying noise. It didn’t budge, but in the process, he accidentally knocked a single, glass marble which rolled with a faint, pitiful plink… p-link… p-l-i-n-k down the wooden steps. Below, a teenager merely sighed, assuming a rogue button had fallen off her coat. Dread set in; he couldn’t even master basic gravitational haunting.

Elmer then moved on to his next grand scheme as he hovered over to the pet cemetery plot. He needed an army. He floated in front of a sad-looking beagle statue, and summoned his spectral legion. His voice reverberated, “Rise, O spirits of the forgotten! Let us show these mortals true terror!”

The air shimmered, and a spectral golden hamster named Sir Reginald appeared, already running tirelessly on an invisible wheel. Next came Barnaby, a glowing one-legged Parakeet who could only fly in a tight, confused circle. Finally, there was the silent, perpetually surprised ghost of a Goldfish named Finn, who simply circled Elmer’s exasperated head like a tiny, luminous halo of shame. Elmer buried his face in his spectral hands. His army was less an instrument of doom and more a very depressing parade float. Elmer let out a long sigh as he saw Barnaby fly through Sir Reginald’s wheel, causing a tiny, pathetic spectral short circuit.

Defeated, he slunk to the kitchen, deciding to focus on small, maddening annoyances. He tried to levitate the sharpest butcher knife, and failed. He tried to make the refrigerator hum with a bone-chilling groan, but it just maintained its steady, cheerful whirr. Finally, in a burst of sheer, miniature fury, he managed to flip the butter dish completely upside down. Success! A tiny, greasy victory.

But his piece de resistance was yet to come. Floating near the roomba, he gathered every ounce of his spectral energy for a sound that would curdle blood. He let out a piercing, (what he strongly believed to be an) eldritch wail…

The resulting noise was not the sound of a tormented soul. It was the clear, cheerful, undeniable ‘BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!’

The homeowner, Mrs. Gable, was on a tense phone call about the mortgage. “Oh, hang on,” she muttered into the receiver, sounding utterly exasperated. She walked into the kitchen, looked at the perfectly still roomba, and grumbled, “I swear, this thing keeps beeping for no reason.” She righted the butter dish, then took a step. Her foot caught on something low and unseen. She didn’t fall, but she stumbled.

Elmer, the vertically challenged poltergeist, watched from the floor, his face a furious knot of blue light. The woman hadn’t been scared. She was just annoyed. His final, crushing dread was the realization that he wasn’t a nightmare; he was just a nuisance. He sank through the floor, plotting his next move: maybe he could haunt a place where people were already angry, like a long-term parking lot.

I designed a cover art to go with the story.