Ghosts are a funny thing.
I've never been afraid of ghosts before, I've never had time. I've always been to busy with my life, with what I'm doing to think about others that have gone before me. But just recently I've heard the chains shaking in the night, the moaning in a silent room.
I've always believed that thinking about ghosts is a reflection on you, nothing wrong nothing to fear, right? So why do these haunt me? Why do some people refuse to stay dead? I've not gone looking for them; I've not felt them important to my life. These aren't my ghosts, I have dealt with mine. I got out the holy water and shook it about, got the young priest, the old priest, the ambient music and shown them the door. Sure some came back (a ghost loves a delayed sequel, you know the "five years later when she thought it was safe.....") but I chucked them right out on their ears again, I'd moved on and they should have too and if they hadn't it's too bad. No, these aren't my ghosts, if they were it'd be easy "lather rinse repeat" change the locks, click my heels and tell them to run and jump. These are someone else’s but like all naughty poltergeists they like to latch on to their quarries affection. So here I am a boogey woman under the bed, pulling faces in my mirror, scraping branches against my window.
How do you tell someone you love to get rid of their ghosts? Especially when they deny they have them. Why is it that someone who's gone's feelings are more important then mine?