Dear Poltergeist

I do like these unofficial challenges that we all set ourselves here on Vocal and I have enjoyed writing this piece for Heather Hubler's challenge, although I don't think that it meets its criteria really. However, I started it and felt compelled to continue it to the bitter end and so, here it is. My feeling is that I would like to share it in the hope that it will be read. I certainly enjoyed writing it.

It is the time of year for seasonal spookiness and it seems only right to write something that encapsulates the flavour of October and its supernatural associations. That's how this started and then it developed into something else.

The link to Heather's original challenge is here:

Enjoy!

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Dear Poltergeist,

PLEASE LEAVE MY HOUSE! NOW!

I am so tired of your presence! I feel like I am losing my mind!

I'm not sure why you've decided to take up residence here but I am begging you, pleading with you, to leave me in peace! Because I don't know if I can take it anymore and I'm not sure if this is your end goal - it probably is - but I am hoping that pleading to your supernatural better nature will mean that you LEAVE ME ALONE!

I know you can hear me. I hear you whispering to me. But you never answer. Perhaps you can read - you certainly like to move my books around, leaving them here, there and everywhere!

LEAVE THEM ALONE!

I am so tired. So tired. I can barely function and it's because of you and your tricks. I can't find anything anymore and I know it's because you're moving it: taking my papers, leaving them in bizarre places, like the shed - that's where I found the electric bill, you fiend, by the things! - shuffling them into a different order. You're making my head spin and I can't bear it!

And leaving the doors on the cupboards open so that I bang my head. It happened again this morning. This is the fourth time this week! I'm not sure what pleasure you get from that, seeing another man, thing, suffer. Sometimes, I think I see you in the corner of the kitchen, sniggering and pointing but I know that that's my imagination. I know.

The moving of things around? I know that's not me. I know it. I remember clearly where I leave things and where things are kept WITHOUT EXCEPTION and I know it's not me! Like my glasses. I always, always, leave them in the bowl on the hall table. I do this because I've lost them in the past and it used to drive Margaret quite mad, so we agreed, that that was the place that I'd put them until I needed them again. And it worked well: I could find my glasses, she didn't get needlessly irritated. Perfect.

It's a good job you won't get to meet Margaret. I don't know what she'd make of all this, Poltergeist! I'll tell you one thing: she'd have banished you by now, I know that! She wouldn't stand for any of your nonsense! Not like me. She wouldn't be sitting down and writing a letter. No, she was a woman of action and you'd have been given short shrift for your mischief!

I wish she were here. I know she'd be angry but she'd be able to find my glasses. Actually, my glasses wouldn't be lost because you would be gone and my glasses would still be in the thingy! And I wouldn't be on my own.

WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME?

The window was open this morning and I know that I didn't open it. Why would I do that? It's not summer! It had blown in some leaves and a cat was eating some leftovers on the counter. I don't know how they got there either because I always put them into the thing, the whatyoumacallit in the corner that's cold. I can't remember the name of it. My wife would know.

I just want you to leave. I just want things to be normal. I don't

[The letter breaks off here unexpectedly. A splodge of blood has fallen on the page and left a brown circle. The writing resumes but the script is shaky and less distinct.]

It's me again, Poltergeist. You win. You've won. I am undone. Is that a poem? I don't know. I don't know anything anymore. I don't know why I stopped writing this letter. I think I'm concussed. Bloody cupboard door again. Sorry about the blood. Maybe poltergeists like that? I hope not. I can't take much more of this.

I'm just an old man. I just want to be left alone by you. I just want to know what's going on! Where's Margaret? Have you hurt Margaret? Where is she? WHERE IS SHE?

[The ink is smudged so not all words are visible, like drops of water have fallen.]

PLEASE. PLEASE. JUST LEAVE. PLEASE. STOP TORMENTING ME.

In desperation,

[There is no name. The letter writer could not remember his own name, not even an initial.]

Thanks for stopping by. Please do leave a comment if you read it as I do love to engage with my readers.