‘Icy fingers on my back’

   The lightbulbs in my staircase chandelier somehow loosen every night. By scientific trickery or by mischievous spirits, any evidence I invite. Every time I flip on the hallway switch, five of the six are bright. I gaze in frustration at a single uncharged filament, a rogue denier of light. 

   To the edge of the tenth step I stretch, reaching precariously up to tighten. Wobbling unsteadily on my tiptoes. A lesser man it would frighten. At this distance, a fall would be deadly but I pay the risk no heed. One must never have an extinguished bulb, there should always be illumination, agreed?  

   Never is it the same culprit, two consecutive nights in a row. Is there a pattern to this madness? Honestly, I just don’t know. Perhaps I’ll plunge one night to my death, crumpled down below. Then my own flame with be extinguished, and away my spirit will go. 


About Bo Bandy

Just a creative soul trapped in a world of cookie-cutter pragmatism...
This entry was posted in Different Perspectives, Essays & Rants, Fiction Stories, Ghost stories, Gothic horror, Horror, Humor, Macabre, Mystery, Poetry, Science Fiction, Supernatural, Twilight Zone Inspired, Uncategorized, Utopia & Armageddon, Whimsical. Bookmark the permalink.

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