‘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. 

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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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