Haunted

I ignored my computer today.

I walked away from it, and exercised instead. About time. I did yoga and 104 sit ups. It felt great. No one reads this stuff anyway.

I could tell my computer wasn’t happy, so I took a quick peek at my email, and then hurried to the kitchen. “Just having breakfast,” I said loudly. “Normal people do that, you know.”

My computer didn’t argue, but I could tell she was upset.

“I’m having a normal day, today,” I said. “Normal people don’t spend 5 hours a day in front of their lap top. Normal people don’t check their email every five minutes. I’m going to be normal. I’m going to get a life.”

My lappie rolled her eyes at me. I swear she did.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me,” I said. “Agents don’t like me. Publishers don’t keep their promises. And besides that nobody buys books anymore. Didja ever hear of the public library?”

“Hummmmmm.”

“Are you, like…humming at me? What’s up with that? Don’t hum at me, okay. I have nothing to write, okay? I’m out of ideas. Watch me be normal. Watch me…sweep the floor. Normal people sweep, okay.”

That floor was awfully dirty. Maybe I should sweep more often. What else do normal people do? Oh, yeah. “ I think I’ll make my bed.”

The bed was worse than I thought. I tossed the sheets in the washer. “Just act normal,” I thought.

“Whirrrrrrr. Click. Click.”

“Hey, don't whirrr at me. Remember last week when the doorbell rang and I wasn’t even dressed. It was almost noon and I was in front of my computer in my pjs. Normal people get dressed in the morning. I’m hopping in the shower. I can’t hear you.”

This is great. I'm clean. I'm dressed. I’m having a normal day. If somebody knocks on my door, I’ll be ready. Normal people don’t write every day. They don’t.

“Whatever.”

“What? Whatever? I mean, I can’t hear you. I’m running errands, just like a normal person. I’m out the door. I have two, six, maybe seven errands. I may be gone all day.” Slam. “Who does that computer think she is.”

Whew. Quiet at last.

Wait a minute. What’s that rustling in the back seat. “Who’s there?”

That’s better. Wait, do I hear whispering?

Oh no. It’s the words. They followed me here. They sneaked in the car and they’re trying to get my attention. This is crazy.

“Shh. No talking. Shhhhhhhh.”

“Whisper, whisper, whisper.”

“I’m turning on the radio.”

Dancing. "You're not dancing." They’re dancing. “Stop that. Don’t dance. I'm telling you, words are not supposed to dance. I mean it. Stop.”

So much for normal.

Haunted.

Linda Garner