Incorrigible Jerk

Dear Ghost,

The first letter I wrote you seemingly went ignored. Perhaps my former message was not thorough enough. Truth is, I rushed. You might have missed the point. So, here’s a detailed list of problems. Perhaps we can come to an understanding.

First, I don’t hear you when you shout at me. That’s right. You open your mouth to scream, but nothing comes out. You’re lucky I can see you.

Second, you should be nicer. Instead of acting angry that I’m in “your” house, consider greeting me pleasantly when I get home. No need for cold stares. Try a freaking smile. Any form of kindness would be a much better idea than jumping out of darkened corners—lurking about.

With that, third, stop hovering up to me to reveal your veiny tongue. And your skin, purple and moldy green really don’t work in your favor. None of what you do frightens me for the record. You look ridiculous. I secretly laugh at you behind your back. Okay, that’s mean. Strike the last one. Third, because the first third is gone now: why do you insist on staying in my house?

No one minus me sees you. I couldn’t care less about what you wanted. Even if you were trying to get me to find your carcass or something else predictably lame like that, I wouldn’t be the right person to ask.

Totally get it. You’re always hanging out in the hallway. One could deduce that’s where to find you. I will not break down any walls with a sledgehammer for the likes of you. You’re rude, arrogant, and nasty—not worth the cost of replacing sheetrock.

Fourth, the stomping sounds you make outside of my room in the middle of the night are obnoxious and need to come to a complete halt. You might not be alive, but some people have to get up and go to work in the morning. By the way, the sinks you keep turning on at random—yeah, ah, inconsiderate much? Do you truly believe my rising water bill cost is going to get me to care? Apropos to that, the flickering lights: who do you think forks over the cash for electricity?

I understand your predicament, how you want “someone,” “anyone” to “help” you, as you’ve written those exact words on my mirror the last five times I walked by—oh, and by the way, one word: “creepy,” comes to mind.

What you need to understand is all you’re doing is bugging me. You want attention. You want assistance. You know I can see you. Clear. Cool. Cheers. Thing is, I can’t do anything. Being that person who sees invisible people walking around hasn’t ever worked for me. The only way I could explain finding your remains would be admitting I saw you—thus, giving away my secret to the world. The main reason I won’t help you, you’re an incorrigible jerk!

Please move on,

~Angry “Living” Resident 


Since receiving a degree in creative writing at the University of Houston in 2013, Bertram Allan Mullin, or BAM, has had about 100 publications. Recent releases: "Zoinks" with Peacock Journal and "Glass Puzzle" under the pen name Shelly Macaroy in the Two Eyes Open Anthology with MacKenzie Publishing. Also, his horror "Zeitgeist" can be found in the Shopping List Anthology with HellBound Books. BAM lives in Japan where he teaches English and works on novels. Website: Stay social:, Twitter: @bamwrites