I started hearing them when I was two.
Mama called it a gift. I always considered it a curse. The dead are noisy and sometimes intrusive. I never had privacy, even in my head.
Harold was the pushiest, most irritating spirit. An attention seeker, he invaded my thoughts regularly. A real pain in my ass.
I awoke to his relentless voice, heavy with urgency. “STAY!”
His anxiety flooded my body, making me dizzy.
“Fine, Harold!” Change of plans. Back to bed.
When my 8:15 train slid off the icy tracks, killing fifty…I wasn’t on it. Thanks to Harold.
PHOTO PROMPT © Liz Young
Happy Friday! This is written for the weekly flash fiction challenge, Friday Fictioneers. Check out the other 100-word gems of flash fiction here. Many thanks to our lovely host, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.