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.

Until today.

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.


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.


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