Harold

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.

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.

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28 thoughts on “Harold

  1. That’s the kind of ghost everyone should have. Annoying or not, he knows things. And maybe being recognized makes him less annoying. Fun story, I enjoyed this very much.

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