I Think A Ghost Took A Dump In My House

June 24, 2009 // 7:49 pm

hanako

By Michael James Nelson

I think a ghost took a dump in my house. No, I don’t have any proof, but I am sure it was there, floating in my toilet. It smelled like death. And, a lot of people will think I am crazy and think I am just seeing things, but none of that matters to me for I know there is a presence lingering in my house.

Beyond that one rotting smell, there are other things. I get these senses that I am not alone. “Hello?” No one ever answers. But sometimes, when I enter my house, I always find a tension filled quiet, like I just interrupted a conversation and all parties involved are silent, holding their breath. Yes, this is all new to me. I don’t have any past dealings with spirits stricken to a life of limbo here on Earth. I am trying to adapt best I can, but it has been a bumpy road.

Bottom line, I am trying to be polite to this ghost because I know he can rock my shit if I pissed him off, with his cloaking capabilities and dark powers. How do I know it is a he? Well, no woman, dead or alive, would drop a deuce like the one that sucked the oxygen out of my bathroom, and now I realize that a fart joke probably kills in the underworld. Good to know.

So, the other night I turned the television off and announced that any spirits in any dimension in any room of my house may use the toilet. “…But you must flush the toilet and flush twice if necessary!” It was my first action towards total acceptance. Would he listen? Well, it’s tough to say. I am not sure if ghost can hear. I think they might be deaf because every time they are depicted on television, it sounds like they are moaning like a deaf person.

And, the thing is that I – See! Did you hear that? (Editor Note: the Author gets up to inspect a noise that came from the back of the house. He returns.) Bastard opened the microwave door. See, it’s shit like that that really gets me. He needs to stop with the petty stuff and get down to business; you know, try and communicate with me or tell me he is a long lost relative.

Anyway, what am I to do? Its not like I can evict him. If I did demand him to leave he would just slam a door and then be quiet. A couple weeks would pass, me thinking he was gone, practicing my usual naked Wednesdays (helps the week to go by faster) and then he would scare the shit out of me by knocking something over or just take another colossal dump. But, as the days pass it really does bother me that I truly do not know if he is really in my house. Knowing flat out that he was in my presence would relieve me of so much stress. Sometimes I just fill with rage, lost in the unknown. So, I went out a bought some “ghost gear”.

I got on the Internet and ordered a handheld ghost meter that detects any sudden spikes in electromagnetic energy. I also threw on what is called a “glide suit” made out of rubber, covered with these small, dark blue plates that supposedly make you invisible to the invisible. After a couple beers, I slowly crept around my house, holding the meter in front of me and holding a bag of flower in my other hand. The purpose of the flower was to throw in the air when my electromagnetic meter spiked. That way it would land on the ghost and make him visible. Now, I had a couple big leads and at one point I thought I had him cornered. My electromagnetic meter was spiking like crazy. But, an hour later I had nothing and my entire house was covered in flower.

So, I have made a deal with him. Now, I can’t prove that said ghost was at said meeting but what I said out-loud was that all ghost in my house please come to the kitchen. After five minutes, I sat down and began the meeting. “It is apparent to me that certain ghosts at this table will not leave.” I said, waiting. Silence. A noise! I quickly jerked my head and then realized that it was my air conditioner humming to life on the other side of the house. “So, I have drawn up a lease agreement. I am not sure what year you left us, but these days we sign leases.” I slid a copy across the table and stared at it, just waiting to see any movement. It did move, but that was the breeze from an open window. I shut it and proceeded.

“You may stay in my home. You may call this home. But, I have rules… Ma’am.” I waited, hoping the ghost would object to my calling him, ma’am. Nothing. “Rule Number 1: Any ghost to live under my roof shall never reveal themselves to me for it would scare me beyond belief. And if English isn’t your native tongue, please speak up.” Pause. I scanned the room. “Rule Number Two is a given: Any ghost under this roof shall always flush after a bodacious dump.” Pause. Nothing. “Rule Number Three: There shall only be three ghost under this roof at a time. If you have friends over, and there are four of you, take it out to the patio.” Pause. Scan. Nothing. “And finally, rule number four: if my dog is barking and I am not home, please let him out to piss and run around.” I put the paper down. “Fair?”

No answer. But, I think he got the point. I have not seen any signs of my friend for some time. I confess, I do miss him dearly. And if he went to drier pastures, well, I hope he is happy. But, I do miss the guy. The place hasn’t been the same anymore. I hope he knows he always has a home right here. And I hope he knows that if he shits in the toilet, then son-of-a-bitch he needs to flush it.