A POLTERGEIST

Old houses and their noises, what a nuisance. Every day, every night, all you need is a moment of silence, and then… bam! A door slams upstairs. You run to see what was it, but all doors are wide open, like you left them. At night you have the footsteps, calmly going from one side to the other, crossing the house. Maybe someone is having trouble sleeping, but… you live alone.

Sunday morning’s are as bad as night: everyone sleeping, the neighborhood quiet, birds chirping, and something dragging itself across the living room, but if you try to peek at it, you will never see what was.

Sometimes you turn the TV on just to have noise, like it could ward of the noises, but how can you ignore the sound of a glass breaking in the kitchen, or the shower turning on in the bathroom? That deep, cold, breathing sound few inches away of your ear, even under the blanket…?

 Sometimes is even worst: I can hear someone typing, in my computer, in the office, just few steps away from the bedroom. And in the morning I know I will find something written there, a boustrophedon, left to right, right to left, in caps as if someone was angry, saying again and again…

“STOP MAKING NOISE IN MY HOUSE MY IN NOISE MAKING STOP MAKING NOISE IN MY HOUSE MY IN NOISE MAKING STOP MAKING NOISE IN MY HOUSE”.

Silence: It is golden, not only for me, I guess.