writing-prompt-s:

you are ghost trying his best NOT to be scary while trapped in a subburban home. You are horribly clumbsy though and the family is starting to notice the things you knock over and the “ooooooOOOOuu’s” in the night as you stub your toes again and again

So, being a ghost kind of sucks. Especially when you were a clumsy human. Especially when you were so clumsy you died falling down the stairs. You weren’t even pushed. You just tripped on air, said “Shit!” incredibly loudly, fell, and, well, died. You were so embarrassed that when Death came to take your soul to the afterlife, you hid your face in your hands until they left. Didn’t matter how often Death said, “It’s okay,” or, “It’s fine.” or, “I once took a soul that died choking on a gummy bear, so your death wasn’t even that bad.” You just waited until they left, and then immediately realized your mistake. Now you’re stuck.

It’s pretty boring staying in the house. Three weeks after you died, some people came in, took out all your furniture, and redecorated. You don’t know where anything went. You have no living relatives, no will, and you can’t leave. At least when they redecorated they brought in a nicer TV than the shitty monster you used to have. It took a few days of testing your ghost-strength (or whatever the hell it is), but you can finally watch TV again. At least you’re caught up on America’s Got Talent.

One day, weeks or maybe months after you died, a gathering is had. A woman with an overly exaggerated smile shows lots of people around your house, and you belatedly realize it’s a realtor. ‘Shit,’ you think. You can barely control your abilities. One time you went too corporeal, stubbed your toe, and screamed so loud that a neighbor opened the door (which is permanently unlocked while the house is for sale) to see if anyone was inside. People are going to think your house is haunted! Well, it is… but not by a bad ghost! You are no bad ghost, thank you very much.

It is unfortunate then, that a lovely little family moves in not even a week later. The first night is fine. America’s Got Talent is on, but you are too afraid to use the TV. You don’t want this family to suspect anything. Once it hits 2 AM, though, you give up, and stick your hand on the TV screen. You found out two months into ghost-dom that the amount of energy it takes to hit each remote button is ridiculous, but touching the television lets you tap into its energy directly, and you don’t have to use your own. You visualize the recordings menu and click on the only episode there, which is the new one.

In the morning, the two daughters settle into the living room, while the mother and father make breakfast. You watch the father steal a piece of bacon enviously, suddenly missing food with a raw intensity. In a split second, the egg the mother was about to crack into a frying pan explodes, and she shouts as raw egg splurts in a three foot radius. The girls in the living room are completely ignorant to the whole thing.

“Wow, Margaret. Don’t know your own strength?” the dad laughs, because he’s a dad, so, of course.

For a second Margaret looks completely shocked and you think, ‘This is it, they’re gonna call an exorcist. I’m gonna die. Again.’ but then she also laughs and says, “You know how I am before my morning coffee!”

The egg exploded. Several feet. Very Unnaturally. And yet… Wow. 

They’re oblivious.

You decide to test your hypothesis with an experiment involving lots of shouting, but it turns out you don’t need to. The father opens up the recording menu on the television, probably to set things up for his own shows, and notices pre-set America’s Got Talent recordings.

“What’s this doing here?” he wonders aloud, and then he deletes everything.

“NO!” You scream, and three books fly off the bookshelf.

The dad startles at the crash, but when he gets up to put the books back, he only ‘hmm’s’ at the bookshelf and says, “A lot less sturdy than I remember. Oh well.” He goes back to the TV.

‘He can’t be that ignorant.’ you think, and with all your might, you turn your foot corporeal and kick the coffee table with as much strength as you can muster. “Fuck!” you shout immediately afterwards, but a human could only have heard the bang of your foot on the table, and not the cry of pain.

The father looks up at the noise, decides it’s nothing, and goes back to channel surfing.

Jesus Christ.

Your final test is on the two girls. You feel like a creeper going into their shared room when they’re asleep, but you just want to see if spooking them is possible, or if they’re just as oblivious as their parents. Then its back to the living room, so you can re-record your show. 

You focus your energy into your voice and give a loud shout. The girls hardly even twitch. You shout again.

“Be quiet.” One of them mutters.

“I didn’t say anything. You did.” the other girl mumbles, just a bit more awake.

“Oh stuff it, Tiffany. Just shut up and go back to sleep.”

“You shut up! I didn’t say anything.”

“Yes you did!” 

“No I didn’t!”

There’s silence for a few moments before both girls say “Whatever,” in unison and rollover, backs facing each other.

“Seriously?” you whisper with the last of your energy.

One of the girls mumbles “Shut up,” but your form fades out before they start arguing again.

---

So… it turns out having a family living in your house isn’t too bad. They’re all completely oblivious to any and all noise you make, no matter how many times you accidentally go corporeal and trip. Or when you angrily throw their shoes down the stairs because you keep tripping over them. You still have America’s Got Talent, and the whole family is usually out and about the same time Freeform marathons Harry Potter.

All in all, life – or, well, death – isn’t so bad.