100 Ghost Stories Counting Down To Halloween 20223. #42 Cutlery

 By the sound of it, someone in the kitchen systematically removes cup after plastic cup from the shelf and lets it fall to the linoleum floor.

I could tell by the sound that after all the plastic cups from the shelf were exhausted, they, he, or it moved on to the dish rack and emptied out those plastic cups. I continued answering the many e-mails from three days ago, knowing that I could not get to all of them, but I tried my best. I can hear the kitchen drawers slowly creak open. It's purposeful. Cutlery clatters to the floor in a second, its sharp sound echoing through the house. I finally realize that after the cutlery, whatever is in the kitchen will move on to the pots, pans, and, ultimately, the china. I had to relent. The e-mails would have to wait. I take my time; I hear the forks, knives, and spoons hitting the floor with manic impatience. As if it's telling me I'm not moving fast enough. I don't approach the kitchen head-on; I take a broad, slow sweep, viewing the kitchen in a counterclockwise movement from left to right. Everything, the cups, and the cutlery, is sitting in a single pile in the middle of the floor. There's an unnerving silence as if more hell is about to break loose when I least expect it. 

"You wanna impress me? Clean this fucking shit up, and put everything back the way you found it!" I simply grab the door knob to the kitchen and close it, engaging the lock. "Asshole!"

The disembodied raging scream shakes the house from bottom to top and front to back. "I said fucking clean it up! NOW!"

Walking back to my computer, the house is quiet. From without are all the ambient noises of traffic in the distance, a wind filtering through the mango trees, and neighbors from across the street having conversations. My personal space is filled with the dull clicking of my keyboard's lettered and numbered symbols. So many e-mails left to answer. The last thing I need is a fucking poltergeist who's starving for attention.