I’m going to give it a shot for Poetry Month. I’ve already missed yesterday, but maybe that was my April Fool’s joke on myself?
“Nothing is wrong with this house,” he said, although he’d ripped up the floorboards and stripped all the walls and his grip was tight on the pry bar and he was wearing a medical mask. That was just in the living room. Next he tested the tap water for poison and installed carbon monoxide detectors on each step of the stairs. He’s gone now but I still take my precautions. I come home and before I turn on the lights in the kitchen I pause in the dark; I wait for the ghosts to find their disguise.