The Death of Me
a spooky flash fiction by Jay Chesters
Everyone processes grief differently. Some get lost in mourning, others deny and distract, others shut down and internalize. There is no right or wrong way, per se, although many go through stages. For this story, either our protag is processing through humor and hallucinations, or he has a much bigger problem on his hands.
Read more after the jump, and tell Jay what you think of his short fiction!
The Death of Me
by Jay Chesters
I’m 35, but Dad acts like I’m 15. It’s incredibly impolite: he’s been pushing up daisies for months.
Your typical haunting follows a three-act structure. It starts with noises: knocking, banging, that sort of thing. Act two escalates the situation, moving or throwing objects. Your denouement brings physical contact or a victim fleeing the scene.
I’ve been home with dearly-departed daddy since work gave me the chop. HR granted me the standard issue bereavement leave (two days), then accused me of using my grief as an excuse. Words like drunk and sarcastic might have been used. I don’t know, I was hardly listening.
Things started small: the radio station kept changing, then someone was always moving my keys and wallet. I can never remember where I left them, so when I found them in a sensible place, I knew something was rotten in the state of Denmark. It was too consistent for me.
If he’d stopped there, I could have lived with it. With him.
I’m eating Cheerios and watching shark videos on YouTube. The lights flicker, I smell Old Spice, and my cereal bowl starts floating to the sink. I grab it, and there’s a brief spiritual tug-of-war for what’s left of my brekkie.
“Dad,” I say. “I’m not done.”
Dad’s disappointed silence is deafening.
His ghost will be the death of me. He follows me around the house, turning off lights in rooms behind me and closing doors. And you try showering with spooky messages appearing in the steam: ‘remember to floss’, ‘get a haircut.’
This stops now, I’m not leaving: I’m taking back control of my life.
Tomorrow, I’m scattering his ashes in IKEA. He hated the mess, and I’ll know where to visit him.
Meet the Author:
Jay Chesters is a genre-bending, West Australian wordsmith with a penchant for the peculiar.
Weaving tales that blend the familiar with the uncanny, folklore with sci-fi and social commentary, Jay’s quirky contemporary fiction is thought-provoking and often drily humorous. The stories explore themes of identity, connection, and the surprising beauty of the human experience.
When he’s not working, Jay is usually found in the wild in Perth’s bookshops or in various cafes and coffee shops, writing and making the place look untidy. When he’s not writing, Jay spends his time fretting about how he really should be writing.
You liked this, so try this story next:
The Revenant Postman
I guess it’s October, so maybe it’s time for some horror offerings. Or at least this one, a timely story about a postman who returns from the dead and one kid’s unforgettable summer. Is it taking the Underside too seriously? Well, for some people, the underside of the ground can’t keep them down!
Nemesis of the Lucid Mind
Submissions have been slow of late, so I’ll dig into the well and post one of my oldies. If you don’t like it, send me yours instead! No really. Here’s my guidelines. And tell your writer friends!
An Acquisition of Words
Here we have a short fiction of the “sell one’s soul to the devil” variety. I doubt there is a writer out there—or any artist of any ilk—who hasn’t occasionally pined for their muse, or cried out for divine inspiration. These are told as cautionary tales, a word to the wise! After all, the spirits are not to be tested.
Spooky … and very good!
Creepy AF