The Authentic Eclectic

Gouges of Discontent

A wretched gash in the wall of her hallowed home scattered Hannah’s mind. Fluffy pink guts spilled through the cut, warding away tactile inspection. Its mysteries infiltrated her every attempt to focus at work.

i took this (probably in Hannah’s house)

Nobody else was in her house, she’d made sure of that; and nothing had been stolen. There were no broken windows, no scrapes around the deadbolt. Just this gash three feet wide — deeper at the center, as though made by a giant claw.

She nailed a board over it, awkwardly filled it, and repainted it. It was cheaper than paying a pro.

Two days later, another mark appeared in the kitchen. She installed a security system. Nobody entered her house, but when she came downstairs the next day, the slash by the front door startled her. She moved the outdoor cameras inside.

The downstairs hall this time. She checked the recording, taut with anticipation and a Holmesian determination. What she saw on the screen made her gasp, fall back in her chair, and tremble.

The wound appeared on its own, as though stitches holding the wall intact had been cut. There was nothing and nobody in sight.

Even if this is a ghost, she told herself while dialing, the sorts of people who bill themselves as paranormal experts must be frauds…