Cockroaches, Ghosts, And Those Gunshots In Your Bedroom

Me & Skip were cruising bookstores in Ann Arbor when we saw a man sitting on the sidewalk. He was holding his head and muttering incoherent things about those damn cockroaches. He had cockroaches in his head. Skip handed him 10 dollars and told him to spend it on something to help those cockroaches. We walked on, I smirked and asked him if he thought it was crack, smack, or alcohol. He stopped in his tracks and looked at me quizzically. I repeated the question and he snapped “We’ve read hundreds of books, talked into all hours of the night, and you still haven’t learned a goddamn thing.” I did my stupid dazed blinky face to draw more out of him and he loudly obliged: “MOTHERFUCKER HAS COCKROACHES IN HIS HEAD!”

I’ve thought about this conversation for 11 years.

*

Jackson burst through the door after spending the night at his friend’s house. “I am NEVER spending the night at Dylan’s house EVER again.” All you need to do is look at Jackson when he makes these announcements and the moment you make eye contact, it’s over. He’s gonna talk to you. For a long time. What follows is my best attempt to retain the haunting in narrative form. When he says “Yeah”, that means I raised an eyebrow or shot him some other sign of comprehension.

“Dylan’s house is stinking haunted. Yeah. I’m serious. Haunted. I know I know. I wasn’t even sure before last night if I even believed in ghosts but now I KNOW it for a fact. I’m serious. You don’t really believe in this stuff until it happens to you. Yeah. Totally serious. You think I’m ever going in that house again? Nuh-uh. Not me. I had a terrible night. I mean God. Dylan fell asleep right away. He must be used to living in a haunted stinking house. But not me you know. I was just laying there feeling kinda funny because it wasn’t my bed and you know how that makes you feel funny, right? Yeah yeah. It’s weird. I must’ve been like that for like 2 hours! Yeah. I know. And then I was just about asleep when WHAM WHAM WHAM the wall starts rattling. Yeah. It was this crazy WHAM WHAM WHAM and it kept getting louder and faster and then… I heard her. The ghost. Yeah. I swear to God. Yeah. It was like she was moaning from beyond the grave or something. Yeah. Screeching kinda. Yeah yeah. I’m totally serious. I almost died right there. Can you die from being scared? I thought I was gonna die.”

*

I was in my office late Wednesday night when I heard Lucy whimpering in the hall. When I opened the door she was beyond crying, in that zone where she just shakes and draws in quick jagged little breaths. “S-s-someone’s shooting guns in m-my room.” I picked her up and she snapped into me like a quivery Lego. We walked back to her room while I did the wavy “shhhh” noise in her ear. We sat on her toy box and listened to the shots. I whispered “Sweet Face. Don’t you know why people shoot guns in your room?” She shook her head. I opened her blinds and watched her fear turn into riveted curiosity. “People shoot guns in your room when it’s the happy new year.”