Idiot

I'm not scared of ghosts,” Sue says.

“Me too,” I reply with a smile.

“But I’d like to become one,” she continues.

“Why?” I am amused.

“Because ghosts can travel anywhere, overhear people and uncover their secrets, know the past and the future.”

“Hmmm…I’m not sure about that." I laugh.

“How do you know? Isn’t that what planchette, ouija boards and seances are for? People call spirits, ghosts to question them.”

“Well….” I stop with a smile. Sue has always been an idiot. Her ghost is also an idiot. She still hasn't been able to figure out I killed her.

From Guest Contributor Sushma R Doshi

A Pushcart nominee, Sushma holds a PhD in International Studies from Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi. She likes to write and dream. She resides in India.

Unfinished Business

I returned from the dead, a list in my pocket: wrongs to right, pleasures to reclaim, truths to confess, sins to own. Mostly I needed to know how the world had fared without me. Apart from my poor mother, a grieving ghost of her former self, it was as if I’d never lived. Never loved. Never mattered. A stranger slept in my bed, alongside my darling wife, in my home, the one I’d slaved to pay for, my manicured garden now wildly overgrown. I fed the list to the fire. I’d start over from the very beginning, wherever that was.

From Guest Contributor Elizabeth Murphy

#Blemished

The comments hit hard. @keybrdwar58 wrote “Pepperoni face.” Certified rage baiter @uplinegeek’s “Wear a mask” got fifteen likes, zero from me. Ouch! Why did @soyzgalz comment “Get a life” just because I asked for advice? @vawaxayaz replied “Boomer talk.” Merci @vawaxayaz. She’s a skinfluencer. Now if she could please give me a follow back. Maybe she’ll ghost me. If she’s not a pretty deepfake bot, bet she uses AI-smooth filters. Like who doesn’t? Anyway, this is the last time I’ll ask for derma advice on Insta. Gotta have thick skin. Girls with thick skin don’t get pimples. There’s my problem.

From Guest Contributor Elizabeth Murphy

Still Mad

I woke up in the middle of the night feeling hungry and went down to the kitchen. I had leftover pizza in the fridge that would really hit the spot.

Bob was sitting at the table, as if he were expecting me. I ignored him as I took out the plate and put it in the microwave. I wasn't happy about how our last conversation had ended so I was annoyed to see him here, like nothing had happened.

He finally spoke. "Are you still mad?"

I chose not to respond. I have a longstanding rule against speaking to ghosts.

I Heard A Mother Scream

I hear a mother scream. She is haunted by the ghost of all the empty tomorrows, the house that doesn't creak in the night, the silent graveyard safe from superstitious breath.

The desolation of her scream, so familiar, pierces into me. We're both tormented by the life still left to live, unable to excoriate the soul from the skin.

She seeks consolation in her refusal to accept the well meaning lies of those unable to withstand true despair.

I too have that scream inside me, its silence continuing to bounce off the walls, the pain reverberating both inside and out.

A Mere Shell

In the end I ran away, fleeing what I am guilty of. As a young man I committed those crimes, telling myself orders were orders, that we were the justified, dealing out punishments fit for imagined crimes.

Now, older, reflecting on how my past moulded me, I return to the scene of my crimes. German and Jew, I embraced one me and snuffed out the other. Is this survivor guilt? Or am I finally realizing and admitting my evil past?

I wander the compound, begging spectres for a forgiveness that will never come. Are they the ghost, or am I?From Guest Contributor Tim Law

Ripped To Bits By Ghosts

I moved into my workshop, with a gas-ring and pair of chickens in a cage. I needed no assistants. I watched the sky from a hilltop laboratory, harnessing the lightning.

In reality I sleep under the stairs in my friends’ flat. He’s a motorcycle courier, she’s a receptionist. I work where I can, wherever the agency sends me, seven days a week. If I’m ill I rely on her noticing and bringing me soup or something. I have a notebook to record my dreams. Huge flights of geese turn furrows through the red November skies. Worlds can barely contain me.

From Guest Contributor Geoff Sawers

The Ghost Fox

We had never seen such a white fox. At first we called it a ghost fox.

Foxes cannot talk so think of it as a fairy story and go with it.

I was teaching the white fox binary arithmetic. There are 10 types of fox. Those who understand binary arithmetic and those who do not.

What he said at first was reassuring in a way.

"We do not eat humans. You are too big and the meat just goes off."

"We do kill you though." The last bit was a little muffled because he had his teeth in my neck.

From Guest Contributor Derek McMillan

Former Glory

She sits in a worn wheelchair, slightly swaying to the raspy and sultry melodies playing on the radio behind her. Drunkenly sloshing the dark brown liquid in the bottle she’s nursed throughout the night. Her eyes are as heavy as her heart, drooping with sadness and weeping with grief. Taking another sip, she sighs as the liquid scorches down her throat. She hums along to the music, reminiscing times when she played the same syncopated rhythms on stage. Her knobby and wrinkled fingers dance in the air on her ghost piano while swallowing sobs, thinking about her glorious old memories.

From Guest Contributor Sa'Mya Hall

Ambrose Bierce Walks At Midnight

I recognized him from his picture in an old literature textbook. It had been over 100 years since he had mysteriously vanished. I asked where he had gone and why and what he had done there. He wouldn’t answer. When I added I was a big fan of his writing, especially the Civil War tales, he just snickered. I didn’t know what to say next but felt I had to say something. "You like being a ghost?" I asked. He gave me a sly little grin. "You get to sleep all day," he said, "so you can work at night."

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is the author of Failed Haiku, a poetry collection that is the co-winner of the 2021 Grey Book Press Chapbook Contest and scheduled for publication in summer 2022.