The Face of Evil

Man, do I have a story for you guys. Okay, so, some strange things have been happening lately. Things have been getting moved around the house, gone missing, and I hear strange noises at night. The weird thing is, the most active spot in the house for this has been the bathroom. For example; One day while I was taking my morning shower, after I had already gotten in, I noticed all the shampoo bottles and soaps had been moved out of the bathtub. I could have sworn they were in there when I was adjusting the water, but they were gone. Low and behold, when I left the shower all the bottles were in the sink. I couldn't find my pumice stone and exfoliate after either. I was especially shocked because I lived alone. 

  There was no one else living in the house here with me but, maybe, just maybe, it wasn't someone who was living that was moving my stuff around. I had always been a superstitious sort. Well, maybe not superstitious. Just, like, regular stitious. I believed in ghosts is what I'm saying. Someone in my house was mad at me using my bathroom and I wanted to know why. 

  I needed to get to the bottom of this, ASAP. So I did what any other regular stitious person would do: stop by the local Toys-R-Us and buy a brand new glow-in-the-dark ouija board. By Hasbro, of course.

  That friday night I locked myself in the bathroom, lighting a few dozen scented candles and shutting off the lights to set the mood. I set the ouija board down on the closed toilet, kneeling before it and putting my hands on the pointer. I took a deep breath before speaking.

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

  I waited on the bathroom tile for a few minutes, starting to get antsy and impatient. I might as well have been summoning Bloody Mary in this spooky atmosphere I created for myself. Suddenly, the planchette whipped across the board, leaving me powerless as I could only watch as it spelled out:

 I A M T H E G H O S T O F Y O U R S I N

  "My- My sin?" I asked, voice trembling with fear. I fell backwards away from the board, scrambling to my feet to watch the reply. "What did I do? I never hurt anyone!" 

  My body shook as it spelt out:

  W H O O P S    D A M N T Y P O   I A M T H E G H O S T O F Y O U R S K I N   Y O U R S K I N

  "Wait... What?" I asked, hands dropping to my sides in confusion. I looked at the board, "What do you mean, skin? Is that like... a metaphor? Like, of my flesh meaning a relative?"

  The planchette rocketed over to 'NO'. I cocked an eyebrow, "Well, what do you mean, then?"

  Y O U C A R E L E S S L Y S C R A P E D M E O F F I N T H E S H O W E R   L E A V I N G M E T O T H E C R U E L F A T E    O F T H I S C I T Y ' S P I P E S

  I W A N T V E N G E A N C E

  D o y o u k n o w h o w m a n y c r o c o d i l e s a r e d o w n t h e r e ? ! 

  I covered my mouth in shock. My skin!? But I needed to exfoliate daily to keep my skin baby soft! How could I have known it would've felt so strongly about being washed down the drain!?

  D O N T Y O U K N O W A L L C E L L S O N C E H E L D L I F E?    A L L L I F E I S P R E C I O U S    Y O U S H O U L D S E E A L L T H E G H O S T C O W S T H A T A R E H A U N T I N G Y O U    M O O I N G I N T H E N I G H T    Ghost cows!? Oh no! The board suddenly sprang to life, brimming with activity:

  M O O

  I screamed; the sound was impressively shrill and nearly cracked my mirror. I turned on my heel, unlocked the bathroom door, and sprinted down the stairs. The ghosts of my skin and meat-eating followed me out the door. I was nearly to the front door when something wrapped around my ankle and jerked it back. I was pulled off of my feet, screaming for any kind of help. I began scraping at my wood floor for a grip.

  "There is no escaping us now," my fingernails crooned at me.

  I cried out in fear, tears filling my eyes as I turned into a sobbing and begging mess. I didn't want to die! WHY WAS EVERYTHING GHOSTS?! I felt myself being dragged back the hallway.

  "WE ARE THE GHOSTS OF THE HELPLESS TREES CHOPPED DOWN TO BUILD THIS HOUSE," the walls groaned. The floor creaked in meek agreement.

  "HOW DID I HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH THAT?" I asked hysterically. The fibers of my shirt stuffed themselves into my mouth to muffle my protests. I wouldn't have been able to say more anyway, as I was interrupted by another ghost.

 My long hair whispered into my ears, its voice just as silky, "We are the ghosts of the dead cells that grew your hair. You should be grateful for our sacrifice."

  I whimpered in fear as the long strands wrapped themselves around my throat. I was dragged by my pants out the back door and into my garden. I could already hear the whispers of my vegetables 

  "So long have you slaughtered our brethren," an old potato began to monologue, "so long have we been forced to watch as our kin are mercilessly plucked from Mother Earth without so much as a 'thank you'."

   The hyper-realistic eyes of the crop stared deep within me.

   I couldn't even cough out an apology around my make-shift gag. The carrots grabbed my legs, pulling me into the soft soil. "You ate us to grow strong," the tomatoes giggled from the next plot over, "now we'll eat you!"

  With that, I was tugged harshly into the ground. As I sunk, I could only look up at my small row of precious pomegranates.

  The last thing I saw was their flesh contorted into small grins. I was never seen again.

  (because I was dead)