I’ll come out and say it up front: I’m not a nice ghost. Not by a long shot.

I was a pretty lousy guy when I was alive, too, but my post-living career would make the alive-me blush.

When I started, I did the whole footsteps-and-no-one’s-there bit. I made rooms cold. I made people feel like I was watching them (because I was). Yawn. No, the fun started a few years later when I realized I was energy or some shit like that. I don’t know the physics of it. I don’t care. What I learned was that I could turn a light on and off. That was scary shit for the living, but for me? Lightbulb moment. Literally.

See, once I figured out I could control electricity it was only a matter of time before I started manipulating real electronics.

Like phones. Phones are my favorite because once I make a connection… then I’ve got you. You pick up the phone and no one’s there? Or you hear a distant voice? Or you’re wakened by the phone ringing in the middle of the night, you pick it up and it’s just the sound of someone screaming. And they sound like one of your loved ones….

Hahahaha! Can you see why I live for this shit? Or die for it, I guess?

Sometimes, though, I think I’m too clever for my own good. That’s how I got trapped.

There was an old lady. Her husband died a year or two ago. The first time I called her I didn’t know that. But I heard an old lady’s voice and bet even odds she’d lost her mister.

“Hello?” She said.

“I’m so cold…” I said in my best generic old man’s voice. Well, take that voice and add a little echo, some static, and count on the fact that she can’t hear so good…. “So cold…. Help me!”

“Arthur?! Is that you, Arthur?”

Arthur? That was his name! Gotcha, lady. “Yes, it’s me Arthur. I’m so cold… I can’t see you… Why? Whyyyyyy?” Static and….click. Line goes dead (pun intended). She’s freaking out over there. And I’m loving it.

What am I getting out of this, you ask? I told you already — I’m a bad guy. Scared old lady? Heh, that’s a good day for me.

Only, I might have laid it on a little too much. I called back and she didn’t pick up, her answering machine did. I could tell by the click when it answered it was a genuine, you-can’t-buy-these-anymore tape-based answering machine. Vintage! I waited a while, called back. Same thing. “I can’t come to the phone right now” blah blah blah “Leave a message at the—“ I know the details. I hung up and waited. Did I kill her? I mean, I’m good, but that good? Because, damn, that’d be good! I call back. Answering machine again. I’m just going to take a look… “…at the beep…” Beep.

The machine is recording sound. Sound is energy. I am energy. Now I’m on her machine, in her house. This is so much better than having to break and enter when I was alive. Her machine picks up and, poof, I’m in!

Only I realized I made a mistake. Digital answering machines are always on, warm, waiting. I can get in and out by manipulating the energy. But once I was in, I was on that tape. The recorder stopped, the tape head disengaged and I? I was trapped as magnetic material on that tape.

That sucked.

Because, yeah, I did scare her to death. She was lying right there by the table with the machine on it. She wasn’t going to be getting her messages any time soon — okay, at all. Did I mention I was trapped? Well, I figured it was a matter of time before someone checked on her, found the stiff, saw the blinking light on the answering machine… let’s play it… tape head engages and I’m out. But, hey, what’s with no one checking in on this lady? Days go by. Soon enough we’ve got a decomp all up in this place. For once I was glad to be trapped and not able to smell. A week… two… the power gets turned off.

Shit. No one’s going to see that blinking light when it’s not, you know, blinking.

Eventually someone noticed because the place was suddenly a hive of activity. Body gets squeegeed into a bag, and her kids — at least I presume it was her kids — who didn’t check on mom in a timely fashion when she was alive get to deal with a house full of shit where including the tape-based answering machine I was trapped in. My answering machine is unceremoniously unplugged without anyone bothering to listen to the messages. Cord wrapped around the machine and dumped in the Goodwill pile.

At the sorting facility the guys going through the box of crap – I’m including myself here – and don’t even bother putting me out for sale! The indignity of it! No, they literally throw around the answering machine, laughing like “Did you get a load out of this antique?” Whoa, buddy, easy on the ancient phone machine! Then dumped into yet another box. I saw the label on this one as the machine dropped in: “Electronic Recycling.” Ah, shit.

It’s dark. I’m trapped. But I’ve got nothing but time on my hands… well, if I had hands, that is. It reminded me of when I was fresh dead. No where to go, nothing to do – which is just as well because when my ghost sheet was still white as the arctic snow, I couldn’t do shit. There’s no manual. There’s no helpful ghost you can look up to and learn. I thought growing up on the streets of Chicago was cold. Then you just think you’re invisible. I got a knife, then a gun, and I made people see me. As a ghost…? You don’t even get that. You are invisible and you can’t do anything about it. But like growing up as a white kid in the Chi, I found a way. First to make noises, then… I already went over this.

So, it’s like that all over again. Trapped on the tape in this damn machine. I’m sure someone would have come for my plastic carcass sooner or later, but I don’t think thirty-year-old answering machines are exactly brimming with rare earth metals waiting to be melted down, you know? I tried this. I tried that. I tried this again a thousand goddamn times, and on the fortieth damn time I tried that… I made it off the tape into the electronics of the answering machine! I figured out how to wiggle the cord. I untangled myself. I slung that plug up over the edge of the box like a grappling hook in some awesome ninja movie. Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, I’m by a wall. Oh, what’s this? An outlet? Don’t mind if I do!

Glorious electricity flows into the answering machine, and I surf that wave of electrons right on out of that plastic prison and into the electrical system. This I was familiar with, and I took advantage of the opportunity to show my displeasure by blowing out every light bulb in the freaking place. How do you like that? Boo-yah!

But I knew I’d find what I was looking for… And sure enough somebody had plugged in an old decrepit Nokia probably just to see if it worked. You know what? It does. It’s a Nokia, of course it does. And miraculously, it’s still got a SIM card. I’m back in business! I start calling… How the hell long was I in there? I’m getting nothing but “The voicemail for this customer has not been set up” to “The user’s voicemail box is full.” I’m even getting “This caller does not accept calls from unknown numbers.” The fuck? That’s the whole point! You’re supposed to answer unknown calls! Without that I’ve got… Wait a sec… the phone rings. I mean I’m used to calling out, but someone’s calling in? It’s not one of the numbers I’ve dialed… I pick it up.

They want to know if I’m interested in extending the warranty on my car…?

Let me extend myself your way, robo-babe.

And, holy hell… look at this database. Millions of numbers! Millions of people to call and scare. I’m a bad dude. But this just made me a hell of a lot worse!