You’re a filthy Goth, so late last night, while painting something black (your throw pillow or your bathroom mirror, those aren’t black yet) you responded to a TV commercial and you bought one of those lightbulbs that you can carry around the house from room to room, setting the bulbs into little sockets that you mount in places around your home where, for whatever reason, there is no wiring for electric light. It’s great for filthy Goths like you because you get to use the magic of electric light to pretend that you live in a time before there was electric light, when people had to carry oil lamps with them everywhere they went. Except you don’t have to worry about setting your eyelashes on fire.
Tonight when you use the lamp, you’ll discover that all those places in your house that are not wired for electricity were neglected on purpose. When the light comes on in the stairway leading down the basement, you’ll see the ghost of a teenage girl. She is blonde and beaming with joy, jumping up and down in a cheerleader’s outfit. Her perkiness offends your love of darkness and ruffled shirts.
When the light comes on in the stairway leading up to your guest bedroom, you’ll see the ghost of a well-built man with a sweater tied around his neck. He’ll appear to be calling his kids to take them all out to a waterpark. The wholesomeness of it all will disgust you.
When the light comes on in your pantry, you’ll see the ghost of a happy mother reaching for the top shelf, where you’ll see the ghost of a can of cake frosting. True and real and horrible.
You’ll hastily throw away the lightbulbs that you can carry around the house with you and rip the mounted sockets from their walls. These spirits can carry on their horrific reverie, just as long as you don’t have to watch the hideous obscenity occur. You’ll be under the silver mosquito netting over your princess bed, drawing on the sheets in the blood from your under-thigh thank you very much.
Happy You’re A Filthy Goth Day!
