Tuesday, August 1, 2017

Go Fund Me: Psychic Needed

*I probably don't need to say this, but this is a work of fiction. 


Most of you know what happened to Jonah. For those who don’t, my brother is dead. He overdosed on heroin that no one even knew he was doing. We were all ignoring him then. Not anymore.
It started right after the funeral. We all came back to the house and sat around, eating cheese and crackers, telling stories about my brother. I told Aunt Lois about the time my kite got stuck in the maple tree out back and how Jonah climbed up to rescue it for me. Then he got stuck, and we had to wait for my dad to get home because I wasn’t strong enough to lift the ladder. 
Jonah was always that type of guy, the guy to do things without thinking about how he would get out of it later. The same with shooting up heroin. The same with what he did after he died. You see, I think, when it was his time to go off with the other ghosts, he decided to stay, and just like the maple tree, he’s stuck.
After all the cheese and crackers were gone, I went upstairs to my room, exhausted from crying all day, and I crashed on my bed. I looked up, and there, written in black ink on the ceiling was, “I’m still here.” It was Jonah’s handwriting, a little shakier. My mom yelled at me for playing a sick joke, and she made me clean it up.
But it kept coming back.
So I had my best friend, Sam, bring his sister’s Ouija board over to try and get in touch with Jonah. Instead we found a spirit named Cletus, who told me I should go out with my best friend Sam, which leads me to believe the whole Ouija board thing is a load of crap.
I suppose, from there, I could have lived with my dead brother leaving messages on my ceiling, but then two days ago, I found my parents standing outside the bathroom door. They turned when I stepped behind them, and Dad said, “Why would you do this?”
“Do what?” I asked, and Dad showed me.
The mirror was shattered, glass covered the floor, and the pieces had been rearranged to say, “Help me.”
Trying to convince my parents that my dead brother did it and not me, landed me an appointment for family therapy. They assume that I’m so upset over Jonah’s death, I’m making a not-so-subtle cry for help.
That’s not it. I promise.
My brother is still here, and I need to help him, like I should have helped him before, when he’d been breathing. It’s too late for that, but I can get him out of the tree. I can put him to rest. That’s why I need money. I need to a hire a psychic to exorcise my brother from this house and send him where he belongs. Please help. I owe him this.