Page 13 of The Internet’s Most Haunted Influencer

The back door swung open into the kitchen, and the medium stepped through it almost casually. One hand holding his flashlight and the other going into his pocket. He didn’t even look winded.

“Get out,” the ghost said, backing into the middle of the kitchen. “Get out, get out, get out!”

The medium raised an eyebrow at him. He was taller than the ghost, and alive. He probably thought he was better than the ghost.

Well, the ghost wouldn’t let that stand.

He gathered everything he had and focused his energy on one of the neon green cabinets, the one that had its door hanging from only one hinge. The ghost reached for it and shoved. The door swung open and swung back. A lazy, creaking pendulum that was deeply, mortifyingly unthreatening.

“I’m warning you,” the ghost said, trying to appear unbothered. Even as the next cabinet door wouldn’t open at all. “I am — I can do much worse than this! You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

He was going to throw the broom.

He was going to hit the medium with it, and then the medium would see who⁠—

The broom slid down the wall and clattered to the floor.

The ghost stared at it. Then he straightened and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “That was only a small taste of what I can do!”

The medium glanced at the broom, visibly unimpressed.

The ghost would show that arrogant prick.

Directing his gaze upwards, he reached for the ceiling tiles. One of them shifted — yes finally — and he pushed harder. The tile lifted a quarter inch and settled back with a puff of dust.

The medium set his flashlight down on the kitchen table and leaned against the counter, arms crossed. He watched the ghost as if he were waiting for a very small storm to pass.

“You’re really bad at this, huh,” the medium said.

The ghost stopped.

“I am not —” He drew himself up. “I am not bad at this. You broke into my house. You went around my entire house like — like a burglar. I could⁠—”

“You could what?”

Silence.

The medium waited.

The ghost looked at the broom on the floor, wishing once more he could fling it at this arrogant medium, but the object would not budge.

“I’m having an off night,” the ghost said.

“Would you rather I come back when you’re having an on night?”

“I don’t want you to come back at all. This is my house.”

“This is a house that’s been on the market for fourteen months because you won’t let anyone buy it.” The medium swept his gaze across the kitchen, slow and appraising. “Someone will, eventually. Maybe a family with kids.”

“I don’t care about that.”

“Yeah, you do.”

The ghost stopped.

He did not like that the medium said that. He did not like the certainty in it, the way it arrived without hesitation, as if the medium had already decided what kind of ghost he was dealing with.

The ghost scowled at the medium.