Spooky Scary Skeletons

by Emily Breeds

I can tell by the way my mother chews her toast that she is haunted. The faces in the fake Jackson Pollock painting in our living room are haunted. There is a dog that howls outside my room each morning at 3:06; that too is haunted. Empty spaces are haunted; train tracks in winter morning mist, glitching midnight supermarket fluorescence, an empty portrait gallery where everyone is watching you. Waking up with your socks off is haunted. 20th century gravestones displaying the same names as your friends are haunted. Old milk bottles are haunted, and made-in-China bottles for fake diners are uncanny. If you hear seagulls by a lake, that is uncanny. If you hear sex noises in a church, that may be haunted, but most likely uncanny. Growing new hair is uncanny. If you look different every time you catch your reflection, that is uncanny. If you replace a dead pet, that is uncanny and most definitely haunted.