Hey. Enough. Cut the shit. If you’re gonna haunt my house, you’re gonna have to haunt by my rules. Period.

No no no, not a conversation. You’re gonna listen to me. I’m speaking. This late-night crap has to stop. Now. The floorboards creaking and the chains rattling at all hours of the night. Rattling chains? I’m sorry, are you Jacob Marley? Grow the fuck up. There are people trying to sleep. I’m trying to sleep. I have to go to work in the morning so I can pay for this house.

And your little ghost friends? They can’t spend the night. All of you swirling around in a big circle above the roof. Uh uh. Actually, you know what? They aren’t allowed over here at all until you can show me you’re responsible enough. And from now on, after 10 PM I don’t want to hear a peep.

I work hard. To pay for this house. To put food on the table. So sometimes I like to sit on the couch, drink some wine, watch my shows. But I can’t do that when you mess with the TV. Make it go all static, have the creepy lady crawl out of it. Enough of that. I need time to decompress and you need to respect that. You can’t cut into The Amazing Race with a grainy video of a desolate playground, leaves blowing, and I’ve never been there but it somehow feels familiar, yet still disquieting. That’s not gonna fly here anymore. I don’t want you showing me America’s Got Talent but everyone in the auditorium is bleeding from their eyes and screaming.

Are we clear?

I could start charging you rent, you know? I could kick you out. Where would you haunt then? A park somewhere? Shoeless Joe Jackson? Yeah right. Would you go down to the grocery store? Make the cash drawer shoot out in the middle of the night? Security footage ends up on the local news. Goes viral. Come on. Get with the fucking program. That’s not what you want.

Let’s talk bathroom etiquette. Leaving the seat up? Everyone in the house does that, fine. Moving all the stuff in the medicine cabinet around, I don’t really care, frankly. But when you use my lipstick to write some hokey-ass, supposed to be threatening message on the mirror? That’s done. “DEATH IS NEAR.” That is goddamn Charlotte Tilbury lipstick. You wanna pay for that? Even if you don’t use the whole thing it’s all messed up after you use it on the glass. I’ll buy some cheap stuff if you really gotta do that but you’re gonna be the one to clean it off.

Look. I love you. I don’t think you’re a bad ghost. I just think you can be a knucklehead a lot of the time. I know it can’t be easy having died in this house 50 years ago. But you gotta think sometimes. Use your head, even if it was split open in a horrific, unsolved murder. Ghosts can do great things. You just need something to aspire to. Abraham Lincoln’s ghost lives at the White House. The White House. I think you could do something like that! Something great!

I’m here for you. I’m here to support you. But you gotta meet me halfway. I love you. Enough of the crap, ok?