Writetober 2026, Writing the Putrid, Day 1: Apparition Afoot

I spent day after day rescuing the Land of the Free’s misplaced specters. Ghosts where they shouldn’t be, trapped spirits, all the same. 
My clients:
A serious businessperson
A bumbling buffoon
A bored teenager would all call about one thing:
“A shaking clock, a ticking table..
A spirit is afoot!”

I brace myself; put on a brave face, I gather my gear. 
“I’ll be right over. Keep calm and stay still!” 
In my time, I dealt with many ghosts: 
An accountant possessing a calculator. 
A horologist possessing a clock. 

But no brave face, no bravado, no ghost of days’ past could’ve prepared me for these eight words—
“Hello, Harold. Do you know who I am?”

The voice didn’t boom, shake or tremble from its tinny vase confinement.
I dropped my gear in panic as my palms grew slick.
I had found the ghost of the one I once loved most. 
The one held dear - who clasped me tight as her soul went to rest.

I froze and hurled the vase onto the floor
Rendered into nothing but sharp, reflective specks on the floor. 
The ghost wrestled itself free; I wrestled with my equipment;  

My only words:
“I’m sorry.”

written by Zoe