The ghost I live with can be a real dick.

It took some time getting used to him. And he's cost me thousands in electric repairs with his constant flickering.

I get it. I'm in his space. All his loved ones are dead. He can't move on. Yadda yadda yadda... doesn't mean you get to turn the T.V. off right before the game winning field goal.

But you know what they say. The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

Turns out ol' Cornelius wasn't a fan of some of the recent changes the HOA was making. Something about a new home being propped up on his family's graveyard.

Me, on the other hand, I just wanted to put in a basketball hoop and to let my friends park on the street overnight.

But that would be unsightly.

I'm a good neighbor. I keep to myself, mow my lawn, and, most importantly to them, I pay my dues.

But the HOA is a group of the belief that to have fun is to sin. Seriously, those guys make a monastery look like a rave in the early 1990s.

No loud music outdoors after dark. No more than 3 cars parked in front of your house at all times. No above ground pools. Kids couldn't even ride bikes past dusk without getting a lovely call and reminder from my neighbor, Tabitha, the head of the HOA.

So, when I got an email the other day that my Saturday BBQ (that ended at 7 p.m. per HOA rules) was "too loud" and "unbecoming" of our neighborhood, I reached my breaking point.

And then a light bulb went off. But that was just Corny in the living room.

I went to where he was and pulled out my Ouija board.

"Hey, Cornelius, can you travel outside this home?"

I watched the thing move over to YES on the board.

"Wait, really? What are you always bugging me for, then? Go out in the world. Live a little."

The thing moved over to GOODBYE.

"Wait, wait, wait. We might be able to save your family's grave."

The television flipped on to the T-Birds singing to John Travolta "Tell me more! Tell me more!"

"Okay," I continued. "Well, when I first moved in, Tabitha told me this house was haunted and that she could never live in it cause she hated ghosts." I paused.

"Sorry, buddy. Some people just are stuck in their outdated ways. Anyways... She's the one pushing for new developments and the home going in over your kids' dead bodies."

The Ouija board spelled out GO ON.

"I mean, do I have to spell it out for you? I can use the board if you want. Just go over there. Haunt the beejesus out of her and make her sell her home."

The radio turned on. "Okay! Yeah!" said Lil' John.

The following night, I sat on my patio while I watched Cornelius turn Tabitha's home into on big strobelight.

The pots were banging, the cupboards swinging, and the home owner shrieking.

Not two days later was there a For Sale sign next door.

My Alexa started playing The White Stripe's "We Are Going To Be Friends.""

There's an election upcoming for the new president of the association.

Suddenly, I've gotten really into politics.

My high heels clicked loudly against stone tiles as I threw open the first door to the cellar I marched down the hallway. Blood oozed down the walls, but I ignored it. You would think that the All Seeing Horror of the Beyond could come up with a better way to scare me than illusionary blood. You would also be wrong, apparently. Sure, the first time he did it, I had been pretty alarmed. Now, though, it was just ambiance.

I unshackled the massive iron lock on the second door and strode through it, too. War had been declared and I intended victory. A massive trapdoor covered the Horror’s pit and I seized the handle and flung it open.

"Oh, All Shob!" I called out, using the nickname I knew he hated, "Come out, come out wherever you are!"

Chains rattled in the darkness and a single dark tentacle slid over the lip of the pit. A half dozen eyes opened and attempted to stare into my soul. Too bad I didn't have one.

"WhAt DoEs ThE lITtLe MoRsEl wAnT? ShAlL tHe GrEaT, AlLsEeInG oNe FiNaLlY fEaSt On YoUr FlEsH?" His voice was a mind twisting cacophony that attempted to chip away at my sanity. There was a greater evil to deal with, though.

"I want you to help me take down the HOA around here."

"WhY wOuLd ThIs GrEaT oNe Do ThAt?"

"Because they are making stupid rules. Rules they expect YOU to abide by, as well."

"PeTtY HuMaN rUlEs Do NoT mAtTeR tO tHiS oNe."

"Oh, so you won't mind if they come brick over the cellar and cut off your last hope of escaping your little pit, there? Alright, guess I'll leave you to it. Have fun." I gave a coquettish little wave as I turned away from the pit and strode towards the door. I made it three steps before I felt a goopy, wet tentacle land on my shoulder. Gross. I am going to have to burn this shirt, now. Assuming All Shob’s acid didn’t do it first.

“WhAt DoEs ThE lItTlE MoRsEl WaNt? YoU gAiN nOtHiNg By LeAvInG tHiS oNe FrEe.”

“Au contraire, my disgusting housemate,” I flicked the tentacle off of my shoulder as I turned back around, “There are other rules that I find to be… unappealing.”

“oH?”

“They’re trying to ban us from going anywhere after dark and make me get rid of my blackout curtains.”

“So? SiMpLy TrAvErSe ThE lAnDs At A bRigHtEr HoUr.”

“I’m a VAMPIRE. That doesn’t work.” Three of All Shob’s eyes blinked at me in confusion. I rolled my own eyes at him. “Sunlight would kill me, Dumb Dumb.”

“Ah. So ThIs Is WhAt Is ReQuIrEd To DeVoUr YoUr SoUl.”

I rolled my eyes again. For a being that was supposedly “All Seeing,” he was really dense.

“Vampires don’t have souls. You know who does? Susan Malany of the HOA.”

“WhY dO yOu NoT tAkE iT fOr YoUrSeLf?”

“Not in my skillset.” I idly checked my fingernails as I waited for All Shob to catch on. How slow could an ancient being from beyond reality be?

“ThIs GrEaT oNe WiLl NoT hElP ThE mOrSeL wItH tHIs,” He finally decided.

My fangs shone in the dim room as I looked up and met all dozen of his eyes. Red light reflected back at me as I grinned. “Oh, All Shob, of course you will.” His multicolored eyes slowly shifted to red as I mesmerized him.

Ten years of pranking each other had led up to this.

At first, it had started with ill intent. Spirit wanted me out, and I wanted Spirit out. But then it became more fun, just to see how we could catch each other off guard. And now, I was in front of Spirit, asking him for help.

“The HOA wants to make me remove that landscaping job I got done here two years ago.” I explained. “Or pay a two hundred dollars a day in fines, starting next week. I’m going to fight it in court, but in the meantime, I was wondering if you could prank the HOA instead.”

Spirit gave the idea little thought. “To make it stick, though, you’ll need to do something too, you know.”

“Of course, of course.” I waved my hand. “You coordinate your plans with me, and we’ll see how many coincidences we can pull off before they start losing their minds.”

“Oooh, psychological warfare, I like it… well, minor psychological fighting, anyway.” Spirit said. “OK, I agree. Doesn’t mean I’m going to stop pranking you, but I’d love to pull some of the old time pranks on them.”

I rolled my eyes. “You died in 2013, that isn’t exactly old-timely, but fine, whatever.

And wouldn’t you know it, three weeks later there were no fines.

There was something in the basement of that old, wooden house. It lurked in shadows and behind walls shrouded with cobwebs and dust, but it made itself known in small ways - a blanket pulled from a bed, a whispering when none were present.
There was something in the basement of that old, black house, and Sam was quite determined to meet it.
They'd bought the house just last month - nice neighborhood, shops within walking distance, and close to work - for a unbelievable price. They didn't know if that was because of the eldritch horror in the basement or a far, far worse nightmare, the area's strict HOA.
Their first day, they found a list of rules nailed to the door - not taped, or glued, nailed.
It seemed everything was forbidden - from planting trees in the yard to parking more than one car outside the building.
When they had come that morning to yell at Sam, they made one fatal mistake.
It was five in the morning, Sam hadn't had their coffee, and they'd told Sam to call a exorcist to get rid of the nameless god of the sightless realm that had apparently messed up a few people's yards.
Anyways, they were soon driven from the property, and Sam stomped down the rickety steps.
"Hey! I know you're down here!"
"Mortal. Leave," whispered the walls
"Look, you can co-operate with me, or the HOA'll have you sent back to the Sightless Realm."
"They could not, I am too powerful," whispered the ancient copper pipes.
"Look. I'll get kicked out. They'll hire some expensive person to come deal with you at my expense, and we'll both be out of a home."
"This 'HOA', you speak of - is it the one that banned the ice-cream truck."
"Yep."
The shadows twisted and writhed around Sam, and they could swear they could hear breathing. The air grew mustier and ancient and something crept from the corner.
"Yards," it mused. "So obsessed with the neatness of yards, they are. So obsessed with keeping children quiet and the ice-cream truck away."
"Yeah, so go destroy some landscaping!" Sam gestured broadly at the crumbling brick walls of the basement. "Heck, even go cave in their basements!"
"I would rise up in a tangle of shadow and horror and smite them all! There is, however, one issue."
"What? Surely-"
"I need you to carry something to create shadow. I cannot exist, without shadow, and those damn folks have spotlights in their yards."
Sam pulled a umbrella from their bag.
"Let's get em'"

Twenty years, twenty damn years of war followed by ten years of peace; and they were about to ruin it. I bought this house fresh out of college. Was it entirely too good of a deal? Absolutely! Did I question it as a broke college kid just getting started? …Not at all. I should have known better, should have asked more questions; but, I was young, naive, and desperate to start out on my own.

It was the perfect home: close to my new job, small enough to take care of on my own but large enough to allow me to start a family; and, most importantly, it was DIRT CHEAP. I paid almost exactly half of what a comparable house would normally cost. I wasn’t thrilled about being in an HOA; but, the board at the time was chill as long as you didn’t let things go off the rails.

Things started off well. For the first couple of months, everything seemed normal. Little did I know that Abaddon was just biding her time and gathering intel. The war started soon after. It began with little things: feeling like I was being watched at random moments, keys going missing just as I was about to leave for work, etc. I don’t think she realized I had ADD yet and that those things were “normal” for me.

Hell, it took me six months to realize that something was “off” about the house. By that point, she had tried all the typical “ghostly stuff” like rattling pans, flickering lights, etc. I either wrote it off as something to look into later or couldn’t be bothered to notice. It wasn’t until she started manifesting just outside my line of sight and vanishing when I looked over that I began to wonder what was going on.

I started doing some research into the paranormal but I didn’t take it too seriously until the one year anniversary of buying the house. I was walking through the house, nose buried in a book, and literally walked through her. I think the part that really enraged her that I didn’t even notice until after it happened. The war started in earnest after that.

I tried all the typical things. I called a priest and woke up the next day with scratch marks all down arms. I tried a shaman and nearly caught a flying butcher knife to the dome. I called a psychic and he ran screaming from the house. At this point, a normal person would have followed the psychic and put the house up for sale. Not me though. I’ll be damned if some spooky bitch was going to chase me away from the steal of a lifetime.

And so began a twenty year long psychological war of attrition. She scratched me up, I bought a cat. She stained the drywall with blood, I went gothic with lots of blacks and reds. She tried to set the house on fire, I installed a sprinkler system. Round and round we went for two god damn decades. Twenty years of her trying to scare me away. Twenty years of me pretending that everything was fine and there was a logical reason for whatever happened.

Apparently, even the Queen of Hell herself has a breaking point and two decades of psy-ops was it. Honestly, if she hadn’t caved, I would have. My personal life was a shamble. This crusade had been my entire life. I hadn’t dated, never had the chance to start a family. Hell, I hadn’t even gotten laid since I graduated. The financial toll of my personal campaign had left me deep in debt and nearly at the end of my means.

As our twentieth anniversary drew near, I braced myself for something… spectacular. Every year on our anniversary, she liked to do something extra special, especially when in marked another decade. Year three had been the bloodstains. Year ten lead to me installing the sprinkler system. By this point, my boss just automatically gave me the day off for “damage control.”

I was not prepared for what I found when I woke up that fateful morning. I was awoken to the sounds of pots rattling in the kitchen and my mixer running full tilt. I remember thinking “kinda mild for her but I’ll take it.” It wasn’t until I walked into the kitchen that I noticed the smell of bacon… I found myself staring the Queen of Hell, in corporeal form, in the face… and she was cooking breakfast.

“Sit mortal. We have much to discuss.” There are not words to describe the amount of disdain in her voice. I could tell that this was physically painful for her; but, when Abaddon tells you to sit, you sit. We spent the next several hours hashing out an armistice agreement. By the end, we agreed I would continue to live in the house and she would leave me alone for the most part. In return, I would acknowledge her existence and at least pretend to be irritated when she made the lights flicker or rattled pots in the kitchen.

Calling our truce uneasy would be the understatement of the century. It started out as more of a “honored adversary” type of situation. However, over the course of the next ten years, we moved from that to a begrudging respect and then to genuine friendship. Being friends with the literal Queen of Hell is definitely a unique situation. It was certainly entertaining to have her fuck with my buddies when they came over.

Today, I march back into battle. Last month, was our annual HOA board elections. The old guard has finally all retired and a new regime came to power headed by “Susan.” If I didn’t know better, I’d say Susan was after Abaddon’s throne. The fines started rolling out the next day. One of my neighbors got $100 fine for their trash cans being on the curb past noon. The other neighbor was fined $200 for their grass being 1/8” too long. I watched Susan literally break out a ruler on that one.

This morning, I woke up to find a notice taped to my door. The HOA (aka Susan) thinks that my gothic motif is “detrimental to property values” and expect me to pay a $500 fine and repaint my house. I closed the door, turned around, and nearly pissed myself.

Abaddon had been standing right behind me. “God Damnit, how many times do I have to tell you to quit doing that?!” She just laughed and reminded me that “per our agreement” she was allowed to do exactly that three times a month.

I rolled my eyes, huffed, and handed her the notice. Her ears were quite literally smoking by the time she finished reading it. I quirked an eyebrow at her “Well are you ready to go back to war?” The Queen of Hell smiled, “Let’s fuck their shit up!”

Edit: typos and clarity.

Edit 2: more typos/autocorrect

The rhythmic drip, drip, drip from the bathtub began my first night after moving in. It’s the sort of thing you don’t notice when apartment hunting. But like a kid with swollen adenoids who snores like a monster, these water droplets hit the porcelain with enough heft to echo through the whole unit. The intervals were inconsistent. Sometimes 10 seconds, sometimes 30 seconds. The longest ever was 5 minutes. Just long enough to get started into something else only to be pulled back to that sound.

3 weeks and just as many plumbers later, the drip drip drip persisted. There was no mechanical explanation. New York City is full of mild tortures you have to put up with to enjoy plenty of other magical parts of the city. I supposed this was a new torture I was subject to endure. I invested in a white noise machine and thought that’s that.

2 months later my best friend, Beck, visited. He’s an engineer and I thought he’d get a kick out of it so I showed him. Also the guest bed was a blow up mattress in the living room adjacent to the bathroom. He also couldn’t find a cause. What he did find was insomnia because the drips kept him up. Funny thing about him - he learns languages as a hobby. Over the course of that restless night, it dawned on him the drip was speaking in Morse code.

The first deciphered messages were haunting. “Get out, Jeffrey.” “Leave while you still have breath.” “The time of your judgement will come.” And so forth.

I’ve never been one for fanciful tales or ghost stories. But the evidence before me was undeniable. When Beck returned home, the bad times began. Communicating with it became my obsession. I longed to understand it. Yet all it did was emit a continuous stream of veiled threats. Soon enough my obsession lost me friendships, the semblance of a love life I once had, any sense of stability, and eventually my job. I had to commune with it! That became my all consuming passion.

My savings had enough to cover rent for almost a full year, but the exorbitant HOA was far beyond my means now. So I quit paying it, only rent.

Sure enough, no eviction notice came. However several strongly worded letters from the building HOA came. I ignored them. Until one day the president of the HOA showed up with a person seemingly from a carnival. This figure of dramatic color, pungent smell, and twisted smile met my gaze. They said, looks like the day of your judgement has come. Suddenly, they pulled a quartz from their leather bag, extended their arm towards me, and uttered an undecipherable incantation. The drip from the tub began violently thudding over and over. I dropped to my knees and pleaded for understanding, any grain of knowledge. My begging was met with a curl of the figures mouth as they cut their incantation to say, “If you really want to know, I can show you. Just give the word.” Without pause, I said, “Yes! Please!”

Everything went black.

I woke up in my bed. The dripping had stopped. When I exited my bedroom, I found the most dismal surprise party in my living room. The front door was not longer there. The place was full of people from ages past through to today. The oldest of the bunch hobbled forward, clasping my shoulder, and said, “we tried to warn you.”

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(I decided to do an alternate twist on the prompt, with different perspectives)

My roommate Tom is a pretty nice guy. Donates to charities, does community service with the local Boy Scout troop, that kind of thing.

There’s only one problem about him.

He’s in MY GODDAMN HOUSE.

After I died of “Acute asphyxiation of the larynx” (Clearly, the coroner was getting some use out of her Word-A-Day calendar) the HOA decided to ignore my will and sell my house. Tom bought it, despite my best efforts, and I’ve sort of gotten used to him. Of course, that doesn’t mean I stopped trying to get him the hell out of my house, like how his shower inexplicably turned cold, or when his Wi-Fi mysteriously went out during an important Zoom meeting.

Unfortunately for me, he was determined to stay. He wound up attempting an exorcism, but he botched it and wound up creating a supernatural contract with me that not only allows him to see me, but hear me as well. He started treating me like his personal therapist, whining and griping about all his woes. He never seemed to listen to me when I told him that my major was mechanical engineering, not psychology.

But I guess he finally did understand me, and that led to this: Me, in the house of the HOA president, stealing vital parts from her toaster oven, stand mixer, lawn mower, and anything else I could put my degree to good use on. By the time I was done, the generator in her backyard was useless, and the next time she tried to mow her lawn, she’d find that she could only mow in square patches, since her mower wouldn’t move when it was turned on. My work done, I returned to my house (It was still my house, even though Tom was technically the legal owner) and informed Tom that my sabotage work was done. Soon enough, the entire HOA began moving out due to technical difficulties with their homes. As they moved out, the issues they complained of seemed to fix themselves, as if by magic.

I get the feeling Tom might not be as bad of a guy as I thought.

Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.

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