I fumble with the wires, but I don’t know how to do so. One wrong move and – boom! The whole building goes up in fiery explosion. I wipe my brow in anxious concern and try untwisting a couple of the connections, only to pull back at a small, electrical shot.
“Shit!” I say, shaking out my hand. The cops aren’t coming, no bomb squad is going to help me. Even if the phone lines hadn’t been disconnected, I wouldn’t have trusted those schmucks.
“Here we go,” I mutter, encouraging myself. I work through the electrical pain and untwist the wires. When nothing happens, I sigh with relief.
I hear some movement outside. The two men that had laced the building with bombs chat buoyantly and extend an antenna. One pushes a button to blow the old house to kingdom come.
The mirror in the grand hallway – that thing to which my lingering soul is attached, that thing that my ghost relies on – is shattered. My body dissipates, and my spirit is forced to move on.
This was written for the second Wacky Weekend Writing Challenge on The Dark Netizen, ‘Explosion.’