"I guess living with an affliction like this isn’t easy?", the interviewer asked. He looked at me curiously, but pityingly; he had no idea what he was dealing with. I snickered. "You could say that", I responded. A cup of coffee dashed off the table next to me and burst on the floor with a shrill clank.
"I see", he mumbled, deep in thought, taking notes on his notepad. "And, umm", he began cautiously, "how long as this been going on?"
"Yes. Since birth."
He looked at me, flabbergasted. “Has it always been this… bad?”, he asked. He let out a shriek when he had to dodge a table spoon that came flying towards his face moments after finishing that question. It amused me; I let him simmer in the after-shock, but ultimately responded to his inquiry: “Yes. It has always been this bad.” - Words could not describe the look of confusion and astonishment that embellished his face.
"Well, not exactly since birth. It all started with floating pacifiers, but evolved into a cross fire of dangerous baby toy projectiles. Hell, it used to be even worse. Nowadays, I can at least control it—" - I was interrupted by the sound of multiple books falling out of a nearby shelf. "Well, to an extent", I finished after a brief pause for effect. The reporter, noticably uncomfortable only mere minutes after entering my home, nodded slowly and anxiously. It was like I thought - he /really/ had no idea what he was getting himself into.
"Sometimes, I get periods where it’s all rather calm, apart from the occasional CD whizzing around or my pencils starting to dance the samba", I explained. "On other days, my home ends up looking like a war zone. Like someone lobbed a grenade straight into it. It can get pretty irritating." - "Irritating?!", he blurted out, quickly blushing afterwards and throwing up his hands. "I-I mean, I have no idea how this must work, b-but surely it would be more than just… well… irritating?" - He looked at me as if I was some kind of alien being. Which, granted, I kind of am, but it still doesn’t feel exactly nice to get that kind of a face. I mean, hey, I just wanna live my life; /you/ were the one begging me for an ‘exclusive interview’.
"You learn to live with it. Replacement costs and the need for maintenance and cleaning are high, but it’s how I keep in shape. I’ve stopped trying to go outside after a 16-ton truck fell over and crushed a family car right next to it." The interviewer was sweating bullets by now. "Mother, father and two daughters. None of them made it. Tragic story, really."
Now close to panicking and practically bathing in his own sweat, he pushed himself into his seat, just to get a few more inches away from me as my laptop crashed out of the window and onto the streets below. I sighed. “Damn it, that thing had three repairs already. Hope it makes it through another one.”
"D-does that mean that it has caused… d-deaths…?", he nervously uttered - or shall I say stuttered - while chewing on his pencil. "Oh, yes, it has. For instance, during my childhood, when I was in the hospital for a pneumonia, a contaminated needle flew into one of the nurses’ arms. She ended up contracting AIDS. Similarly, when they were operating on me, a scalpel embedded itself into a patient’s skull in the next operating room over."
"THAT’S IT, I HAVE ENOUGH!"
The reporter suddenly screamed. He threw his clipboard aside, jumped off his chair and made a mad dash for the door. The carpet moved as he was stepping on it, causing him to lose his balance and plant his face onto the parquet below. Pottery and porcelain from the kitchen quickly followed and shattered on his back as the chairs suddenly lifted up the floor and slowly floated towards him. “Don’t shout, that tends to complicate things!”, I advised. He didn’t listen. Within seconds, he got up, tore open the door, jumped outside and slammed it with a loud bang.
Everything moved back to its place again. And then, there was silence.
The fridge opened and two slices of toast darted onto the kitchen counter. A knife graciously and generously buttered the bread, and slices of sausage and cheese stacked themselves until the sandwich was topped off by the second slice of bread, moved onto the plate, and then directly into my hands.
I took a bite. It tasted great.
I do have to say, being a Poltergeist isn’t easy, but it has its perks. And once you know how to get rid of curious humans, life just basically lives itself!