In 2018, I put together a simple draw to challenge myself (and anyone else who wanted to try) with flash fiction prompts made up of three suits of cards, shuffled and drawn. The clubs denoted a genre, the diamonds were an object, and the hearts were...
I did some reading on what qualifies for a ghost story when this challenge came up, and one thing that came up a lot was how often ghost stories don't end well for the living. So, I decided that since this is the kind of story I never really write, and the whole point of these challenges was exactly that—to challenge myself—I'd try to write something in the style of those less-than-hopeful ghost stories... But I still couldn't resist a pun.
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Ghosted
PipeOtter was online.
Brant blinked at his phone, then typed a quick message.
Welcome back!
A moment later, the reply came.
User's mailbox is full.
"Shit."
Typical hook-up app. Brant bit his lip, tapping PipeOtter's profile link. Hipster beard, pipe in hand, stunning brown eyes and most importantly—Brant believed in being honest with himself—that fine chest with the perfect amount of chest hair.
None of which he'd see in person if PipeOtter didn't clear out his mailbox.
Brant reviewed their message history. It started with woofs—Brant first, PipeOtter responding in kind, which was kind given the woofiest Brant managed was a blond goatee. They'd chatted often, and most importantly, PipeOtter noticed Brant's earrings.
Cool earrings. Typewriter keys?
Good eye. I make them. In a moment of daring, Brant sent his website. Using lost-wax casting, Brant kept himself stocked in unique earrings: tiny gears, screws, or various typewriter keys. The earrings modeled from the tiny metal pieces that flipped up to imprint ink on the paper through the ribbon were his bestselling pieces two years running.
After, he'd watched his orders like a hawk. There'd been an order for an O and a P, but the O went to an Olivia, and the P went to a post office box.
He and PipeOtter discussed maybe getting together...
Then PipeOtter went dark.
Ghosted. Wasn't the first time; wouldn't be the last.
He tapped his buddy list. After the day-job—slinging coffee for hours—he should sleep, but he was lonely. And horny. And—
PipeOtter's profile was highlighted.
Brant stopped walking. He tried another message.
Apparently, you and I are nearby right now.
He waited.
User's mailbox is full.
Damnit.
A few of the businesses still had lights on. Brant adjusted the distance slider to the lowest setting.
