Free The Book of Bad Things by Dan Poblocki

been Millie. If she closed her eyes and concentrated, she’d hear his voice calling her: Silly Millie with the snapdragon smile .
    She sighed as the game show cut to a commercial and plucked the remote from the cushion next to her bottom. She hit the mute button. In the sudden silence, the confusion of the previous night came flooding back to her, when the voice of Ursula the Hermit had whooshed from the darkness behind her. Bring back my mirror! Millie had heard Ursula say, possibly only in her head, like words from the final confrontation with a fairy-tale witch.
    Millie had leapt from her chair, backing away from the apparition as it faded into the shadows of her bedroom doorway. Later, after brushing her teeth, she’d managed to convince herself that she’d dreamed the vision, that she felt guilty about accepting the odd gift from Owen Chase, her daughter’s rich husband. And that was the only way she managed to find sleep that night.
    Now, staring at her late husband’s rocker, she wished that she were being haunted, only not by a loony who’d lived up in the hills, but by the man who’d promised on her wedding day to love, honor, and cherish her until death did they part. Well, Millie frowned, I made a mistake with that one, the segment about parting at death. Georgie wouldn’t have been a scary ghost. He’d be friendly. Like a good memory. She missed him so much. Every day.
    Kitty and Owen helped out at the store as much as they could manage, but they had jobs of their own. Kitty had suggested several times recently that Millie should sell the store to Owen, that he’d find some new lucrative use for the space, but Millie could not bear to part with the business she’d created with Georgie almost forty years ago. “Besides,” she had explained to Kitty and Owen’s dismay, “what would I do with myself all day long? Stare at the wall?”
    The show returned with a flurry of flashing lights, and Millie pressed the mute button once more. The theme music filled the room. For years, she’d been playing along with the contestants. She was good at it too, occasionally winning that impossible final round. Once, George had suggested she try out for the show, but she knew she’d never hold up under the pressure. It was all luck, in the end. Pure luck. You could spin the wheel once and lose everything. No. She’d never survive something like that. Better to sit here and play on her own.
    Something clattered to the floor, somewhere behind her. It sounded as though it had come from the bedroom. Millie muted the television once again. Trembling, she spun the recliner to face the opposite direction. Her bedroom door stood open, the darkness inside gazing back.
    “Who’s there?” she called out, forcing anger into her voice, though what she felt, not even very deep down, was fear. Was this really happening again?
    In the darkness of her bedroom, something shifted. Moved. It sounded like fabric against fabric. Skin against skin.
    Millie choked down the bile that had come up in the back of her throat. She pressed her legs down until the chair’s footrest was nestled underneath the cushion, then she stood. “Owen? Is that you? Kitty?”
    She knew it was not.
    The previous evening, she’d been dozing off. But not now. And after hearing the stories from some of the customers during today’s lunch rush, she’d begun to doubt that what she’d seen had been pure imagination. Other folks had seen Ursula as well. And in every instance, they claimed she’d been upset that someone had stolen her belongings. This had to be more than a coincidence.
    Unless they’d all had the same dream…. Hadn’t there been an episode of some old television show in which that had happened — The X-Files or something — based on some sort of psychological phenomenon?
    A humming began. A low voice, not quite singing, echoed out from the bedroom. Millie nearly fell backward into the recliner.
    “That’s enough,” she said, steadying