So loud. Ever since the rain started. Meep-meep-meep, went the little bugger. Was it talking or singing or—what? Every time it rained, meep-meep-meep. Couldn’t anyone else hear it? Water sloshed from the awning. The umbrella stuck as he tried to open it, dang thing. He thwacked it against the doorframe and it sprung open, launching him to his rear with a thud. Oh for crying out loud. Everything was blurry, his glasses knocked free in the tumble. On hands and knees he patted around, feeling, pit-pit-pit, tap-tap-tap, come on, where’d you go—ah. Adjusting them, gah, all smudged. Now where’s that little cleaning cloth? That’s right, top of the TV, there we go. Okay, better.
Back at the door the umbrella was remained wedged in the frame. The handle stuck inward towards him. He took hold and shoved, and stumbled forward into the rain. Give me a break all because of…Meep-meep-meep, there it went again.
Plip-plip-plip, down the stairs to the water’s edge, sandals slapping against wet cement. There it was, the little ghost bobbing its way back and forth, back and forth. Meep-meep-meep. Looking so pleased with himself.
“You’re awful rude. All this meep-meep business. What’s the big idea, huh? Can’t let me sleep? You do this every time it rains.”
“I don’t want to hear it,” crouching in front of it, “you better shush up so I can get my sleep—ow! Did you just shock me? Why you—”
“Meep-meep-meep!” The ghost scurried away, wiggling as it went. Don’t tell me what to do, buddy. Put some earplugs in if you don’t like it. Meep!