Melissa Charles author

I often describe our family as the not-wealthy, Canadian version of the Addams family. It’s a short form that most folks instantly understand, and is more accurate than anything else I’ve been able to come up with.

I genuinely wish we had the house, to be honest. There’s something about the Victorian style houses that thrills the very bones of me. Which may be my nervous system mistaking fear for excitement, but since I can’t afford such a house, I’ve chosen not to examine too closely. I’ll worry about it (or not) if I ever win the lottery.

Moving on.

Part of the creepy, spooky, and altogether ooky aspect is some of our decor choices. And by ‘our’ I mean ‘mine.’

Kinda.

See, I don’t think I’ve actually bought any of the skulls, crows on skulls or Grim Reaper decor that sits proudly on a shelf over my desk. I’m pretty sure they were gifts. The small painting with tiny ghosts added and the ‘Don’t Be A Prick’ cactus needlepoint were definitely gifts from my brilliant friend and fellow author, Jess Hernandez. The dark purple desk with ‘Melissa’s Magic Desk’ wood burned into it was a gift from my husband. The disembodied grey hand reaching out from the wall was a gift for my birthday last week.

So, as you can see, I’m INNOCENT in regards to some of the more unusual choice of home decor.

The fact that my family knew I’d love and adore every bit of it (they were 100% right) and did actually ask for the coffin shelves is a minor detail.

I actually asked for a coffin bookshelf, which I’d seen online somewhere, and one of the Minions found a small one perfect for holding crystals and such. Husband does have the printed directions for building a coffin bookshelf, but wood is expensive, y’all.

I happen to think it would be funny to have my research books about crime, injury, poison, ghosts, etc sitting on a coffin bookshelf. I’m easily amused, what can I say?

As with most people, I quit noticing our home decor choices after a while. For one, the spooky stuff is only around my desk/work area. And a few throw pillows and cartoony fleece blanket in the living room. Two, my brain is usually so busy with book stuff and life stuff that my surroundings are reduced to background noise. I’d notice (eventually) if something changed, but that’s about it.

Which brings me to today, and scaring the poor normie that ventured into the house.

It wasn’t a friend, or someone who knows us, even vaguely. No, no. A complete stranger was suddenly confronted with a grinning skull.

See, we’ve been having issues with the internet, and a tech was sent out.

And OF COURSE the modem sits right on the table beside my desk. Under the shelf with the skulls, etc.

The tech, may universe bless him, was very friendly and professional, his eyes only widening by a lot.

I quickly explained that I’m an author, I write horror and mysteries and paranormal things. This seemed to reassure him (probably because my Book of Poisons wasn’t on display) and he set about fixing the internet.

All was well, I was walking him out, and we were standing on the enclosed porch when he startled, his eyes going about three times the size they’d been before.

Me, being completely clueless, is looking around the porch, wondering what the heck had scared him.

We don’t own exotic pets, but do have two cats and a dog. One of the cats is a known jerk who likes to spring out at people, so honestly that was my first thought.

But I didn’t see a furry assassin laying in wait anywhere.

The tech pointed to the wall. “Is that yours too?”

My completely oblivious ass looked at the wooden ship wall hanging that had been left by the previous owners of the house that we’d never bothered to take down, and was about to answer when I realized what it was that he was actually pointing at.

I had completely forgotten that I had a 7 foot scythe on my porch. With bedazzled painted blood on it.

It used to have a skull on it too, but I don’t know what happened to that.

In my defence, it isn’t mine. One of my kids has been cosplaying and volunteering at cons for years now. This was one of their pieces. I’m not sure how it ended up on the porch, because it used to live in the kitchen.

…which, now that I think about it, probably doesn’t make anything better.

It’s probably a good thing that I’m an introverted feral house goblin and don’t have people over much.

Morticia and Gomez would understand.