Haunted Household: Broom

Existing in that mundane human space between coward and reluctant victim

Aug 07, 2026

Abner knew that the property he purchased was adjacent to a cemetery. Some portions of land are separated from other portions of land. Each unique parcel is given a kind of distinction; these distinctions range from the very large concepts of a country or state to the smallest bitty portions like a garden easement. Abner understood that with the ceaseless increase in population, certain pieces of land would need to be repurposed. Whatever distinction previously existed would have to change, and the concept of sanctified land vs unsanctified land would shift—regardless of feigned human sentimentality.

Right at the edge of his new property line was an overgrown copse. Lush wild growth covered the remnants of a grave that may be old when compared to something new, but was not as ancient as one would expect; only a few crumbling pieces of stone and a small flat slab remained as evidence of where a body had been buried. Despite bureaucratic posturing and attempts at reverent failsafes, the human remains which are entombed below were never relocated or exhumed, and whatever lineage may have rights to ownership of these remains remained unaware of the corpse’s newly repurposed state.

It was the sound of somewhere between 1,000 and 2,000 dry bristles rhythmically brushing against textured granite that first roused Abner’s attention. From his unadorned bedroom, he slowly became aware of the steady cadence to this sound. Throughout the first week of his occupancy in the new home, he assumed that this brushing was the sound of untended growth blowing in the wind, and ignoring the near-mechanical regularity of the noises meant he was able to dismiss this occurrence enough to sleep soundly, but as time went on, the gnawing sensation of the uncanny began to infringe on his certainty.

Midway through week two, midway through the night, he looked out his bedroom window towards the remnants of a grave.

Although the residual moonlight and distant streetlamps were obscured by dense tree growth, he was able to focus on subtle movements in the graveside copse. The movement was a thin wooden stick teetering vertically like a free-floating metronome. After several attempts to see things more clearly and after searching through a dense catalogue of synaptic pattern recognition, Abner concluded that someone was sweeping the flat gravestone. The movements and objects he was able to identify were in keeping with that familiar ancient motion. Existing in that mundane human space between coward and reluctant victim, Abner hurriedly got dressed and grabbed the big rig tire thumper he kept by his bedroom door. He slowly stalked to the graveside copse, clutching the big, rubber-gripped stick in his right hand.

The only expectation Abner had of what he would discover was that someone was trespassing on the land he believed he owned. What he discovered instead was a broom moving on its own accord. A simple round, polished wooden stick ending in splayed bristles. This broom levitated and moved back and forth. He watched long enough to see the intentional pattern of the broom. The ghostly stick began at the top of the small flat stone and worked methodically until it finally reached a natural end. The broom would then flourish in the air and begin the process anew. Shocked and disoriented, Abner retreated to the home he had purchased. He closed his front door and slumped with his back to the freshly painted wood. For the remainder of the night, each rhythmic bristle strum sent brain shocks of regret through his body. Abner had ample time to contemplate his next move but lacked the mental elasticity to reach a desirable way forward.

By dawn, the noise of brushing had ceased. Throughout the next day, whatever disembodied flora that found it necessary to rest on the gravestone was smug in the certainty that it would be swept clean once night fell.

Next Week: Bagel Slicer

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