The day’s hours were coming to a close, and to celebrate that, Mr. Starkweather had eased himself into an awkward position that the hound found comfortable. It consisted of an odd stretch of his posture, spreading itself across a moth-eaten beanbag, allowing the roof of his noggin to rub the cool floor. This stance he’d put himself in compelled his amber opticals to view the world upside down, his hues focusing on the halfway-filled glass of whiskey mere inches away in distinction to his wet snout. Tonight’s evening would be a lazy one; there would be no hitting on any cute girlies, for none existed in Tanglewood anymore, not will there be any messing around with anyone, for he was a guardsman of this place, a role model. So, as a role model, it was proper to kill off your boredom in the most mature way possible - for Leroy, this meant downing it with a shot of booze and a snack. His dry lips had, seconds ago, consumed a good bunch of salty crackers, a treat so bland that it would’ve shattered the motivation of anyone else in this situation. However, in the lead of his view sat a concoction which made any situation all the more interesting, and, if random objects scattered across the floor hadn’t started to violently quake and throw themselves around, that glass would have found itself emptied than a well in drought season.

But, random objects scattered across the floor had started to violently quake and throw themselves around, including the minuscule cup containing the firewater. In fact, Leroy soon understood a reason why alcohol was referred to the aforementioned name, as the once-contained liquid soon made a home out of the unfortunate canine’s eye sockets, burning the opticals on a level of pain comparable to acid, and obliging him to writhe in pain. This was also when he screamed a not-so-glamorous yowl. Squirming to all fours, the mutt must have flickered his eyelids about a dozen time in two seconds, each time wishing for a result which returned his vision. Nope, still momentarily blind! It wasn’t until after a period of five seconds could he see once more, and even then, his owned objects were outlined by an extremely irritating blur. Though, there was a single thing he could make out from the fogged landscape which he saw; a faint, nigh transparent figure, which darted out of view as soon as his disoriented eyes lay themselves upon it. "The fuck?" he found himself murmuring to himself through the still-present pain.

Unbeknownst to Leroy, things hadn’t even begun.

Over the duration of a couple action-packed moments, the following transpired: in the corner of his room lit up an object in hazy glows of yellow, blue, and red, the sound of vintage buttons repeatedly pressing themselves to a clicking tone, and then-

”WHOOOA! I FEEL GOOD!”

Strange! That was the opener to James Brown’s soul classic, but what could it have been playing on?

Once again, a very voice sound met his ears, this time, followed by instruments.

”I KNEW THAT I WOULD, NOW.”

It was at this moment, Leroy understood the situation; some poltergeist fucker, who did not get the memo that all ghosts were supposed to go, had invaded his home, and his jukebox. And to these results, he did not complain. For months had he searched long and hard for a cure that would inevitably allow his jukebox to play songs once again, and here it was, in the unorthodox form of a spectre. Hell, he couldn’t remember the last time a song had been played on this thing. Though, for one thing, he knew that it had never gotten this loud.

The number of soulful decibels this thing was pumping out, man, everybody in Tanglewood must have at least heard something! As for Leroy, the individual whom was in the room with the source of this ear-popping noise, smiled. Sure, it was somewhat migraine inducing, but it was better than the silence which his clan faced every single day. For what he concerned, this ghost could stay.

This ghost could stay.

+ bump!