I've dealt enough with unwanted guests in my house over the past few months. From the little tiny bugs in my rice to sugar ants on my counter to palmettos escaping the cold winter weather, and of course, the recent mystery biting bugs: be they bed bugs, fleas or maybe even scabies, who the fuck knows? I still haven't found any carcasses of them.
But now from somewhere behind my headboard, seemingly from the wall, I'm hearing a few little clicks here and there. Could it be? Could it really freaking be...Mr. Jingles?
If it weren't a cooler day today because of that Nor'easter affecting most of the North I probably wouldn't hear anything because of the constant running fan and occasional air conditioning kicking on, but the A/C isn't running and the fan is off and here it is, after a lovely bout of perfectly beautiful 80° weather for the past 2 to 3 weeks, I'm wearing a sweatshirt again, and I'm hearing weird little noises.
As you may recall, in a former residence, I had as a constant unwanted companion Mr. Jingles & Company, who frequently made the inside of my walls in my little tiny house their warren. You can read about those times here and here.
Maybe I'm just hearing things? Gosh knows it wouldn't be the first time. Or maybe I should look at this as a bit of a blessing?
I haven't had any bug bites in about 10 days or so. Could it be the multiple sprays of chemicals? Could it be the copious coats of white diatomaceous earth powder making the inside of my house look like a winter wonderland? Or could it be that I come home, stay in my bedroom which is well dusted and sprayed, and don't provide a blood meal for anything that could be outside of these four walls?
Or could the ghost of Mr. Jingles be nibbling up huge amounts of delicious yummy, crunchy little bugs eliminating them from my home forever?
If so then haunt on Mr. Jingles ghost! But please don't chew through the 50-year-old wiring in this old house. I'd rather not be one of those trailer park fire victims hitting the local rag only for normal home dwellers to read about with their Sunday morning coffee and remark condescendingly "Well, that's what they get for living in a trailer."