(The camera opens in the still darkness of midnight as the sound of creaking footsteps descend from an unseen staircase within the void. Abruptly, a triangular light fills the dark room as the unmistakable plastic sound of a fridge door opening cuts off the ambient outside cricket and traffic noises. The silhouette of a robed figure stands in the fridge doorway ominiously, scanning the contents before grabbing a brown paper bag and a carton of Donald Duck Orange Juice. The figure’s eyes reflect in the chrome thermostat at the top of the fridge. They spot the camera and turn from hollow surprise to smiling eyes.)
“Welcome. The Lover didn’t hear you come in. One sec.”
(The figure reaches into the robe’s pocket and pulls out the unmistakable mauve mask of the Lover. He shuts the fridge door, condemning the room to darkness once more, before flicking on a light switch and revealing the masked romeo in his trademark satin robe standing in a humdrum suburban kitchen.)
“You must’ve came in through the window like me. I thought I had closed it. The Lover’s getting sloppy at this I suppose. Why don’t you have a seat? The Lover’s got tales to tell you on a night like this.”
(The cameraman obliges, taking up perch on a nearby stool behind the kitchen island. The Lover approaches the other side, laying down his midnight snacks on the table, revealing the name “Billy” on the brown paper bag. With a self-conscious cough to draw attention, he turns that side of the bag away form the camera as he steps over and straddles the stool.)
“The Lover called you to this horrifying location of mediocre means and boujie culdesac scenes to tell you a horror story the likes of which you’ve never seen. Just a few hours ago the Lover was upstairs doin’ what the Lover does best with some ham and egger’s wife with a chest when she turned on the flat screen and put on Parks & Rec. For those of you who don’t know, Parks & Rec is like chick Office. It’s what she’s watching while you’ve got your pods in watching “The Office” for the billionth time before going to bed, because that’s what ham & eggers do. Anyway, the only redeeming character on the show is a DIY agent of chaos whose so bored with women that he married three with the same name. Of course I’m talking about Ron Swanson. I’m sure he’s meant to represent toxic masculinity or a guy for the the main duff to fix while maintaining a platonic relationship that makes no sense to The Lover…but anyway. On one of the episodes a local daytime television host gets wine mom drunk and Ron, being the man, takes over her show and starts giving stellar advice.”
(The Lover pops the cap off of the Donald Duck OJ with his thumb and takes a big swig, clearing the carton with three gulps before discarding it over his shoulder. He then turns his attention to the sack lunch, ripping it open at the top and peering inside.)
“Oh score, Billy got gogurts…anyway one of the questions that he answers goes something like “your house isn’t haunted, you’re just lonely.” Now the Lover genuinely cackled at this, as opposed to the fake laughs he gave for Leslie Knope to gain points with your old lady. He laughed because it suddenly dawned on him that there are no haunted ‘homes’, only haunted ‘houses’. Why is that? Is it because lonely people don’t have a family, and therefore don’t have a home? That feels like atomic family propaganda to The Lover, but once again the Lover digresses. The Lover started to wonder what a haunted home would be haunted by, and then suddenly he realized he was in one.”
(The Lover expertly rips the top tab off of the gogurt and spits it out on the floor, before opening his mouth wide and squirting the contents sloppily inside. He then crinkles the gogurt tube’s empty vessel in his fist and tosses it over his shoulder and onto the floor with the OJ carton.)
“What does every ghost story have? It has a child laying in bed late at night, hiding under his covers, pretending to be asleep with one eye closed as he keeps the other peeked open looking for someone that isn’t there. His ears are peeled for any creak in the floorboard, his heart is racing, and he’s imagining something tugging at his covers as tears well up in his eyes. If you think about it, that just sounds like an absentee father coming in with the smell of cigarettes and alcohol on his breath. Meanwhile the mother’s being ravaged by an incubus in the other room, shouting the lord’s name as her bed rocks on it’s frame. Now I don’t think I have to tell you who the Incubus is in this scenario. Meanwhile, below, there’s an ancient tomb that’s long been abandoned and forgotten, collecting dust as it remains untouched for a millennia until one night in the distant future a family disturbs it. I don’t know, but it sounds like the living room here to The Lover. I mean, couch doesn’t even have a butt print indention in it anymore.”
(The Lover roots through the half-ripped open bag and pulls out an apple. He rolls his eyes and tosses it on the ground as he murmurs ‘gross’ under his breath. As he continues to root around, his eyes light up as he pulls out a Snack Pack.)
“Billy’s got the goods…Sorry, where was I? Ah yes, people ask the Lover why he goes under the covers to pleasure someone’s other all the time. This tale has gone on long enough, so without any further guff, the Lover will explain just why in rhyme. The Lover pulls your daughters pigtails and ruffles your boys hair. He ravages your fridge at night to be found in the morning bare. He comes in after the kids leave and head out off to school, and he satiates your wife as she watches him and drools. He helps around the house, and does all the honey-dos, and you then you run up on the Lover and ask why…”
(The Lover stares ahead blankly and gives a relaxed shrug before turning back to the camera.)
“Well…why don’t you? The Lover only comes in and picks up where you’ve slacked. He gives her what she wants; and that’s everything you lack. He mows the lawn, he cleans the gutters, he sweeps and mops the floors. He even does the dishes…and then he does a little more. When playing Home vs Away, there’s no reason to keep score because the Lover racks up points every time you hit the door. I’m not the specter haunting this household, you are the unsightly undead ghoul.”
(Lover perks up as headlights pass through the front window of the house, followed shortly by the crinkling disturbance of gravel in the driveway. Without missing a beat, he scoops up the remainder of Billy’s lunch and heads for the back door.)
“And now it’s time for me to peace out before I have to ghostbust a fool…and lord knows I didn’t want to be here when Billy woke for school OH HAVE MERCY!”
(Lover covers his mouth in an attempt to subdue his catchphrase tic as he kicks open the back door and disappears into the night just as an unseen presence at the front door starts to jiggle the handle and the camera fades to black.)