Our home is haunted. I’m not even joking.
Last night at 3.30 in the morning I was awoken from a deep sleep by a very loud, continuous noise coming from somewhere nearby. At first I thought I might be dreaming but my wife was awake as well and she seemed just as confused as me. She shouted: “What’s going on?” My mind cleared a little – the sound was music – very loud music and it was coming from our living room upstairs.
Instinct kicked in and I flew up the stairs, ready to do battle with whatever or whoever it was who had broken into our home and decided to play loud music while they rummaged through our things looking for cash, jewellery or gold doubloons. (In my sleep-addled confusion, I thought for a moment we might have doubloons).
I switched on the lights, fully expecting to face a threat to my homestead: perhaps an intruder dressed like the hamburglar, or maybe that Japanese girl from The Ring, crawling along my ceiling. I was prepared for something horrible, but instead I saw… nothing. The room was completely empty except for me, and I could see and hear that all that noise was coming from the two little speakers we keep connected to our TV. They were cranked up to their loudest setting:
A FEELING GOOD, GOOD, CREEPING UP ON YOU!
SO JUST DANCE, DANCE, DANCE!
ALL THOSE THINGS I SHOULDN’T DO!
BUT YOU DANCE! DANCE! DANCE!!!!!
For a long moment I stared at the speakers, frozen. This didn’t make sense, they get their audio signal from the TV, and the TV wasn’t turned on. There shouldn’t be any music playing, because there was no possible source for the audio. How was this happening? How was the music being fed to the speakers? Who was it shouting/singing at me to DANCE! DANCE! DANCE?!
My wife shouts from downstairs: “What’s going on? Why is there loud music playing? What is that?!” My wits start to return, and I begin to piece together what is happening. That song – I know it from the TV screens that blare music videos out at my gym. It’s … Justin Timberlake. But I don’t own any Justin Timberlake songs – on any format – so how could a song I don’t have, sung by a singer I don’t like – be playing over speakers that aren’t connected to anything?!
Now I’m equal parts confused and frightened, but my adrenaline is kicking in – I remember that our speakers have a volume dial – I cautiously approach them in order to turn down the music. I half expect the dial not to respond, or the speaker to leap off the table in rebellion, but thankfully it works with no further surprises and I turn down the music. DANCE! DANCE! DANCE!
I unplug the speakers and check all the doors, the locks and the windows. Everything seems secure, so eventually I go back to bed. But questions persist and I can’t fall asleep. Why the hell had Justin Timberlake decided to haunt me of all people? Everyone seemed to like Justin Timberlake back when he was big in the 2000s, everyone except me. Maybe he knew? Part of why I had always disliked him and his music when he was alive, was that he seemed overly eager. All his songs were upbeat, and he was always smiling and acting approachable and friendly. He was the ultimate pop star – all over TV, radio and even movies. Everyone loved Justin Timberlake. Everyone but me. But could he really be so insecure in the afterlife that he would come back just to bedevil the one person on the planet who actually found his auto-tuned, dimple-faced schtick to be tiresome and fake ? Was he that petty that EVERYONE must love him or be haunted? Must I really DANCE! DANCE! DANCE! or face the prospect of supernatural punishment?
So I wrote this blog post just to publicly show that I will not be intimidated:
FUCK YOU JUSTIN TIMBERGHOST AND YOUR LATE NIGHT SPECTRAL AUDITORY VISITATIONS! I’M NOT AFRAID OF YOU AND THE ONLY WAY YOU COULD EVER MAKE ME DANCE! DANCE! DANCE! IS IF I WERE TO DO IT OVER YOUR FUCKING GRAVE! TRY BRINGING SEXYBACK WHEN YOUR BODY IS NOTHING BUT A ROTTING CORPSE, YOU EVIL BASTARD! WHY DON’T YOU ASK THE MAGGOTS FEASTING ON YOUR FLESH TO DANCE! DANCE! DANCE! AS THEY WRIGGLE AROUND CONSUMING WHAT IS LEFT OF YOUR CARCASS AND THAT STUPID LITTLE HAT YOU SEEM TO HAVE WORN EVERYWHERE BACK WHEN YOU WERE ALIVE – BEFORE YOU BECAME A SPEAKER-SYSTEM GHOST THAT I’M DEFINITELY NOT AFRAID OF!
I hope you rot in hell.
My wife has read this post and has just informed me that Justin Timberlake is in fact very much alive. I am surprised, because I think of him as someone who exists only in the past, like Paris Hilton, the cast of Saved By The Bell, or Woodrow Wilson. It didn’t occur to me that he could exist outside of the realm of 2006.
I still don’t know what happened with my speakers, but if you’re reading this, Justin Timberdefinitelynotaghost, then I apologise, especially for my vow to DANCE! DANCE! DANCE! over your grave. There must be some explanation for my mysterious visitation by your song that doesn’t involve you coming back from the dead to haunt me. Maybe a stray bluetooth connection? Either way – my bad.