A response to Heather Hansen's "Tell the Story" in Flashy Fiction.
"Why is my toothbrush wet?" asked Jimmy's mom who was silhouetted against the incandescent light in the hallway.
"Wet?" Jimmy squirmed under the flannel sheets that had started to pill from too many washings.
"Don't act innocent, no one else is here."
She wouldn't believe him, she never did. Perhaps, if he kept quiet she would just go away. But she didn't, the light from the hallway still snaked around her and flickered across the scattered toys as she fidgeted.
"You know I don't like it when you use my toothbrush."
"I'm sorry, Mama. That monster I told you about, the balloon blob, bubbled out of my closet and chased me through the house. I just got to the bathroom in time and grabbed for a toothbrush."
"Why a toothbrush?"
"Because the balloon blob can be hurt by the tiny brushes on the end. I got there just in time to grab the brush and slammed it down on the balloon blob and it vanished away." Jimmy's mom continued to stand in the doorway. "You did wash the ghostly goo off the brush, didn't you?"
"I wish you wouldn't lie to me." Jimmy's mom turned and walked down the stairs. Another green glow grew from the closet. Not another balloon blob, thought Jimmy.