*Thump Thump Thump* That was the scariest noise I've ever heard. My grandfather was a doctor, you know. He is a ghost, now. That old ornery bastard used to live in my house, along with my grandmother. I live there now, too, a real shadow of their greatness, writing silly poems and pretending to be a writer. I'm just a shadow of all that they achieved. A living ghost of my ancestors. But I still hear them at night. I still hear a *Thump Thump Thump*. They weren't all that bad. They took care of me. Especially my Grandmother, after my parents died. She loved me, truly. I think she loved everyone. She was one of the first females in the country with a PhD in Botany. She especially loved to talk about poisonous plants, like Yew, Nightshade, Datura, and Hemlock. Especially Hemlock, the plant which killed Socrates. Such a brilliant Philosopher, she would tell me. Such a poetic way to commit suicide. *Thump Thump Thump* Nobody hears that. Nobody but me. My grandfather was an asshole, though. I remember the door creaking when he used to walk into my bedroom at night. I used to hate it, thinking that those creaking and cracking floorboards would wake up my grandmother, and she would see what we we doing. Until one day she did. She saw what me and my grandfather were doing. She saw it. All of it. And she was always a botanist. So she took the Hemlock. And she went into Cardiac arrest. My grandfather, he was a doctor. An old doctor. He gave her the Precordal Thump. He stuck her chest, three times. **THUMP THUMP THUMP** And then I killed him.