Preternatural Problems:

To the Commissioner of Magical Noise Regulation:

Sir,

I got no fewer than seven pink slips stuffed in my mailbox over the last nine days. “Disturbing the Peace”? “Violating the professional charter”? Are you serious right now?

I’m a bean sidhe, bozo! I scream; I wail; that’s the job. It’s called keening, and it is necessary. Look it up.

You know what happens if I don’t cry? No one knows they’re gonna die. What happens when folks don’t know they’re gonna chuck it, huh? They don’t get their affairs in order. Estates get tied up in probate for years on end; the government gets grabby; the remaining family starts tearing each other apart. It leads to a whole lot of ugliness.

You know who don’t like ugliness? The dearly departed. You know what happens when the dearly departed get disturbed? They rise from the grave. Maybe they go haunt their house for shits and giggles. Maybe they take a few swings at the graveyard caretakers. Is that what you want? No, it is not.

And God forbid it was murder! Now you’ve got a vengeful spirit. They go around wreaking a little vengeance, but guess what? They don’t see so good…cuz they’re dead. They’re aiming for Petey the Poisoner, but bludgeon poor old Mrs. Royce, who was just out feeding the pigeons! Sweet lady; she deserved way better than that.

So, let me ask you something, do I tell you how to do your job? No, I do not. I respect others. So, how about you let me get on with mine?

Yours truly,

Aiofe O’Niell