1522 A Ghost's Story

1522 A Ghost’s Story

The following recently materialized on the Wessays™ computer hard drive and is being posted as received:

You have to wonder what's wrong with people.  Here I've been “living” peacefully for a long long time and now new people move into the house.

I try to scare them off. It's not that I don't like them. It's just that this is MY personal space.

So I turn down the thermostat.  They can't figure out why it's cold.  I float up behind them and tap them on the shoulder and they jump.  I move things around, drop dishes, slam doors in the middle of the night.  And what finally happens?  They figure the place is haunted.

Well it is, and I'm what's haunting it.  My name is Alburtis Cullen. But you can call me Al. I died in 1883 and was given a choice whether to "live" here on earth or on what you people call "the other side." I never much liked other dead people so I checked "earth" on my destination form and I've been here ever since.

There isn't much to do, so you'd think I'd find this invasion of the flesh-wearers interesting, if not fun.  And it does have its curious and amusing moments.

I try to stay away from the little kids because I suspect they can actually see me, which the adults can't.  But every once in awhile I play a little joke. Like taking the boy's baseball bat and beating up the girl's rag doll.  I always get a little chuckle over that, especially when one kid goes crying to mommy, blaming the other kid for the damage.

The haunting instruction book instructs us to make strange noises in the night.  That, too, can be fun.  But I prefer to make my strange noises in daylight.  It's slightly less frightening -- I really don't want to hurt anyone -- but it frustrates these carpetbaggers just as well.

They'll go running into a room where they think they heard something and find nothing touched and nothing out of place and nothing out of the ordinary.

Last time there were live fleshists here, they called in a "ghost buster."  Fellow came in with all this fancy equipment, recording machines, video machines, and supposed energy detectors.  Such scientists!   Such phonies. I put them out of business right away.  I got some old paint from a can in the basement and smeared the lenses of their cameras. I turned off the electric power, stole all their batteries and stuck them in their car.

Being able to walk through walls and closed doors and locked cars isn't all bad.  You should have heard them argue among themselves about whether they left the car unlocked.

But at the end of the day, these people have to go. I'd call them pains in the a*s, but I can't feel pain.  Still, you know what I mean.  So I have to figure out a way to scare them off without doing any permanent damage to them or to the house.

After all, even a ghost has to have a roof over his head.

I’m Al. My opinions are my own. Refute them at your peril.

Please address comments to wesrichards@gmail.com

© Al 2015