A Christmas Quarrel

“You can’t go on strike. You don’t have a union.”

Thus spake Lofty Ghost, the host of the annual meeting of ghosts in a disused warehouse on the edge of town. Every year the spirits wanted a few days off. People aren’t scared at the holiday period, they complain. We should get time off, same as the living, they demand. Jasper Ghost made an impassioned plea.

“After the Queen’s speech, Morecambe and Wise and a full dinner, folk are too full of beans to even half-scare.”

Jasper was currently employed to scare two young children that lived in a small house in the town. He tried not to frighten the kids too much as he was a friendly kind of ghost. His attitude had been frowned upon from up on high and had stopped him from getting one of the big gigs: A haunting at a castle or a museum, for example. These jobs were let out to the most terrifying of ghosts. Lofty dismissed his comment and heard from the Sheet Ghost. This was a ghost that was all linen with two holes for eyes and one for a mouth. All it could do was say WHOOO.

“WHOOO!” said the Sheet Ghost, towing the party line.

The Graveyard Ghost was respected by all. Riding a ghost horse, the Graveyard Ghost, decapitated at death, held his head under his arm. From his armpit he said.

“What about if you relaxed the rules and let us move things? It’s much scarier to throw things around than just appear suddenly and jump out and say boo or something.” In the background the Sheet Ghost WHOOO’ed.

Lofty was in no mood for backing down. “No, that can’t be allowed. If we for one second allow the moving of inanimate objects we cease to be ghosts and instead are Poltergeists.” All the ghosts in the room shuddered. Nobody liked Poltergeists. For centuries there had been war between the factions. It all started long ago when a ghost after running through a wall unintentionally picked up a candelabrum. Not knowing what to do with it, the ghost hurled it at a scared monk. Thus began the age of the poltergeist with the monks hitting back by using priest exorcists. Ordinary ghosts were sometimes caught in the crossfire.

Lofty’s words brought the meeting to a close and deathly silent footsteps walked out of the chamber. In the cool air Jasper met his old friend, Chibber Ghost. Chibber loved scaring people and he was born –or more precisely, died- to do this job. Only fall out with superiors had stopped him from being the premier scare ghost in the hierarchy. His other skill was a penchant for an unusual story. Jasper listened to his latest tale from the crypt.

“This family were watching the TV as I crept up behind them. I was about to scare them when I saw what they were watching. On the TV were another family watching TV. Looking closer the other family on the TV were also watching TV that had a completely different family watching a TV programme. This spooked me a bit and straining my eyes further I could make out another, smaller, family in the TV of the TV of the TV of the TV watching TV that had a minute family, yep you’ve guessed it, watching TV. In front of me was a vortex of people watching TV about other people watching TV. It was a gradually diminishing size-wise whilst multiplying succession of families watching TV.

“Exasperated, I put on my best Oliver Norvell Hardy impression and looked away at an imaginary camera as the legend used to do in black and white films. And you know what I saw when I turned sideways? A mirror. I see my face staring right back at me. Then there’s a power cut that kills the TV plunging all the watchers into darkness. To save them from being bored I scare the living daylights out of them.”

Jasper didn’t have Chibber’s dedication to his craft. With a heavy heart he laid low for a few days until it was Christmas and time to bring terror to the young children. Up early as excited young ones are prone to do when you believe in Father Christmas, Zack and Gillian had opened all their presents and were playing on the floor of their room with their gifts. At the top of the bunk bed Jasper sat with his elbows on his knees and his hands on his chin. With a silent sigh he prepared to use Sheet Ghost’s catchphrase.

“Do you want a game, Mr. Ghost?” asked Zack.

Jasper was taken aback. This was a first. He weighed up his options. He did deserve a holiday and today was Christmas. “OK, count me in.”

“This is called Buckaroo, Mr. Ghost. Everyone takes turns placing items on the mule’s saddle.” Zack looped a rope onto the saddle. Gillian said “me next” and shakily draped the water bottle onto the plastic animal. “Your turn, Mr. Ghost.”

Jasper went as white as a polar bear without shades. Is this the first step on him becoming a poltergeist? The ghost rules forbid picking up inanimate objects. Yet in the rules of Buckaroo it is impossible to play otherwise. Sorry Lofty, thought Jasper, I’m going to disobey you.
Jasper picked up the frying pan with his skeletal hand. With the joints clacking as the excitement of the contest gripped him, he clanged the frying pan on the saddle causing the mule to kick. Jasper got a fright as the children whooped with joy. Zack said.

“Hard lines, Mr. Ghost, you’re out of the game.”