Here's a ghost story.
“Rhhhhhhooooooooosssssssssse…”
A whisper of wind touched my ears. I looked up to my left, shrugged, then went back to my book.
“Rhhhhhhooooooooooooosssssssssssssssse...!”
I glanced up, looked to my left for my brother playing a trick on me, then continued reading.
“RHHHHHHHHHOOOOooooOOOOOooooooOOOOSSSSSSSSE!”
“Eh?” I closed the book and looked up. “Oh, look. It's a ghost.”
A glowing orb of vaguely bluish light was hovering in the air next to me - on my right side. “You spelled my name wrong,” I scolded. “My name doesn't have an ‘h’ in it.”
“Iiiiiiiii haaaaaaave a speeeeeeech defeeeeeect,” the ghost said tartly. “Iiiiiiiit's haaaaardly my faaaaaault.”
“Okay, sorry, whatever. Did you want something? The book's just starting to get really good.”
“Yessssss, I waaaaant sooooooomething!”
“What do you want? I have a bag of chocolates in the kitchen. If you ask nicely, I might share.”
“Iiiiii waaaaaaant your deaaaaath.”
“Oh.” I paused. “Well, obviously, you can't have that. I'm fresh out.”
“Yesssssss Iiiiiiiii caaaaaaan."” Mistlike fingers danced out of the glowing orb and drifted toward my neck. I watched, aghast, as they wrapped slowly around my throat. Gagging, I writhed in the chair, then fell back, dead.
“Hhhhhhhhhhhhahhh,"” the ghost laughed in triumph.
I sat back up. “Heh! Sorry, just fooling you.”
“Daaaaaaaamnation!”
“You're incorporeal. Your hand goes right through me. I hope you realize that.”
“Doooooon't haaaaave to rub it iiiiiin!”
“Look, why don't you just tell me why you want to kill me? Let's talk it out like rational beings.”
“I don't waaaaaant to be raaaaational!"” The orb fizzled and spat, like the crack of a fire. The lights dimmed, and a rumble rolled under my feet like thunder.
“Well,” I said doubtfully, “Either we could talk like rational beings, or we could talk like irrational beings.”
“Whaaaat's that liiiiike?"” The ghost sounded curious.
“It's where we sit down with some nice, hot, chamomile tea, wearing our snow boots on our heads, and chat over a fire on the best way to skin a five-legged moose.”
Even I was taken aback by the promptness of this nonsense. The ghostly light writhed in the air. “Five-legged moose? I didn't know they existed.”
“They're very rare,” I informed it, “and incredibly valuable. That's why it's so important to know the right way to skin one.”
“Are you suuuuuuure this is whaaat irraaational beeeeeings taaalk about?"” The ghost sounded dubious.
I reached out for something on the shelf next to me, then paused. “Hey, can you read?”
“Nooo.”
“Yeah, the rules of irrational being's discourse are right here. Ahem,” I flicked to the i section of the dictionary. “‘The discourse of irrational beings are limited to discussion over hot chamomile tea and a warm soothing fire with snow boots on one’s head, on the topic of -’ oh, pardon me, I made a mistake the first time - ‘all species of purple five-legged moose and the hunting, slaying, and skinning thereof.’ And that's from the dictionary, so you know that's right.” I shut the book.
The ghost made a sound like a burbling. “Aaaaare thooooose my only two ooooooptions?”
“‘Fraid so. Rational and irrational. That's the thing about opposites, there are only two of them.”
There was a brief pause, which I took to be the ghost considering the two. Then, the orb bobbed up and down, a gesture that was probably a nod. “Iiiiii think I would prefer to speeeeeak like raaaaational beings. Iiiiii don't know anyyyyyyything about fiiiiiive-legged mooooses.”
“Good. The method of skinning one is rather graphic.” I frowned. “Wait, did you say mooses? That's not a word.”
There was the burbling sound again. “Meeeeese?”
“No, that's not how you say it either. It's the same. Moose are moose.”
“I am very confuuuuuused. Is this raaaaaaational discourse yeeeeet?”
“Not if you keep saying ‘meese.’”
“But it's a fuuuuuuun word.”
“Let's go back to the part where you wanted to kill me,” I suggested. “I'm, uh, curious about that part. Why did you want my death?”
“Iiiiit's part of the ghooost contract,"” the ghost said, ethereal voice sullen. “Iiiiii could gooooo back to the aaaaafterlife if I fulfilllled it all.”
“So, what's on the ghost contract?”
The ghost's tone took on the rhythmic precision of something that had been memorized within an inch of its life. “Thouuuu shaaalt carry a loooong syllllable speeeech defect. Thouuuuu shaaaalt scare the bejeeezus out of a huuuundred and twelve superstitious redneeecks. Thouuuuu shaaaalt animaaaate the dead and eat braaaains. Thouuuuu shaaaalt covertly steal seven unluuucky objects and threeee benign ones. Thouuuu shaaaalt haaaaunt a creeeepy old mansion for teeeeen years, five months, tweeeeenty days, twenty-five hours, foooorty minutes and fifty-three point nine one secoooooonds. Thouuuu shaaaalt kill an innocent. Only then shaaaaalt thouuuuu be returrrrrned in haaaarmony to the underworld.”
“Aw,” I said, “cool. Nice job with the memorization. So, how much left do you have to do?”
“Verrrry little,"” the ghost said. The orb lifted up slightly as a touch of pride. “Aaaaall I haaaave to do now is steeeeal one more beniiiign object. And kill somebody. But I was clooooose.”
“How close?”
“A little more presssssssure and I could have slaaaamed your book on your fingers.”
“But that's not lethal,” I said, perplexed.
More bubbling sounds. “How do you expeeeeect me to know this? I'm juuuuuust a ghost!”
“Look,” I said, in my most sympathetic tone, “I'm sorry. I can't let you kill me. For one thing, I'm not innocent.”
“Whaaaaat?”
“Blame modern television. The closest you'd get to an innocent nowadays is a newborn baby, and you have to be careful even with those.”
The ghost fizzed unhappily. “Iiiiii don't waaaaant to kill a baby! Thaaaaat wouldn't be very niiiiice.”
“I know, man. I'm afraid you've been swindled by this contract. No one's left innocent anymore. At least, none that you would want to kill.”
The ghost was silent a moment. I thought to myself as well, trying to think of a way out of this ghost's plight. I really wanted to get back to my book.
Suddenly, I brightened. “I have an idea! You've already fulfilled that part of the contract.”
“Howwwww?”
“You're killing time. I want to keep reading my book, but you're killing my time for that. Reading time's pretty innocent, right? And it's a Harry Potter book, too. If it was a Twilight book, we'd have problems. But Harry Potter's great for this sort of thing!”
The orb sparked, then raised itself in the air. “Thaaaank you! I caaaan't belieeeeve you! First five-legged meese, and now thiiiiis!”
“Moose, doofus.”
"Moooooofus?"
“Huh?”
“What?”
“What?”
“What?”
“Okay, now it's awkward. You could have left triumphantly, but now you have to leave on meese. Good job.”
“Ohhhhh well. At least myyyy contract is nowwww fulfillllled! Thank youuuu, kind humaaaan! Terribly sorrrry for trying to killlll you earlier.”
“No worries. Now get on out of here.”
The glow faded, and the lights came back on. I sighed, then frowned. What did he mean by his contract being fulfilled? He still had to steal another benign object.
Oh well. I shifted in my chair, popped my back, yawned, and turned back to my book.
To find a set of empty fingers.
“Ghost!” I yelled. “You bastard!”
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