literature

Why the Dickens is this Ghoul in the Bedroom?

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Literature Text

The spectre stood quivering the in corner of the room, looking more haunted than haunting. Its bloodshot eyes, rested on the figure in the bed, who sat up and rubbed her own eyes repeatedly until they looked similar to those of the wavering figure, cowering in its cobwebbed retreat. Miss Kingsley made a mental note to seek out her feather duster when morning came, that is, if she was allowed to see morning!

For what purpose had this ghoul invaded the privacy of her bedroom? Perhaps it was an incubus? An incredulous thought and perhaps one that was more than a tad wistful, as Miss Kingsley was now seventy-eight-years old. Her breasts were down to her knees and her derriere likewise on the opposite side of them. However, gravity had actually been kind, for her knees were the knobbliest, wartiest constructions that God (or perhaps his adversary) had ever created and the aforementioned appendages and flaps totally obscured them! Of course, it just might be that the Thing had some weird craving for bone and lumps, which, after all, was pretty much in keeping with the sights one witnessed beyond the grave and might now be regarded as attractive. Perhaps she should dab her cheeks with a little blood to entice him? Whilst pondering on this train of thought, however, the ghoul suddenly found its voice.

It came out as a wail, gradually gathering into a high pitched shriek. She had heard scarier things on ghost trains! Then, “I am the Ghoul of Christmas Past! Think on your many sins Miss Kingsley for you are about to revisit those times when you caused others much pain.”

She sat up straight in bed and glared at Old Spooky. “Isn’t there supposed to be a ghost ahead of you? Perhaps some sort of equivalent to Marley? I do know of a Joyce Barley who died. You can’t just jump straight in without the forerunner. Also, might I query the fact that you are visiting a Kingsley not a Scrooge...perhaps you should be with one of his descendants?" she had forgotten that Scrooge had never married, or so the story was told..."How could you get this all so wrong?”

She shook her head disbelievingly and added, “And anyway its only October – nowhere near Christmas!”

The spook looked perplexed. “Sorry I’m new to this job and a little nervous, so perhaps I didn’t quite absorb the briefing.” His long, knotty fingers were shaking. “I know not of the Scrooge person – and as for my presence here in October...well all I can say, is...have you seen the shops? Stacked with Christmas stuff, crackers, tree decorations, wrapping paper...the lot. Xmas preparation comes well in advance of December 25th.’

Miss Kingsley considered this. “Okay. And after I’ve viewed my many sins of the past – not that I can recall many, apart from drinking too much elderberry wine – I suppose the Ghost of Christmas Present and Christmas Future will appear? You know what – I’m no spring chicken, I need my beauty sleep, so let’s crack on and get the things done.”

He shook his head. “I am the only one. The other two Ghosts will not appear.”

“Why not?”

“Cutbacks.”

“Cutbacks?”

“Yes, you only get the other two if the Boss thinks your soul is worth saving, He gets a few of his minions to do an assessment and if the outcome denotes you are worthy, they both appear, but in your case...

“A bit harsh..” said Miss Kingsley.

“But fair. He prides himself on fairness you know. Anyway there’s so many cutbacks at the moment, the Haunting Section really has to take its share. Heaven is in a dire economic situation but the Boss says it’s merely a reflection of Society below, but I don’t quite see that myself. Even the angels have copped it. Heralding ones have had to make do with tin whistles, instead of trumpets and the harpists have to put up with holey clouds – and I do mean holey not holy. They are patched up, then repatched and repatched again. A harpist fell through one the other day where the patch was weak, but the Boss just shrugged and said the angel was a lousy harpist anyway. Actually it was most unlike Him to make such a comment, but I think the situation is getting to him what with halos being in short supply, as well.”

“You have my sympathies,” she said, “nevertheless I am rather tired and even though I have only one Ghostly venture this night, I would still like to get things done with, so I can get some sleep.”

“Okay then,” said the spectre, then he reached beneath his vast grey robes. Miss Kingsley looked on wonderingly. What was he reaching for? Perhaps he was an incubus after all?

Spooky then pulled out a pure white laptop, with a cloud design on its lid. He placed the laptop on Miss Kingsley’s bed, then turned it on and searched for ‘Woo tube – past Christmas misdemeanors.’

“You mean to say we are not going to float from the window together? It would be nice. I think it’s snowing.”

He shook his head, “You’re thinking of that film, The Snowman.”

“No I’m not – never mind.” She sounded disappointed. She looked at the screen on the laptop, to which Spooky’s ghostly hand was pointing.

“Look at you here. Christmas Eve 1984. Sitting on your own by the Christmas tree. Some presents there but you didn’t send any did you? Your nephews and nieces were most disappointed. You look really miserable. And what happened to your hair that day? Was it a bad perm? Never did like perms.”

He searched for the Christmas after that. “Christmas 1985. You’d just refused money to some carol singers, which of course was bad enough, but did you really have to go back inside, get a bucket of water and throw it over them? No, worse...it wasn’t water it was urine!”

Miss Kingsley peered more closely at the screen. “I did no such thing. Anyway, that’s not me.”

“Of course it’s you. And you know what – these past Christmases of yours are really popular on Woo Tube. Eight million viewings on most of them, especially Christmas 1990 when you invited that old tramp in and stripped him naked.”

“What do you think I am? Really, I’ve never been so insulted!”

“Well, I rather think you are one naughty, sinful old lady, Clara Kingsley. I’m sorry you feel insulted, but I’m just carrying out my job.”

Miss Kingsley took hold of the laptop then, which was surprisingly solid, considering it belonged to a ghost. “Clara Kingsley,” she gasped, “My name is Maude Kingsley. My debauched, depraved, sinful sister, Clara, lives next door.”

And just as she was about to attempt to smash the laptop over his head – assuming that his head had enough substance to feel pain – Spooky made his excuses... and vanished...
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Lovely work, thank you for submitting it to the Weekly Review; I'll be publishing this in today's issue.