Good Behaviour

CW: Violence, substance abuse, mental health issues

Grim handed me the latest yellow manila folder , looking, well, um, grim. No surprise there.

“You could just email me you know.”

To be honest, I would have preferred that he emailed me. I really didn’t need to see his face each time.

“I can’t get used to all this new fangled technology” he said, shrugging his hollow black shoulders. And then disappeared into thin air.

I sat on the sofa, drinking my coffee, and thumbed absent-mindedly through the folder. I’d look at it properly tonight. Once I clocked on. I wanted to put off knowing what the next assignment entailed for as long as possible. I still had three hours and forty-five minutes of my annual leave left and actually, I was pretty irritated that Grim didn’t have the decent courtesy to wait four hours before coming to see me. And I really wanted a drink. I would have killed for a cold beer. Pardon the pun.

But my killing days were over. That’s what had brought me here in the first place. I was an idiot. Drink driving. Knocked over an old lady who was crossing the road, pulling one of those tartan shopping trolleys on wheels behind her. One of the wheels must have snagged on a pothole and the trolley toppled over. It all happened in slow motion. A pint of milk split open and seeped onto the grey tarmac, turning it a thin dirty, gravelly white. A solitary potato rolled away and became instant mash as a car coming in the other direction drove right over it. I couldn’t have done that if I’d tried. Talk about precision driving. The old lady, who already looked frail enough, turned round too quickly, half jerked by her tipping trolley and half trying to save her provisions, and ended up splayed out in the milky road.

Mash potato car slammed on the brakes. I saw the car skidding to a halt. I heard the tyres screeching. I should have been doing the same. I should have been looking straight ahead, not rubber necking. The driver jumped out of the car, running towards the woman, running towards me. He was shouting madly at me, waving his hands frantically in the air, shaking his head from side to side, sheer panic on his face. And then a long nooo formed an O shape in his mouth, whilst terror took hold in his eyes. I didn’t know why he was so antsy, he hadn’t been anywhere near her. By the time my boozy brain had cottoned on and sent the required instruction to my foot to move from the accelerator to the brake, it was too late.

So, I was offered a deal. Go straight to jail, just like in a game of Monopoly. Or, Grim could mangle my car up at the same time and take me and the old lady together. Two birds with one stone. Those were his instructions from Mother.

Well, I didn’t fancy a stint in jail. I’m a wimp. Doubted I would last ten minutes in there before someone did something unthinkable to me. And then what would my future be once I got out? A convicted crim’s prospects are never great. And a drunk driver is scorned by all of society forever. I took the easy option. I accepted the deal.

Of course, Grim had failed to tell me the full terms of the deal. I was given the contract to sign after the event. No way back. So, here I am. Eight hundred and thirty two years into a one thousand year contract of haunting. And no booze allowed. I know what you’re thinking, there were no cars that long ago. But that’s because I’m already in the future. And you don’t really think us lot work on your old-fashioned clock system of sixty seconds, sixty minutes, twenty-four hours, seven days and fifty-two weeks, do you? Hell no – again, pardon the pun – we decimalised years ago. Still, one thousand years is a frightfully long time to be, er, well, frightful.

I’ll tell you how the assignments go. You get instructions on who, what, when, where and how. They vary massively. Some are just one-offs, a ten minute apparition where I typically have to pretend to be someone else. It might be a little goodbye, telling their loved one they’re ok. Or it might be a victim, coming to squeeze the air out of their attacker’s lungs whilst they sleep. Some go on a lifetime – those ones get really boring. Imagine having to scare the same person for fifty or sixty years, wearing the same outfit, just banging doors and windows open and closed, or walking through walls, to freak them out. I have to follow those ones everywhere, which means I get the odd trip to the Caribbean or the Maldives, all expenses paid. It sounds better than it is though because all I can ever do is hover and dream of donning a pair of swimming trunks and having a dip in the clear blue temperate sea or drinking piña coladas at the swim up pool bar. But no, they gave me the bedsheet look with cut eye holes. You couldn’t make it up, could you?

I tried once. To have a drink. I floated into an off licence on Brick Lane and reached for the most expensive bottle of cognac on the shelves, a lovely Remy. The owner was serving a customer at the til, so he was clueless as to what was going on behind him. The customer’s face was a picture though as she watched the bottle lift up off the shelf, the metal wrapper on the neck peel off and the cork pull out. She couldn’t see me because she wasn’t on my list – no yellow manila folder for her. I had no idea who she was and didn’t care as I tipped the bottle up slowly. Ooh, the anticipation of that first golden drop hitting my tongue and then the burn at the back of my throat. Didn’t work though did it! Went straight through me and puddled on the floor. Added another year to my contract as punishment. And Grim said I’d got off lightly. It was just a warning. This time.

I opened the manila folder in resignation. There was a picture of a little blond haired boy, with sweet cherub cheeks. I knew not to trust looks though.

Who: Tommy Pickering, aged four.

What: Has been having nightmares and wetting the bed for over two years. Doctors and psychiatrists have been unable to help with any of their techniques or medication. If anything, he’s been getting worse over the last six weeks. Likely anxiety about starting school. Has one older sibling, Amy, aged thirteen, whom he adores, but she’s just started puberty and is losing interest in her younger brother. NB: Tommy was unplanned, hence the age difference. But parents love him dearly and spoil him terribly.

When: Start date asap. Completion on nightmares and bed wetting ending.

Where: The Cotswolds.

How: Befriend Tommy. Play, bring toys, build his confidence to find out what’s troubling him and then resolve. Suggested to model your character on Casper the friendly ghost.

Oh Mother! A kid. I’m not great with kids. Not really got much patience with them. I hoped he wasn’t one of the ones that wanted the same bedtime story read to him every night. And if it was the Hungry Caterpillar, I would scream. Which obviously, would defeat the entire objective of me being there. It would make things a whole lot worse. And my assignment a whole lot trickier. And longer. I’d have to practice my box breathing techniques again – just in case. And the Cotswolds – sweet Satan, it’s freezing up there. The wind whips right up under your bedsheet.

I finished my coffee, got showered and robed up and flew off to see Tommy. I decided it was best to do observation only on the first day. To suss things out. As predicted, it was bitingly cold and my sheet froze rigid. Not a good look for a friendly ghost. I looked more like a veiled marble statue of something unholy. I peeked from a distance. He was playing with a fluffy blue dinosaur. Or to be more precise, he was telling blue dino all his worldly problems. My heart cracked a little bit.

I wasn’t going to cry. I hadn’t cried since I was a child. Not since….

But I couldn’t hold it in. I could feel my eyes welling up, tiny little puddles gathering in my cut out eye holes. I tipped my head back to try to make the tears run back inside from where they’d sprung. But one escaped. Sideways. From the corner of right eye and trickled onto my temple and then into my ear. My nose clogged up and tasted salty in my throat.

Mother laid her soft, warm hand gently on my shoulder.

“Come” she said. “You’ve been let off for good behaviour. Let’s get you home, Tommy”