The Late Ghost

I’m fed up. I can’t scare anyone.  

My latest victim, little Mary, on Oxford Street, just laughs at me. Then her mother comes into her bedroom and asks her what she’s laughing at and why she isn’t asleep. I don’t want her to get into trouble, and I don’t generally try to frighten children, but I’m at my wits’ end.  

The ghost hierarchy has told me that if I don’t get my act together, I’m out. I won’t be able to do any more ghosting. I’ll be assigned to ghost hunts or dungeons or something like that.

When Mary’s mum came into the bedroom the other night, Mary pointed to the corner where I was - I’d made myself small. Mary said there was a funny ghost in her room and started laughing again.

I mean - she called me funny. That’s not why I’m a ghost. Ghosts are supposed to scare people.  

The other thing is that her mother couldn’t see me at all, and that’s the hardest part.  

Mary is about the only person who has ever seen me. I’ve made myself big and small, and I’ve turned into all kinds of shapes, but still no one appears to be able to see me.

Now I’m trying the traditional ghost look. I’ve thrown a sheet over my head and cut out little circles for my ‘eyes’ and made them glow bright greeny/yellow, but that doesn’t work either.  

I tried to grow big and fill Mary’s bedroom, but she just rolled on her bed and laughed so loud she had to cover her head with her pillow to stop her mum having a go at her again.

I used to work in the Tower of London, but I was made redundant. They changed everything you see.

Everything went modern and electric and laptops and stuff like that.  

I’m still learning about laptops. I’m trying to get myself to come out of a laptop and scare someone. I nearly did it the other day. I projected myself as a hand coming out at a young boy, but just as I did it, he turned the other way and played some hideous game on his TV screen and never saw me.

I’m always too late. I should be known as The Late Ghost. Always one step behind.

Well, in reality, I am always one step behind.

I walk behind people, or should I say glide or float behind people and tap them on the shoulder, and they turn around, but no one sees me. It’s so frustrating. Not one single person can see me except, of course, little Mary from Oxford Street.

Another ghost I know, called Harry, told me about the film The Invisible Man. Well, what I want is some kind of paint, maybe magic paint, that I can paint on myself so that people can see me. Maybe fluorescent paint.  

I wandered around a DIY store the other day looking for some paint and even knocked things over in front of people. Unfortunately, the people always blame the people standing next to them and not me. I have a good laugh, but they don’t. I’ve seen fluorescent lights and Christmas lights and all kinds of things and stood right in the glow, but still I’m invisible to passersby.  

They can’t even hear me either when I go, woo-hoo, at them. It seems that nobody wants to be scared these days. Everyone is too busy doing their own thing. Looking at their phones or laptops. I feel redundant. My scaring days are over; I'm sure of it.

I’m going to have to go and see little Mary in Oxford Street and have a word with her and see what she can come up with to help me to be able to scare people again.

I used to be able to do it, many centuries ago, but not now. I used to scare people who rode on horseback through the forests and the horse would rear up and the person would fall off and run for their life. I loved that!

I’d float through castles and send young maidens running for their lives, especially those young maidens who were in the wrong beds, and often two maidens were in bed with the one knight. That was hilarious too – and great fun. I would be in stitches all night long. Floating here, there and everywhere until just about everyone in the castle was flying out the doors or the windows to the beds they should have been sleeping in in the first place. Mayhem. I caused mayhem.

But that was back then, in the good old days. Now I can’t even frighten a flea.

I just want to curl up and die. But that’s the point. Ghosts don’t die. We are eternal. We just go on and on.  

I don’t know what to do anymore. I think I need to see a counselor. I’ve seen people go into the building down the road from little Mary. I’m going to float over there and take a look around and hope I scare someone or get some kind of help at the same time, at least.  

I’ll listen in on some sessions and see what happens and then try and counsel myself somehow.

So, I’ve floated through a couple of walls and past the desk where a pretty young girl was sitting looking at her computer. I wonder what would happen if I manifested in front of her as a hand and grabbed her neck. Best not think about that, though. She’d need a counselor herself if I did manage to do that and frighten the life out of her.

Now I’m at the door marked "Angelika Bloomsberry Counselor." I’m going to hide in the corner for a bit and watch the proceedings.

“Tell me about your dreams, Terry.” - Angelika is speaking.

“They get weirder by the minute,” Terry is telling her.

I’m quite interested in these dreams of Terry’s, so I’m going to float nearer to him.

Oh, oh! Terry has gone white as a - well, you know - a ghost. I think he can see me. He’s now scrambling around the room, and he’s hidden himself behind a huge potted plant near the window. I’m sure he can see me. I’m hovering near the ceiling, and he’s just completely freaked out! Wow!  

“What’s up, Terry? Are you having one of your hallucinations again?” It’s that woman speaking again.

Of course, he isn’t, you silly old moo. He can see me, and I’m real!

I’m floating over to speak to him.

“Can you see me, Terry”

“Yes…I…can. Go... away. Please... go... away.”

“Never on your life. You know what, Terry. You’ve saved my bacon.”

“What do you mean?”

“You can see me. You can bloody well see me! It’s amazing! I’ve been trying to get people to see me for hundreds of years, and now I have.”

“You mean…you’re real.”

“Of course I’m real, you idiot.”

“I…I thought I was having one of my hallucinations again. She said I needed to see a psychiatrist.”

Psychiatrist, my arse. I’m as real as you are. Come on mate, you’ve made my day. Let’s go and have a coffee together in the little cafe on the corner. You can tell me all your worries, and I’ll tell you mine. Except that I don’t think I’ve got any now that I know you can see me.  

On our way to the cafe, I’m going to float over to see my friend little Mary and tell her the good news. Maybe you’d like to meet her one day.”

“That would be lovely. At least I won’t be the only one who can see a ghost.”

“Okay, then I’ll see you in the cafe shortly.”

“Oh, just one thing, Ghosty- if that’s your name - can you teach me how to fly?”