Ghost of a Chance

The Souloon was much more busy tonight, on Halloween.

Ghosts from all over the county clinked glasses of spirits, recounting tales of the people they’ve haunted on business, and having arguments over whose death was worse. Some ghosts played card games, while others participated in open mic shriek night. 

At the Haunt Board close to the counter, many a ghost dropped by, taking their pick of odd jobs scaring the living.

When it finally came to a green-hued ghost once called Parker’s turn, he threw his head back and groaned.

A purplish ghost hovering at the bar leaned over toward the sound and snickered. “Aw, did someone miss all the haunts?”

“It’s Halloween! There’s gotta be some rule!” Parker exclaimed.

“Is this your first time, son? Who am I kidding -- it is, isn’t it? Every spirit around here knows you gotta be early for the haunt jobs!” said his similar-looking comrade, shaking with laughter.

“Well, what about you guys?” Parker said. 

“Sorry,” the two ghosts said, dangling their leaflets in front of him. “First come first serve.”

Seething, Parker turned back to the board.

“Look at him, he’s embarrassed,” the first ghost said to his friend. Then he said to Parker, “Don’t be sad -- there’s always ghosts needed for toilet haunting!”

The second ghost wheezed. “That’s a good one! Okay, okay, my turn. How about a ghostwriter!”

Both ghosts threw their heads back and laughed, while Parker scanned every inch of the Haunt Board. But it was basically barren, save for a few notices: one, an ad to hire an eavesdropper; another ad, looking for a photographer; and a third, looking for a professional stalker. But there were no haunts.

Then, Parker noticed a sliver of paper that stuck out from underneath another notice, in the bottom corner. He lifted the top notice, read the contents beneath, and grinned.

“It’s okay.” Parker waved his newly-claimed leaflet, floating away. “I’ve got myself covered.”

The two purple ghosts stopped their mocking at once. They exchanged glances with one another before flying to peer over Parker’s shoulders. 

“Oh, you are a monster,” sneered the first ghost.

“What?” said Parker defensively.

The second ghost gasped. “And she’s a widow, too!”

“Oh, what’s it to you? It’s just an old lady,” Parker argued.

“And frail, old lady with a weak heart!” said the first ghost. “For shame, I thought you’d know better. Wicked young man.”

“Scaring old people isn’t any worse than scaring adults or innocent children! Besides, they scare easier than anyone. This’ll be a breeze.”

“If killing old people to death is what you want your reputation to be,” said the second ghost.

Without sticking around to hear the rest of whatever taunts the two ghosts had in store for him, Parker left the Souloon, taking to the sky.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The hauntee, Nancy Robbins, age eighty, was worth 500 in spirit money to scare -- approximately 50 dollars in the living world, which wasn’t bad, but not great either; according to some other ghosts along the flight, children were worth double, sometimes triple.

Parker flew above high in the clouds, lowering himself only when he neared the address. The old woman lived at the end of a cul de sac in a tiny, one-story house that looked reminiscent of a pastry, with yellow siding and creamy-white roof. Her curtains were drawn, the inside and outside lights off, telling trick-or-treaters to go away.

To avoid drawing attention to himself, Parker turned himself invisible and descended through the roof.

He found himself inside a living room, where he saw her on the couch, nodding off  despite the television in front of her blaring a soap opera, screen bright as a beacon.

Parker grinned, his green aura glowing. Time to get to work.

The ghost possessed the television, making the screen cut to piercing static. Then he leaped out with his arms raised, letting out a painful-sounding howl.

The old woman startled and blinked.

“Bill? Is that you?” she said in a gravelly voice, squinting.

Parker checked that he wasn’t invisible, then howled again, making sure she heard properly.

Nancy leaned forward, adjusting her glasses. “Oh good gracious. You couldn’t have been more romantic when you came to snatch me into the afterlife? This is just like you, isn’t it, Bill?”

Parker swooped real close to her, sticking out his tongue and bellowing, but not one squeal came out of her.

“Well? Get it over with, Bill, I’m ready.”

“Doesn’t she know a ghost when she sees one?” Parker said to himself.

“Who?”

Nancy got to her feet and shuffled over to the wall to flick on the light switch. “Oh. Well, I could always use more help around here.”

Parker hovered there, dumbfounded as the old woman left the room unfazed. She returned with a bandana tied on her head, carrying a feather duster, rag, spray bottle in one arm, a mop, bucket, and vacuum cleaner handle in the other, the machine trailing along behind her. 

“Here,” Nancy said, thrusting the supplies into Parker’s translucent hands. “You can start by dusting. Don’t forget the high up places and corners. Then clean the kitchen, make the counter shine. Oh, and the bathroom could use a good cleaning. After that, mop the floors, and the windows. I’ll be in bed if you need anything.”

Parker sputtered. “Are you blind? D-Don’t you realize what I am?”

“Hm?” she asked. 

“I’m a ghost. You know, ‘boo?’ ‘Spooky?’ Doesn’t that mean anything to you? Aren't you scared?”   

“Should I be?”

“It’s only paranormal,” Parker reasoned sarcastically.    

“Oh, oh dear. Then I guess I have no choice but to protect myself.” Nancy said, flipping the switch of her vacuum cleaner.

Parker stiffened, then shuddered despite his inability to feel cold. “Uh. Okay, well, I have things to do. W-what kind of person even cleans at night anyway?”

“Well, pardon me. I just figured that dead spirits had nothing but time.” 

Parker slouched. “I’ll start cleaning.” 

“That’s a good boy,” Nancy said, shuffling out of the living room. 

“How did it come to this?” Parker asked himself.