The Friendly Phantom

The Friendly Phantom

“A man’s got to know his limitations.”

-Clint Eastwood/Dirty Harry

Out and About the Town on a Chilly October Evening-

“Boo!”

Nothing.

“Boo!!”

Nothing.

“BOO!!!”

Worse than nothing- laughter.

Wilbur dreaded turning in his tally sheet for the day at this evening’s meeting at the PIA (Poltergeists in Action) Lodge. Thirteen attempts; the number of people frightened- zero. Damien won’t be happy. Wilbur again felt like a complete failure as he slowly made his way back to the Lodge.

The PIA Lodge-

“Gosh, Wilbur, you’re almost late again. You know Damien doesn’t like that.”

“I know, Slimer. I guess I wasn’t looking forward to turning in my report.”

“On man, Wilbur, you washed out again? Damien’s not going to like that. We have quotas to meet.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Well, you’re sort of new. He’ll understand.”

“Slimer, I’ve been here for nine years.”

“That’s a newbie, Wilbur. I’ve been here for two hundred and seventy years.”

The most frightful being- human, paranormal, imaginary, or otherwise- entered the room. How did he look? Indescribable.

“Damien’s here, Wilbur. Quiet.”

The gathered ghosts hustled to their assigned seats. As the seating chart was arranged by merit, Wilbur took his place in the last row.

“Alright, ghosts, you know the drill. I’ll call out the names, you give the number, and Clarice here will enter them in the Scary Book. Then I’ll ask you for anything you did today that you think would warrant consideration for a Special Commendation for one of our three major categories- Scared Stiff, Scared Their Pants Off, and Scared the Bejessus Out Of Them. The winners of the Marleys will be announced at our year-end Awards Banquet.”

“What’s a Marley, Slimer?”

“Oh my goodness, Wilbur. A Marley is like an Oscar or an Emmy. It’s the highest form of recognition in our line of work.”

“Let’s get started. Vlad, how many people did you scare today?”

“Six, Damien. Three high school kids, two old ladies, and a guy out in a fishing boat. He was so scared he jumped in the lake.”

“Ha, ha, ha, ha.”

“Quiet down, please. Good job, Vlad. Clarice, put that one down in our ‘Scared the Bejessus of Them’ pool of entries. Next, Morticia.”

I got eight, Damien. I think the one guy wet his pants.”

“Ha, ha, ha, ha.”

“Ok, ok, I enjoy a good laugh too, but we’ve got to keep moving along.”

“Excuse me, Damien, I didn’t scare the pants off of him, but he did wet his pants. Could that be considered for a Marley?”

“I’d say so. Put it down, Clarice. Next up, Ichabod.”

“Thirteen! I went to a Wendy’s and started throwing Frostys at the customers. They all ran out screaming.”

“Ha, ha, ha, ha.”

“Good job, Ichabod!”

And so it went, the ghosts submitting their tallies and Clarice busily writing them down. Damien was down to the very last one. From experience, all the ghosts waited in breathless anticipation. Damien prepared himself. He was stalling. He looked up at the ceiling, down to the floor, and at the walls. He finally called for the last report.

“Uh… Wilbur.”

All eyes were on Wilbur as he stood up behind his desk.

“I… I didn’t scare anyone.”

“Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha…”

“That’s enough! We don’t belittle anyone here! We’re a team and we support each other. And, Wilbur, could you stop by my office tomorrow morning? I’d like to talk to you.”

Clarice put down another zero in Wilbur’s column and cast a sympathetic look in Wilbur’s direction. Every zero hurt her nearly as much as it hurt Wilbur.

Slimer put his hand on Wilbur’s shoulder as they left the great hall.

“Hang in there, pal.”

“I’m a failure, Slimer. I can’t scare anyone. I snuck up behind a woman sitting on a bench at the park today, and I was going to knock her hat off and toss it in a garbage can. But she looked so sweet sitting there, feeding the pigeons, I just couldn’t do it. Then I tried to scare some kids with the old standby, you know, a good ‘Boo!’, and they laughed at me. It was so humiliating.”

“They laughed at you, Wilbur? Oh, man, that’s rough. Maybe you’re just not cut out to be a ghost, Wilbur. You don’t have to be a ghost. Have you thought about the trades?”

“It’s just that my Mom and Dad were ghosts. Grandpa Willie was a ghost. Aunt Elvira was a ghost. I think it’s in my blood.”

“Wilbur, you don’t have any blood.”

“Oh, that’s right. I forgot.”

Damien’s Office-

“So, Wilbur, I’m sending you back to Dumbledore’s class. I think it would be good for you to revisit some of our basic techniques.”

“Sir, I’ve taken his class twelve times, and I’m not sure I can still fit behind one of those desks.”

“Dumbledore has salvaged a lot of hopeless cases… oops, sorry, I didn’t mean hopeless, Wilbur. The guy’s a magician. Maybe he’ll have some new strategies that could help you. I think it’s worth giving it a shot.”

“Whatever you say, sir.”

Wilbur’s Living Room-

Wilbur sat alone in the corner of a darkened room watching reruns of the 1950’s T.V. sitcom “Topper”. He thought a little late-night levity might help pull him out of the doldrums. It didn’t. He could only think of his sinking dreams of one day being a first-rate ghost going down the drain… which unfortunately also reminded him of his second career choice- a plumber.

He relived the humiliations he had suffered that day… ignored or laughed at by his “victims” and worst of all, being ridiculed by his peers. Maybe he had set his sights too high. Maybe he needed to settle for a less glamorous line of work. He recalled the wise words of Grandpa Willie when he sensed Wilbur’s aspirations may be set too high-“The world always needs a good plumber, Willie.”

Dreams are hard to let go of, and Wilbur had a restless night.

Dumbledore’s Classroom-

Wilbur stuffed himself into his chair and placed his notebook on his desk amidst the smiles and smirks of the noticeably younger and smaller ghosts. Dumbledore boldly strode into the room. A pointy hat, a shuffled walk, and a long white beard. He looked to be about three hundred years old, which was about right.

“Today we will work on the apparition, a basic yet one of our most reliable techniques to frighten people. But first I’d like to welcome a new student to our class. Let’s all welcome Wilbur. Stand up, Wilbur.”

Wilbur struggled to extricate himself from his chair.

“Ha, ha, ha…”

“Stop that! Let’s give Wilbur a nice warm welcome.”

“Welcome, Wilbur.”

“Raven, let’s have you go first. Do the slow-walk kaleidoscope of colors for us.”

Raven shimmered and shook with a shocking explosion of colors, pitch black, blood red, and blinding yellow, to the oohs and ahs of the entire class. Each student gave their own interpretation of the technique with critical commentary from Dombldore, and finally, it came down to Wilbur, who once again struggled to get out of his chair.

“Ha, ha, ha…”

“That’s enough!”

Wilbur walked to the front of the classroom. He knew the drill as he had done it many times before. Wilbur slowly swayed back and forth in the mode of a Hawaiin Hulu dancer as soft shades of pink and light blue floated around the room in comforting, soothing waves.

“Uh… thank you, Wibur.”

Haunt Haven-

Wilbur and Clarice sat at a picnic table in the shade of a sprawling elm.

“This is a pretty good sandwich, Clarice.”

“Thank you, Wilbur. Are you ok?”

“I’m alright, Clarice. I guess I’m a little down about the whole thing about not being able to scare people… and being sent back to Dumbldore’s class. It’s a little embarrassing. I’m a failure, Clarice. I feel like I don’t belong here. I don’t fit in.” 

 “Don’t get down on yourself, Wilbur. It just takes time. I’m sure it will all work out for you in the end.”

“You think so?”

“Of course! There are lots of cases where someone feels like they don’t belong, and everything turns out fine.”

“Really?”

“Sure, look at Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer, or the Ugly Duckling, and my favorite, Buddy the Elf. They didn’t fit in and look how well it all ended for them.”

“That’s right, Clarice. Thanks. But what do I need to do? Why can’t I scare people?”

“I’ve been giving that a lot of thought, Wilbur, and I think I know what you need.

First thing is your name. Wilbur just doesn’t sound scary.”

“My Mom and Dad gave me that name, Clarice.”

“I know, Wilbur, I know. But I think a scary-sounding name might give you a little confidence. Like they say, attitude is everything.”

“Do you have any suggestions?”

“I’ve already got one picked out. What do you think of… Bone Crusher?”

“Ooh, that does sound scary. ‘Wilbur the Bone Crusher’. I like it.”

“Uh… I think we leave the Wilbur out and just go with Bone Crusher.”

“Ok.”

 “And then the look. You just look too nice, too friendly. That face wouldn’t scare anyone.”

“But I can’t change my face.”

“Wilbur, Wilbur, Wilbur. You haven’t heard of our Makeup Department? You don’t’ think Vlad and all the others cheat a little on their look? Come with me.”

Manes Makeup Studio-

Wilbur sat in a chair with his hair spiked up in carrot-top fashion. Clarice was applying generous amounts of coal dust eye shadow while Wilbur strained his neck trying to see himself in the mirror.

“Fake blood. Just a little at the corner of your lip.”

Clarice added a couple of fake scars on the forehead and real dirt on both cheeks. The finishing touch was a rattling, spiked chain around his neck.

“What do you think, Wilbur?

Clarice spun his chair around so Wilbur could see the new look.

“Awesome! I about scared myself!”

Out and About the Town on a Chilly October Evening-

Wilbur, armed with all his new accessories, approached a man in the Walmart parking lot.

“Boo!”

“So what?”

Damien’s Office-

“Let’s go to Plan B, Wilbur. Dr. Lecter is the best shrink we’ve got. Maybe there’s something going on here that we can’t see. A lot of this stuff is mental. If anyone can help you, Dr. Lector can.”

“Whatever you say, sir.”

Dr. Lector’s Office-

“Lie down on the sofa… Wilbur. Wilbur? I’ve never met a Wilbur here. Are you sure your name is Wlibur”

“ Yes, it’s Wilbur.”

“So, Wilbur, what seems to be the problem?”

Wilbur spoke in a near whisper.

“I… I can’t scare people.”

“You’re kidding. You’re a ghost. What the hell’s wrong with you?”

“I don’t know. I just can’t scare anyone.”

“I can’t wait to tell my wife about this. A ghost that can’t scare people. Ha, ha, ha.”

“Well, do you think you can help me?”

“It’s a tall order, but I’ll try.”

Dr. Lector’s original diagnosis- Wilbur was just too nice. Dr. Lector dug deep into his tool bag and put Wilbur through a series of motivational drills. To build confidence, Wilbur put on a cat costume and scared the lab rats while ‘We Are the Champions’ played in the background. To break down his excessive kindness tendencies, Wilbur sat behind a screen and hurled scripted insults at interns in the psychology program. Finally, to bring out the inherent mean streak lying in the hearts and minds of all ghosts, Dr. Lector brought in his generic human-looking crash dummy and Wilbur punched the crap out of it.

“Good job, Wilbur. I think you’re ready. We’re going to start you out slow, you know, a nice easy target that should scare easily. There’s a group of Girl Scouts selling cookies on Cedar Street. Go get ‘em, Wilbur!”

Cedar Street-

Wilbur, now known as Bone Crusher, with tufted-up hair, darkened eyes, blood on the lip, fake scars, and rattling spiked chain… and brimming with confidence… approached the Girl Scouts.

“Boo!”

“Ha, ha, ha, ha…”

Damien’s Office-

“I’m sorry, sir. I guess I’m just a failure. I hear there’s an opening in the plumber’s apprentice program.”

“It’s ok, Wilbur, you did your best. You are who you are. But there may be a plan C for you.”

“Plan C? What’s that?”

“Well we’ve got a group of progressives here… my wife is one of them… who have been lobbying for a whole new program.”

“What is it?”

“It may sound crazy, but they’re talking about a new unit of friendly ghosts.”

“Friendly ghosts? Isn’t that an oxymoron, like jumbo shrimp?”

“You’d think, but I guess there’s a group out in Casper, Wyoming that’s giving it a go. I guess they're having some success with it. You might just be the guy to take the lead on something like this.”

Haunted Haven-

 Wilbur and Clarice are sitting at a picnic table.

“This is pretty good potato salad, Clarice.”

“Thank you, Wilbur. You sure look happy today.”

“I had a good day. I helped six people today and put smiles on the faces of eight more.”

“Good for you, Wilbur.”

“Little things, you know, like helping a lady find her cell phone and giving a kid some pointers on shooting a basketball. I played in high school you know.”

“Yes, you told me.”

“The best one was I found a little girl crying. I told her my favorite joke.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a knock-knock joke. I said ‘Knock-knock’. She said ‘Who’s there?’ And I said ‘Boo’. She said ‘Boo who?’ And I said ‘Oh, stop you’re crying.’ And she did!”

“That’s wonderful, Wilbur.”

“Get it? Boo-hoo like someone’s crying. Ha, ha, ha. That is so funny.”

“Yes, I get it, Wilbur. Very clever.”

“I like that ‘boo’ a lot better than the one I was trying to scare people with.”

“I’ll bet you do.”

“Say, Clarice, I’m looking for new recruits to join my friendly ghost group. Would you be interested?”

“I sure would. It sounds like fun.”

“We could, you know, work together, like a team.”

“I’d love that, Wilbur.”

Putting smiles on faces… including their own.

“Say, Clarice…”

“Yes, Wilbur?”

“Could I have another brownie?”

“Of course. And can I ask you something, Wilbur?”

“Certainly.”

“Does this mean you’re my boo-friend?”

“Absolutely!”