The Spirit of Halloween

The Spirit of Halloween  

Now that I really am a ghost, I hate Halloween.

That's the whole story, in a nutshell.

Ten words that say all I want to say about Halloween.

I know it is very short but it really is all I need to say.

My father was American, so in our house Halloween was a big deal.

Was ... is. I don't know which word to use.

I suppose to be completely correct I have to say, 'The man who was my father is American.'

He still is. I am not. I was his son.

I think he also hates Halloween now.

Fortunately, in the country where he lives - where I used to live with him - he will not be bothered by children knocking on his door, saying, "Trick or Treat!".

Life has played enough cruel tricks on him. Looking at those happy children, and being reminded of his latest loss - me, his son - would be unbearable.

Not that he needs reminding.

Last year we enjoyed Halloween. This year, and every year from now on, he will not.

Dressing up as ghosts and skeletons seems hilarious when you are an alive, vibrant child. And why not? Ghosts aren't sad; they are funny. Fun-scary, like any imaginary bogeyman. Ghosts are imaginary. Halloween is a howl.

But they're not. And it is not.

Ghosts are real and unspeakably sad. Halloween is only a howl in the sense that it makes me want to howl at the moon: like a grief-stricken hound-dog.

My father was a writer.

Maybe he will be again, but it won't be the same. He will not recover his easy comic style soon. When I was a very small child, his ghost stories - acted out by him with horrendous growls and facial grimaces - made me shriek with excited fright. A little bit older, I came to see them as the wonderful joke they were; his telling of them made me howl with laughter.

Now, I just want to howl.

Life can be very cruel.

Are all the shortest stories sad?

I suppose not. After all, most jokes are actually very short stories.

But Ernest Hemingway's famous: "For sale: baby shoes. Never worn." is the shortest and saddest thing ever written. What could be sadder than a young life tragically cut short?

I suppose if the children dressing up for Halloween don't realise that ghosts are real - if real is the right word - they can't be thought of as being rude or mocking. But certainly, that is how it seems to us. Putting on a silly costume to pretend you are a deceased person is - to us - a sick joke. I know, that makes me sound like a real party-pooper. But put yourself in my shoes .... no, you can't, which is probably just as well because you really do not want to see the world from this, the saddest-possible, perspective.

For this reason, I am going to get my ghost-writer (who is typing this for me) to delete it. How can it possibly help, for any living person to read it?

Yes, it must be deleted.

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

Footnote from the ghost-writer.

When I started to write the piece above I thought it was just an idea I had come up with. Then, when I thought back, I remembered that I first thought of it during the night, so I light-heartedly blamed it on indigestion or, if I am honest, on having had a bit too much to drink.

But as I wrote it, I was overwhelmed by the sadness of it. I mean, to the extent that I had tears in my eyes, which made no sense if I was just typing up something I had dreamed up. It was too real.

I do not expect anyone to believe me but I became convinced - convinced - that I was writing down somebody else's words. That what I have written above was not just the product of my imagination. It is somebody's story, that I had to write down - had to.

A father and son had been torn apart. The tragedy of the boy's death haunted me. For the first time in my life I really understood what that word means.

I could not stop wondering who 'he' was; or rather, who he had been.

I had a few clues: A boy, who had died, since Halloween the previous year. His father was an author: Children's books? Presumably so, if they were amusing ghost stories. The father is American. Living where? A country which does not have a tradition of 'trick or treat' at Halloween. But that is most of the world, including my own country. It is not enough to go on.

And, in any case, even if I do search, and think I have found his father - an American author of ghost stories who is living abroad and has recently lost his son - what will I do? I can't contact him. What would I say?

"Your dead son has persuaded me - from beyond the grave - to write about him"?

The truth is that I am absolutely convinced that is what happened, but I can never tell anyone.

If it becomes known that I believe in ghosts - or at least one particular ghost, who got inside my head in order to get me to write his story - my reputation will be ruined. My career, which depends on me being taken seriously, will be over.

Initially it was an enormous relief when, at the end of the piece, I wrote that I would be going to delete it.

But then I found that I couldn't.

I just can't .... it seems too special.

For everyone's sake, I must delete this and forget, or try to forget, all about it.

Or is this still him, trying to convince me to delete it? Doesn't the world have the right to know about this unique experience?

I must delete it.

I must not delete it.

I don't know what to do.

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

I have decided what to do. I have found a website where I can make this public. That is probably where you are reading it now.

Everyone who reads this can decide for themselves what the truth is.

It is up to them - that is you, the readers - to believe me or not.

I know a sad, lost, young ghost spoke through me. You can believe it or not.

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

"The Spirit of Halloween".

1090 words

Giles Scott

October 2020

<scotspot@sybaweb.co.za>      

For Reedsy:

"Write about someone's first Halloween as a ghost."