I've heard Mother's friends whisper, "Poor Edna, she didn't have the looks to catch a man." I was under the table playing with my cars. I don't care, she is one cool pal.
She didn't scream when I brought Toad in the house and he got loose. She helped me find him before Grand, her orange marmalade cat, made a meal of him. Aunt Edna bought a special house for Toad at the pottery. We put him in her garden so Toad could eat the bad bugs.
Nights she lets me stay up late and watch scary movies on TV. She laughs at the freaky parts while telling me it's make believe.
Aunt Edna knows about make believe stories. She makes up stories to put in books.
Her house is old with thick walls made of stone. There is a window of colored glass by the stairs where the sun shines through in different colors. It's fun to move my hand and make it green like a snake, blue like a specter in a fog, yellow like a slimy serpent, or red like blood on a pirate's blade.
A padded bench sits under the window where I stretch out and look at a picture book with Grand curled beside me.
I'm not afraid when I see the ghost. Who can be scared by a ghost that sits on the top step sobbing like a sniveling sissy?
I know it's a ghost because I can see through his grey self to the banister.
Grand isn't having any part of the silly thing. He swells up like a balloon having a hissy-fit. I'm not sure what a hissy-fit is, but that is what Aunt Edna said the woman across the road was having one when she found my garter snake in her mailbox.
She was hollering and jumping up and down while Aunt Edna got it out. Now she opens her mailbox with a broom handle.
I try petting Grand to calm him down. He shoots across the landing, through the ghost and down the stairs without touching the steps.
The ghost turns his head. Gives a hiccup without covering his mouth and squeaks, "That tickled."
"Why are you blubbering? It's enough to wake the dead."
Mother yells that when I slam the backdoor. Sounds good on my tongue, 'wake the dead.'
"Don't want to be dead. Don't like being a ghost. No one will play with me."
"But a ghost can't be seen or get in trouble. They don't have to take time-outs. You scare people."
"How can a ghost scare people?"
"Sneak up behind them and yell boo."
"Boo. What does that do?"
"Boo is ghost talk. Say it, Boo!"
"Boo. Did that scare you?"
"No, that lily-hammered little boo wouldn't scare an old shoe."
"Why scare a shoe?"
I'm about to explain I made it up when a horrendous crack of thunder tattles the window.
Dumb ghost jumps up. Puts his hand over his ears. Races down the hall plunging through my door.
As I open it the silly fool dives under my bed. All I can see are his bare feet sticking out like Grand's tail does when he hides under the sofa.
I'm not supposed to call a ghost a fool, but that's how he's acting. Besides, I heard my dad say it about a neighbor so it can't be bad. Not like other words I can't say.
I like big people words, like 'horrendous,' which means great big. It makes my mouth pucker.
Aunt Edna went to the store. I've got to get this ghost out from under my bed. If I tell her about him she'll think I'm telling a horrendous whopper.
How do I get rid of a ghost? If I grab his feet to drag him my hands will ball up into fists cause he's a fog.
I crawl in beside him. The idgit is howling like a dog with a thorn in his paw. The floor under the bed is dusty. I start sneezing.
"Why are you hiding? It's a thunder storm."
"I'm scared," knucklehead blubbers.
"Of what? Storms can't hurt you."
"Yes, they can. That's how I got killed. I was playing in a tree." A loud hiccup stops his story.
My nose answers him with a sneeze.
"Go on. You were playing in a tree and . . . ."
"Lightening came down from the sky. Last I heard was a crack of thunder."
"You can't stay under my bed. You must hide."
"Where?'
"Don't know." I sneezed again. "I'll think of something."
I scrunch out and run down to hall to get the vacuum cleaner. I drag it into my room. I know how to get rid of the scardy cat ghost who can't do anything, but hide and cry.
I plug the cord in the wall. The motors roars. The ghost come flying out, Scuttles into a corner.
I lift the quilt and stick the hose under the bed, running it up and down as I've seen Aunt Edna do. When I finish I step on the little button to shut it off.
I turn to the ghost. He's sniffing. Wiping his nose on his sleeve.
"What's that?"
"It's a vacuum cleaner. I'm going to suck you up in the bag and throw you away."
I walk toward him waving the tube like a magic wand. Don't want a ghost who is a scardy cat.
"No. No."
"Fly out the window. My aunt doesn't want ghosts who cry and can't say boo in her house."
"I'm scared."
"Can't be scared. You're a ghost."
I stomp the button. He runs to the window and jumps. I put the vacuum cleaner back in the closet and slide down the banister.
Aunt Edna is in the kitchen.
"I heard the vacuum. What were you doing?"
"Getting dust bunnies out from under my bed."
From our forth coming collection of ghost stories for all ages, Cauldron Tales. Nash Black
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