Short Short Thinger II

and it seemed that as soon as i closed my eyes they were open again. but the other side: hel/​nirvana/​heaven/​purgatory/​hell what­ever you call it, was kind of bor­ing. just shades of dead folks walk­ing around look­ing ap­a­thetic. it sucked. i’d rather ex­pected a par-tay.

so i went back.

and now i’m stuck, ghost­writ­ing in rather strange ways. i can pos­sess things now. for in­stance, since i have no cor­po­real ex­is­tence i had to pos­sess this com­puter to write. its pretty fun flick­ing around elec­trons. i guess i’m a lawn­mower man. but its harder to con­cen­trate with noth­ing to keep my ether held to­gether but my will.

you don’t re­ally need ex­or­cism or any­thing like that to get rid of ghosts, just dis­tract them, then turn on a fan.

an­other thing, i thought i was just on the other side for a mo­ment or two, but when i came back i was al­ready old dry bones. you see, the eas­i­est spot to reap­pear is in your old body. i guess an affin­ity al­ways re­mains. but i’d long since rot­ted and all that was left in my os­suary were my bones and an an­ti­so­cial spi­der.

once i got the hang of be­ing ethe­real it was pretty fun. i can go through walls, but not with ease. will­ing my­self through things takes a lot of en­ergy, thats why when you see a ghost come out of a wall they are all pale. nor­mally we look more along the lines of a col­ored over­head trans­parency. i can move as fast as my thought across open spaces how­ever.

i thought i’d check out my fam­ily, just for old times sake. they were all dead too. so i be­came one of those an­ces­tral ghosts roam­ing and moan­ing the halls of the gothic castle. or not quite. ac­tu­ally i just chilled in the houses of my family’s de­scen­dents. every once in awhile when i wasn’t pay­ing at­ten­tion they would bump into me and get a chill.

why didn’t they see me? that’s easy, peo­ple only see ghosts when they know to look for them. its hard to catch one of us by sur­prise. af­ter all we are pure will. it still got bor­ing af­ter awhile. there is only so much you can do as a spec­tre. i could have picked up the whole rat­tling chains and wail­ing thing but in­stead i de­cided i’d go find some moun­tains and roam around the peaks and val­leys.

af­ter awhile i’m sure i’ll start to get the hang of it, my spirit will melt into the land and you’ll be able to hear my chuckle on crisp au­tumn evenings. it’ll prob­a­bly just sound like rustling leaves, but it’ll re­ally be me.

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