Fun And Games

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
A paranormal investigator gets more than he bargained for. A humorous short story.

Submitted: August 16, 2016

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Submitted: August 16, 2016

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Fun And Games.

 

Who does this guy think he is? He just walks into my house with his bag and his case and he makes himself right at home.

 

Well, I’ve got news for you, mate. This is my home not yours and I’m gonna make sure you regret ever coming in through that door.” That’s what I say from across the room but he doesn’t seem to hear me. Good! That’ll make the fun so much better.

 

I’ll give him a while. I’ll let him settle into a false sense of security. It’ll be easy for me to tell when he relaxes a bit. And when he’s sitting there, expecting nothing, that’s when I’ll make him aware of my presence.

 

Ah, now, look at that. Straight into the kitchen to fill up the kettle. I see he’s brought his own mug and coffee too. And look, even his very own teaspoon to measure it out with. I’m gonna have to have just a little game – a spot of warming up.

 

So I’m standing right beside him, way up close, but he’s oblivious. He’s turned on that tap and the water is starting to flow into that kettle. All I have to do is stretch out a hand, extend a finger and block and unblock the end of the tap. The water makes an extremely satisfying, ‘Glomp, glomp’ sound. He’s not bothered though; just turns it on and off a few times. A cool one, then. He’ll be blaming it on the old plumbing but I’ve got so much more to hit him with.

 

This is going to be the most fun I’ve had in decades! But I’m gonna have to rein in my impatience and spend a bit of time observing. That’ll give me a chance to get to know him a bit, a chance to assess his strengths and weaknesses – always a handy thing to know when the games begin.

 

So he’s made his coffee and he’s heading back to the study. That seems to be the room he’s chosen to set up in. Fine by me! It is by no means a mansion, this residence of mine, but it is quite spacious. Four large rooms downstairs, four bedrooms and a bathroom above. It’s pretty old, a hundred and fifty years or more. Maybe it’s not in the best condition; nobody’s been around for years to carry out any maintenance after all, but it’s my home and I love it. And it is going to take more than some.....bozo to get me to leave.

 

I give him a few minutes to settle down then head over towards the study. The door’s not quite open enough so I’ll give it a gentle push. Ah, that satisfying squeak of rusty hinges! Got him as well! I saw him pause, start to look around. He’s not quite as oblivious to my presence as he’s making out.

 

Of course I didn’t have to do that at all. Doors, walls, windows -- they’re no barrier to me as I can pass straight through them. As easy as blinking, as they used to say, only in my case I’d have to say easier.

 

He’s unpacking some really interesting pieces of equipment from his case. This is much smaller stuff than the last couple of imposters brought with them. And most of their junk is still laying around here somewhere if he just bothers to look. It was all just too big and bulky for them to collect and move quickly when I made them run. Ah......good memories!

 

But that was then and this is now. This one, I think, might be more of a challenge. But that’s good! It’ll give me a chance to stretch my abilities, to exercise my imagination. And I have been getting kinda bored here alone for......I don’t know exactly, but a long time.

 

He’s paused whatever it is he is doing, picked up his coffee cup. I blow gently across the top of it and smile at the ripples this produces. Oh, he’s a cool one though. Just frowns and puts the cup back down without taking a sip. I did notice a slight tremor of his hand though, so not quite so cool as he is making out he is.

 

Now let’s have a bit of a snoop at what he’s putting out on my desk. A rectangular thing that flips open and lights up at the press of a button. He’s busy pressing down those....keys, I guess; kinda like a type-writer, but different. He must have finished now ‘cause he’s back in that case pulling out more bits and pieces.

 

Hmm! This time it’s some squares of plastic. I watch him as he looks for places to put them around the room. And then there’s this other bit, a funny shape, that he attaches to what I presume is the main piece of equipment. He’s back to pressing more keys then he starts waving his arms around. This guy is weird. A light is now flashing on his screen.

 

I’m gonna have a go too. See if I can make those lights dance. I quickly float around the room, backwards and forwards in front of those plastic squares. And, yay! I did it! I do believe I made those colours dance more than he did. Is that a jealous frown I detect on his face or is it that he’s finally admitting to my presence?

 

Guess I’d better introduce myself then. It would be sort of rude not to and Mama had always insisted that I be polite. I drift down to the ground beside him and give a little cough. He doesn’t seem to notice but I’ll make my introduction anyway.

 

Nice to meet you, mister. My name’s Bertram. There was another part to it but I don’t remember that now. You can call me Bertie.” Is he ignoring me? “While you are a guest in my house please try to be polite. After all, you and me are going to have a lot of fun.”

 

Okay. He’s ignoring me, not telling me his name. Fair enough, I can play that way too. I puff out a breath (okay, a ghost breath). This blows his hair back and gets his interest. Off he scuttles to the desk to inspect for flashing lights. I’m not going to give them to him this time. Now, if he’d been a tiny bit pleasant I might have been more inclined to give him a reward but now I’m just gonna make him wait.

 

And so the hours pass. I’m used to time, time and yet more time. He, on the other hand, is not. I’ve watched as he’s busied himself at the desk; I’ve looked at his expression as he’s studied that screen, just waiting for those lights to flash again. Not gonna happen, mate! Not for a while at least. And now his interest is starting to wane. He’s growing bored, less attentive. I think he’s about to go exploring.

 

Okay, maybe I’m wrong. He’s just sat himself back down. Ah, now look at him. His eyes are getting heavy. If he sits there for much longer he’s not gonna be able to keep that sleep at bay. He’s really gonna have to make his move.

 

If I could rub my hands together right now I would. This is gonna be so great!

 

So now he’s standing up and opening his bag. A torch! Not quite the same as the ones I’m used to seeing but that is clearly what it is. He flicks it on and off to make sure that it is working. And what’s this? It looks like some sort of gun but I’ve never seen one like it. He’s probably thinking he’s invented a ghost gun....Pah! I’ve got news for you, buddy. There’s no such thing.

 

Off he goes, out of the room and down the hall. I’ll just give him a few minutes then I’ll get him back again. It’s so simple. All I have to do is this.....

 

A wave of my hand and the lights flash. And there’s noise now, too. Oh, we’re gonna have ourselves some party soon. Music and lights – it’ll be like one of those discotheque things.

 

Anyway, he’s back but he’s too late. His screen is all still and blank again. But it’s got his interest again. He’s busy working away at those buttons, trying to find out what was going on. I think it’s time for something a bit more interesting so I’ll float on up those stairs and move this game up to the next level.

 

Into the bedroom above the study and I’ll just push that chest across the floor a bit. There’s no carpet so I’m rewarded with a nice scraping sound. Bozo’s on his way – yep, that’s what I’ve decided to call him since he never bothered to give me his real name. I can hear his footsteps, he’s coming up the stairs slowly and cautiously. I make the door slam loudly and that speeds him up.

 

It’s unnerved him too. There’s no window open, no breeze; no explanation as to why that door slammed shut. He’s glancing around, looking. But see, I’m standing right in front of him, hopping from one foot to the other and waving my arms. He’s totally oblivious until I manage to make a twirly little wind that tugs at his hair. A flapping curtain and he’s off, straight down those stairs, straight back to his disappointingly blank screen. He’ll be back.

 

And I’m right. Here comes the torch beam and look – Bozo’s brought his gun! I lift the blanket. He turns, aims and presses the trigger. No bang. But there is a hum, a shift in the air. This is not something I’ve come across before.

 

I make the curtains billow out at him. I can see he is scared but he stands his ground. He points that weapon of his and, even though he can’t see me, he catches my arm and it stings. Not fair. I’m a ghost and ghosts can’t be hurt. He’s thrown down the gauntlet, declared war, but that sting is not even going to slow me down.

 

I gleefully loop around the room, causing flapping and flopping in my wake. I slam the door and watch that expression change as I push the chest against it. He’s raising that gun thing again but I’m through the door and half way down the stairs before Bozo gets to press that trigger.

 

While he’s still upstairs, struggling to move that chest so he can open the door, I’m down in the study having myself a party. The faster I glide around the room the quicker those lights flash. And that music! I can speed it up, slow it down, then up the tempo again just like that. What a shame my Mavis isn’t here to share the fun with me.

 

Now I can hear that chest moving, that door opening. I hear Bozo’s feet pounding down the stairs – careful, lad; you wouldn’t wanna fall and break your neck now, would ya?

 

I could have it all dark and silent when he finally dashes into the room. I could, but I don’t. I let those lights keep flashing. I let that music play. He’s firing off that gun thing of his in all directions, clearly rattled. I don’t know if he’s spruced himself up for the party in some strange and bizarre way but his hair is standing on end all over his head.

 

I know I shouldn’t but it’s just too tempting. I lean right into his face and shout, “Boo!”

 

He can’t hear me, I know that, but he looks like he’s been slapped round the face. He’s picking up that bag, throwing in that gun. And just look at the way I’ve got him shaking. Now don’t be blaming me, he was the one that wanted to play mean, remember.

 

Away go the squares; he’s forgotten one so he can’t be that clever at the counting. So, there goes my party. No more lights, no more music. That monitor thing has been put away. He’s putting it back in that case. I zoom towards him and he drops it. Has it broken? I don’t know. He doesn’t know. But that’s what he gets for bringing the fun to such an abrupt end.

 

And now he’s gone without even so much as a thank you or goodbye. He’s let himself into my house, put his stuff in my room then he’s just packed it all up without so much as a word. He must be one of those so-called gatecrashers, except there’d have been no party without him.

 

Well, Mam taught me to be polite so I’ll say it anyway. “Goodbye, Bozo. Thanks for the spoon, the mug and the coffee. And most of all, thanks for all the fun and games.”


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