The Ghosts of Springhollow

The Ghost Captain and Son

It was Wednesday, and Grandma and Grandpa had gone to town. It was the perfect time for the girls to confront the ghosts.

They stood at the bottom of the stairs looking utterly ridiculous. With cycling hats covered in tin foil, metal lids from the trashcan for shields, and both wearing earplugs for communicating and infrared goggles, they stood at the stairway door debating their sanity.

“Piper? Is this a good idea?”

“Probably not.”

“Fine. Just checking.”

They stood a few more minutes listening to the sound of crashing overhead. Neither of them really wanted to do this, but something had to be done.

“Turd says we’ll probably die,” said Piper.

“Shall we go out screaming then?” grinned Pickles nervously.

“Sounds good to me!”

The girls let out blood-curdling screams, threw the door open and dashed up the stairs holding their shields in front of them.
The throwing stopped. The girls had caught the ghosts off-guard with not only their screaming but their ridiculous tin foil hats.

“What on earth are you supposed to be?” asked the old captain.

“Your worst nightmare!” growled Pickles in a wild attempt to sound menacing.

The old captain stared for a minute. “You just heard me? You’re not dead.”

“Our dads invented a communicator when they were kids so they could talk to ghosts.

The Captain tugged at his beard. It was obvious being a ghost wasn’t going to scare these girls. They were used to them. “And what’s that contraption over your eyes,” he asked.

“Infrared goggles,” replied Piper feeling much more confident now. “It allows us to see you.”

The Captain wasn’t liking this. The element of surprise was gone. The girls could see every move he made. “I suppose another invention of your dads,” he growled.

“Indeed they are!” said Piper with pride.

“Well,” growled the Captain. “What do you intend to do?”

“We’re throwing you out!” said Piper. “This isn’t your house. It belongs to Turd and our grandparents!”

“Turd?” laughed the son. He had been standing off to the side watching. “What kind of name is that?”

“Theodore Ulysses Reginald Davenport,” replied Piper. “He built this home, and it’s his. Not yours. Now get out!” she commanded.
“We’re not going anywhere, Missy. But you are,” said the Captain.

Just then, the son threw a book and hit Piper in the chest. It threw her off balance and she fell backwards down the steps.
“PIPER!” cried Pickles. “PIPER!!!”