One's Fun but Two's a Party

         I lived with him for two years now. He's a ghost. You could say he's a friendly ghost, but he has his off days.

         I awoke to a loud crash in the kitchen. Ghostie had shattered a dish.

         "Beat it!" I yelled, but then I looked at the clock hanging on the wall. 7:23 - I was late!

         So that meant Ghostie had woken me up for work. I got dressed and went to work. Sometimes having a ghost in the house isn't such a bad thing.

         As I left, I yelled into the air, "thanks, Ghostie. See you when I get back."

         The work day was a bore, and when I got back home I found a disturbing sight. There, on the coffee table in the sitting room, was shredded newspaper clippings of letters that spelled out: stop calling me Ghostie. My name is Daryl.

         So my ghost's name was Daryl. I had to start calling him that.

         "So, Daryl, why are you here?" I asked, not sure if I would receive an answer, but just talking to talk.

         Suddenly, as if a fan had blown them, the clippings on the table whooshed through the air where they landed in perfect alignment. Now they read: don't ask questions. I'm just a simple ghost.

         "OK," I said.

         I realized that the room had suddenly grown quiet and so I glanced to the record player sitting on a side table near the fireplace.

         "Daryl, could you turn on some music," I said, and as the words spilled from my mouth, the needle had fallen on the record, and music began to dance through the room. However, the music coming from the machine was composed of violins, violas and other string instruments. It was Classical music.

         "I'd rather stick to rock and roll," I said. As if by magic, the record, held by an invisible hand was smashed onto the table, and was promptly broken. Then the record fell to the ground, shattered pieces littering the floor. A new track floated onto the machine, this one more suited to my tastes.

         "Was that necessary?" I questioned.

         No answer.

         Later that night I went to bed. During the night I heard footsteps, but disregarded it - I was never alone.

         The perturbing fact, though, was that I heard talking. Talking? No, that wasn't Ghostie, he couldn't talk. I heard more chattering, and soon realized that there were intruders in my house. I flew from my bed, and ran to my closet. I closed the sliding doors gingerly and sat in the dark. There was a gap in the doors and I looked out.

         Two men walked into the room, both dressed in black and wearing face masks. One had a bat and the other had a shiny pistol.

         I began to whimper, and whispered to myself, "Ghostie, where the hell are you?"

         The shorter of the men heard me,"What was that? I heard something."

         "Nothing you fool"

         Wind whipped through the room and then the shorter one spoke,"I feel a bit sick. I need to sit."

         "Are you kidding me," the other scolded.

         "No, boss I - " and then he puked. All over the floor, my bed, on the wall, and even on his partner. I stifled a laugh with my hands and continued watching.

         "What the hell? Why don't next time you bring a barf bag if you can't handle it?"

         "Sorry, boss."

         Then the boss, as if barreled into by a major league football player, flew backwards into the wall where he fell, then slumped over. Ghostie was helping!

         "Uh, fudge," the sick one mumbled. Then he was lifted into the air and then thrown onto his partner who was still stumped over on the floor near the dresser. "Uh," both moaned.

         Then a flower vase floated into the air, and bashed itself over each of their heads, knocking them out.

         Time after time Ghostie had helped me. I walked over to the two men, kicked their feet, and pronounced them knocked out.

         "Ghostie, come help me carry them outside."

         Then one of the intruders opened their eyes and yellled, "my name is Daryl, not Ghostie. I already told you that."

         "Can you just help me bring one of them outside?"

         Before I could get a hold of either of them, both were lifted by invisible hands and carried out of the room.

         Ah, thank goodness for ghosts.