The Tale Of The Cynical Spirit

The Tale Of The Cynical Spirit

OR

Close Encounter With A Pissed Off
Poltergeist



  Ah yes, October 31st – Halloween. A magical time during which, legend has it, the worlds of the living and the dead are in closest proximity, thus facilitating communication between mortals and spirits in the afterlife.  It’s also a time when parents frantically scan their kids’ treats for such lovely gifts as marijuana brownies and LSD-laced gummi bears (Though, I must admit I have a sneaking suspicion that at least some parents horde the aforementioned brownies and gummi bears for themselves). Let’s not forget, however, that Halloween also presents an opportunity when every two-bit, self-proclaimed “psychic” who barely knows the difference between a Ouija board and a surfboard, gets it into his  head that he can contact the denizens of the hereafter. The huge assumption being, of course, that such dearly departed souls are just dying (no pun intended) to speak with them. No, definitely not a peaceful time to be dead, I would imagine.

  Speaking of amateur psychics, allow me to introduce you, dear reader, to Jerome. Jerry is a pudgy, rosy-cheeked young lad whose curiosity about the world around him is exceeded only by his monumental ineptitude. Whoever coined the phrase “A little knowledge is a dangerous thing” probably had Jerry in mind. An example of this was the time when Jerry, armed with his chemistry set and an unquenchable desire to make his mark on medical science, attempted to convert crystal meth into Sudafed. Well, to make a short story shorter, Jerry (as well as his two compatriots, whom we shall meet shortly) barely escaped the conflagration formerly known as his parents’ garage.

  Now, every adventurous youth needs at least two accomplices with whom he can bravely face disaster and the agony of defeat, and Jerry is no exception. Reader, say  “Hello” to Jimmy. Jimmy is the kind of eager soul who is up for just about anything. Anything, that is, until something goes horribly wrong, in which case he is the first one hightailing it out of Dodge while pointing the finger of blame in the opposite direction. Truly the personification of youthful courage which bodes well for the future of this great nation, wouldn’t you say?  When the finger of blame is pointed, it’s usually pointed at Davey. Dave, shall we say, is not the sharpest utensil in the drawer and, as such, ends up not only the usual suspect, but rather the ONLY suspect. Put another way, if Davey were playing musical chairs in a completely empty Giants Stadium, he’d still manage to be the only one without a seat.  This kid ain’t exactly blessed, to say the least.

  Under normal circumstances, Jerry and company would have been bitten squarely on their kiesters by the jaws of defeat. Not this night, however. No, tonight things are, for the first time, going to go very right for our three young heroes; too goddamn right, as a matter of fact.

  It was a rather quiet shift, reflected John Smith. Not too many calls, even with this being Halloween in the physical world.  Still, it’s strange to think of working a “shift” in a place where there is no sense of time. Was he manning the phone for 8 hours? 8 days? 100 years?  Who the hell knew? All John knew was that he sensed his relief coming on duty shortly and that meant Miller Time! Cool! It just so happened there’s a jam going on tonight. Janis Joplin, Miles Davis, Jimi, Stevie Ray, and Jerry Garcia are all scheduled to be in the lineup. Definitely not to be missed! “Now, if only…” thought John.  “Call on Line 2, John”  “Goddamnit!”  “Hello” “What?” “Do I want to increase my credit limit on my American Express card?”  “Hey pal, I left home without that a long time ago. Get lost!” “Goddamn séance marketers!” grumbled John.  The calls were starting to get to him. “Always the same bullshit” he thought.  The same idiots asking “When am I gonna die?”  “What’s the afterlife like?”  “What are next week’s Lotto numbers?”  “Jesus Christ! I’m dead, not clairvoyant!”  The worst part was spending an eternity explaining to these yo-yo’s that “Yes, my name really IS John Smith!”  Screw that!  Now, when people call, they’re talking to Patrick Swayze.

  Jerry, Dave, and Jimmy entered the bedroom; a room they had visited many a time to play Nintendo Wii, surf internet porn, and swill piss-warm Mr. Pibb.  Tonight, however, the room was empty and dark save for a solitary card table, three chairs, and a single lit candle. “Sit down” says Jerry, who then extends his hands, entreating his buddies to join hands with him.  “Fuck no!” exclaims Dave. “I ain’t holding hands with a dude!”  “Do it” commanded Jerry. “Go ahead” concurred  Jimmy. Davey finally acquiesced, while making the observation that “This is so totally gay!”  “Shhhh!” commanded Jimmy, gesturing toward Jerry, who’s normally flushed cheeks now assumed a deathly white pallor. “Man, he’s freakin’ cold!” cried Dave. Sure enough, Jerry’s hand, like the room itself, seemed to have dropped 25 degrees in the last 15 seconds. The candle, once brightly illuminating the room, faded in intensity until only the barest outlines of the 3 friends were discernible. “Well, this is it” thought Jimmy. “Whatever weird shit is gonna happen, it’s happening right, freakin’ now!”

         John had sensed the presence of his relief spirit approaching and was reveling in the fact that quitting time was near when the call came in.  “Call on line 2, Johnny!”  “Shit!” John cursed and glared at his phone, the lighted call button flashing, indicating that some one was trying to contact him. John punched the call button and immediately heard a disembodied voice chanting: “Oh spirit from the Great Beyond, we beseech thee to come to us…” John listened patiently to this inane drivel for about 2 minutes before deciding he couldn’t take any more.  “Aw,  for the love of Mike! Will ya stop with the spirit shit and just ask your questions, goddamnit!”

         Both Jimmy and Dave were rather taken aback by this poltergeist’s rather surly attitude, but pressed on, using Jerry as the conduit for their inquiries.  “Uh, who am I speaking to?” stammered Jimmy. “The name’s Patrick – Patrick Swayze” replied John, stifling the chuckle that almost always happened whenever he used that name. “Yeah” thought John, “Like the real Patrick Swayze wouldn’t have anything better to do, even in death, then to speak with these two morons”.  And thus began yet another dialogue between the living and the dead.

  John asked the first question. “How are you guys communicating with me anyway?”  Jimmy pointed to Jerry, now deeply in a trance-like state, and replied “Through him – uh, I mean my friend here – Jerry. He’s our, whaddayacallit?  Medium. Yeah, medium, that’s him” Now the good thing between about the wall between the living and the afterlife was that it was like a giant one-way mirror.  Spirits could see, and manipulate, the surroundings of the living while remaining invisible – something that John thought was especially cool. He surveyed the three friends while contemplating whether he should go for the gusto and really fuck with these guys or just play it straight and get the whole thing over with. John opted for the latter. 

         John eyed the rotund Jerry with an intense curiosity. “So he’s your medium, huh?”  “Yeah” replied Jimmy.  “Looks like an extra large to me, dude.” “BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”  John’s hearty laughter reverberated through the darkened room. Obviously, if John, aka Patrick Swayze, was going to be forced to work overtime, there was no reason he couldn’t have a LITTLE fun.

         Jimmy: “Uh, spirit – I mean, Patrick. I can call you Patrick  right?  Or is it Mr. Swayze, ‘cause I don’t want to offend you or anything but –

         John:  “Jesus Christ! Call me whatever the fuck you want! Let’s just get on with it, will ya?”

        Jimmy: “We have some questions for you.”

        John (sarcastically):  “No shit! I never would have guessed. Listen, why aren’t you guys doing what any other dumbas- I mean – red-blooded, young men your age - would be doing? You know, surfing for internet porn and texting your imaginary girlfriends?”

    Jimmy:  “Hey! I do too have a girlfriend!”

    John (chuckling, voice dripping with sarcasm): “Sure you do! That’s why you’re sitting here in a candle-lit room, holding hands with your bros, right stud?”

    “Great!” “Now even Patrick Swayze thinks we’re gay!” exclaims Davey.  John, buried his face in his palm and mumbled “Why me?” “Why on the last call?”  Exasperated, John pressed on. “Look, it’s your dime. What can I do ya for?”

    Davey: “Am I gonna die soon?”

    John  (shaking his head. “What’d I tell ya”, he thought): “Not soon enough, Ace. Next  question.”

    Jimmy: “What’s life after death like?

 
“What? Do all these living freaks read from the same script?” thought John.  “Everybody wants to know about the afterlife.” “Look, I could kill you, then I’d have to tell ya!” “Wait a minute! Kill you then have to tell ya – get it?” “BWAHAHAHAHAHA!” “God, I kill me! (yeah, already dead, I know). Thank you! Thank you! I’m here all eternity folks. Don’t forget to tip your waitress and…”

         Jimmy: “Uh, Patrick?”

         John: “Sorry man. I got a little carried away for a minute. Now, where was I?”

         Jimmy: “What about the virgins?”

         John: “Huh? What the fuck? What virgins?”

         Jimmy: “The 72 virgins. You know, in Paradise”.

         John: “Ah, a Fox News viewer, eh? My, this is going to be an intellectually stimulating repartee, isn’t it?”  “Look, that’s in the Q’uran. Ain’t no virgins here. Well, except, for maybe those 20 guys who just arrived here; the ones whose bus went off the cliff coming back from that “Star Trek” convention”.  “S’cuse me a minute, will ya.”  “HEY, GUYS! HOW’S THAT LIVE LONG AND PROSPER WORKIN’ OUT FOR YA?” “BWAHAHAHAHA!”  “Chumps!  Anyway, it’s a no-go on the virgins, dude.”

         Jimmy: “You mean you can’t tell us anything about what happens after we die?”

         John: (Sighing) “Look, you’ll find out soon enough, okay?”  “The living are so preoccupied with death. Why is that?”  “Ya think the grass is greener on somebody else’s grave – is that it?” “The  living have enough problems to deal with. War, sickness, poverty, climate change – these are all problems for the living world. The solutions can only be found amongst the living. It’s not as if no one tried to tell you the score, you know.  Socrates, Jesus, Mohammed, Buddha, Abraham Lincoln, Susan B. Anthony, Eleanor Roosevelt, Malcolm X, Martin Luther King, Jack and Bobby Kennedy, John Lennon – they all tried to show you the way. Those who weren’t ignored and marginalized were either tortured to death or were repaid for their efforts with an assassin’s bullet. So forget about contacting the dearly departed to ask for help; we have no answers for you. The living are going to have to start paying attention to the living. Oh, and one more bit of million-dollar advice I’m gonna give ya for free: Turn on the lights, blow out that freakin’ candle, and go outside; Hook up with some nice girl – or guy if that’s what floats your boat (‘cause we’re all God’s children here, ya know!); retire that Ouija board (or, better yet, use it to separate the seeds and stems from your stash), and lastly get yourself a six-pack of cold ones and freakin’ enjoy life, will ya? (Drink responsibly. Know when to say when. Thank you!). Here endeth the lesson. Now you guys already made me miss Janis and Miles Davis. I gotta run. Peace out!”

         Jimmy: “One more question, please!”

         John: “Jeez, what? Do you guys have unlimited nights and weekends Ouija board minutes or something? What?”

         Jimmy: “Can we contact you again?”

         John: “Aw hell. It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do. Sure! Knock yourselves out! Now, gotta run. Adios, muchachos!


And with that, the connection between the living and the dead began to close, but not before John was able to hear one more comment:

         Davey: “Dude, you forgot to ask about next week’s lotto numbers!”

John just shook his head and with a sigh of resignation, mumbled  “Man, I give up. I’m getting too old for this shit!”, then headed off in the direction from whence the opening chords to “Purple Haze” could be heard reverberating in the distance.























Copyright 2010 – Gene Mulhern