Ectoplaz Sam's So-Called Unlife

The Perfect Ghost Story?

Y’know, I don’t get it any more. My job used to be so easy. I mean, you don’t expect a lot from your standard, speak-‘n’-shriek, common-or-garden ghost, do you?
Just the usual. Y’know, a mirror gag, the old ‘doleful wail’. For the kids, I’d work up some chain work. I like kids. Always wanted to settle down some day with the right girl. Course, that ain’t gonna happen now.

I don’t hate my job. Keeps the wolf from the door, yeah? Not like there’s anything else I can do. I mean, I’m a ghost, aren’t I? Unless I wanna go sweettalk some old medium crank into hiring another ghost for ‘spirit’ work, I’m stuck here. It’s a long ladder. But seriously, why do I have to start with the guy’s toilets?
I been working these cubicles two years now. It stinks. Though you’d expect that, I guess. Toilets aren't exactly famed for their fragrance. I just wish, one of these days, I’ll get ‘the call’…

“Good news Sam! The Crawford mansion’s got a vacancy!”
Or something. God, what would I give to work there. An arm and a leg, if I had any left. You know, they’ve got a squad of twelve working that place in shifts. Round the clock spookery. But seriously, the place is huge, and you get major boo, yeah? You might get the odd estate agent walking in, or a mob of dumb teens with their cheap booze and loud music. It’s like taking candy from a baby. Or so I’ve heard…
A friend of a friend used to work the Crawford place while one of the regulars was on holiday leave. She just couldn’t get over the dust, and the mirrors. It changed her. She works as a big shot now. Spooky Woods, outside Belle Hill. The Grey Lady? That’s her. Not the most original of girls, but man! The charge she got off that place!
That’s all I’m asking for, really. A chance to prove myself. Easier said than done, working in a dive like the one I’m stuck with.

I suppose you’re wondering how I died. Don’t be ashamed. Ask. One of the few things ghosts have to talk about is how they got to be ghosts in the first place.
I was cycling home from the swimming pool one night-- I’d been working there, on and off, taking kids for lessons and that kinda thing. My light was bust, and I hadn’t bothered to get a new one yet. My fault, I guess. Couple of girls driving back from the pubs early hit me. Smashed me up pretty bad.
Still, good thing about being a ghost is that you can look like however you used to look like. Like, for one scare I could be twenty again, or ten, or ten weeks. Sometimes I do the whole baby thing, just to freak ‘em out even more. So anyway, you get these guys walkin’ round with their heads under their arms or whatever. It’s all showghostship. When they’re done for the night they stick it back on. Probably the only people to let their hair up after working.
Another thing you might be interested in: it’s hardly ever the same headless man or whatever that it was the first time somebody saw it. Odds are, the headless guy will’ve been promoted within a few years and then replaced. So if you saw any ghost ten years ago, go back to the place you saw it and it’ll probably be a different guy or girl. Headless ghosts are easier to replace ‘cos they don’t have that many distinguishing features, aside from not havin’ a head. And as I’ve already explained, any ghost worth his weight in ectoplasm knows how to take his head off.

It was partly the way which I died that landed me here. People upstairs didn’t want me in contact with women, in case I got bitter and went violent. Admin are trying to cut down on the number of poltergeists these days. They lead to recognition, which leads to exorcisms. It’s enough to make ya shudder. If people believe that ghosts exist, our credibility as scary goes, overnight. Then we’re all outta jobs.

I get four types of guys coming in here. You gotcha norms. Guys’ll come in, use the urinals, maybe try and shake something outta the rubber machine in the corner. Don’t laugh- everyone does it. Maybe somebody’ll get lucky one of these days. Never seen it work, but damn it if every guy over the age of 14 doesn’t try and swipe a handful of johnnies when they come in here!
Second type is pushers. I don’t like ‘em, myself. They scare half the norms away. Bad for business, y’know? They gimme the shivers. And I’m a ghost, for cryin’ out loud. I try and get rid of ‘em quick, if they come in here. Makin’ faces outta the tilework or something short and sharp does the trick. Most of ‘em scare pretty easily. Maybe they been sampling the merchandise. I dunno.
Third type…well, you know the sort. Public toilets? Some of them hang around a lot. Got my ‘regulars’. I don’t bother with them any more. They don’t bother me, I don’t bother them. It’s not like I have to watch. Plus, I feel kinda sorry for ‘em. I’m not here outta choice either.
But you do get the odd one bringing twelve, thirteen year olds in. I do what I can to keep them out. It’s not gonna stop them. I’m not stupid; I know that. I just have to feel like I’ve tried. That’s all I can do. Just ‘cos I’m dead doesn’t mean I don’t care. I care more than some of the living! Just, I notice these things, yeah? Not like I’ve got anything else to concentrate on. Well, this is my job, isn’t it? Or at least, until something better comes along. Maybe I’ll get extra credit for enough good deeds. ‘Time off for good behaviour’ sort of thing. I was never in the Scouts. I would’ve made a good Scout.
Anyway, the real problem is the teens. They know about me. They ain’t scared any more. I try and give ‘em the works, and they laugh in my face. I mean, what am I gonna do? Throw a toilet roll at them? I’m no poltergeist. Those guys never get promoted. Hurting the punters never gets you points.
They even know my name. Every time they come in, they’re all: “Hey Sam, seen any scary movies lately?” Damn punks.
And of course, every time an inspector comes along for evaluation, one of them comes in. How am I supposed to prove I can scare if they don’t let me prove it against someone normal? The system’s screwed up. Gets me down, sometimes. Bad for my boo.

Maybe you should look me up one of these days. Well, I’m not listed in the Yellow Pages or anything. But Rose Square Public Toilets? That’s my haunt. Next time you’re around, call in. If I can get an inspector along at the right time, I might have a shot at the Crawford place. It’s all about timing. You’ll play along, won’tcha? Course ya will. I’m just trying to do a job here, same as you. People help each other out, don’t they? I’m not like, technically a person any more, but you know what I mean.
Anyway, it’s been real. But I’m back on the job now. Closing hour. First wave of drunks coming up. Wish me luck, eh? Till later then. ‘Ectoplaz’ Sam