Oh, Damn

ghost group at Hardwick House, Hawstead, Suffolk, England 1884

“Oh, damn!” The ghost said, contemplating the wheezing, struggling man on the floor. “Sorry! Sorry!” He exerted himself to become more tangible in order to help the portly man back to his feet.

Red in the face, the man glared at the apologetic spectre.

“Just what do you think you were about?” he demanded.

The ghost would have blushed had he been able. “Sorry! It’s just that so few of the living come by anymore and there are quite a few of us spirits in this place and so we’ve become rather competitive, you see, and -”

The man seemed to puff up even more, his red face shading more into purple. “D’you mean to say that you’re contesting one another to scare the daylights out of unsuspecting people?” He shook a finger violently at the ghost, who glided back a step or two in alarm. “Don’t you realise such things could get out of hand? You could give someone a serious turn and then where you would be? Spectres like you are the reason honest house agents like myself have a difficulty in finding owners for these ridiculous relics and more than one ghost has gone wanting for a place to haunt when their castle falls down about their heads for lack of proper maintenance!”

“Sorry! Sorry!” the ghost said again. “Terribly, awfully, sorry. Really. Wasn’t thinking, is all.” He floated closer and brushed at the man’s suit. “All over now, though, right? No harm done, eh?”

“No harm done? No harm done?!” The finger came out again to stab at the air, then suddenly, the man’s eyes rolled back in his head and he fell bonelessly to the floorboards.

The ghost, startled, crept closer. “Excuse me? Are you alright?” He reached out a transparent hand and pushed at the man’s chest. The man’s eyes flew open, he took a great, gasping breath, and then his eyes snapped shut and the breath blew out of him in a gust. A moment later, a portly spirit emerged from the fleshly chrysalis, finger still raised to berate.

“Oh, damn!” the ghost said.

Seen and Heard

copper and nickel plated bb pellets

She was still asleep. No, she wasn’t.

She stood on one foot and scratched the back of her heel with the other. What was she doing up? Oh. Toilet.

She started to pull open the bedroom door, then stopped, realizing the Victorian decorations on the door frame, on the iron knob, were soft looking, out of focus. Glasses. Easier to find the way to the toilet while wearing glasses. As she took tiny, scooting, sleep-steps back to the bedside, she became aware that there was light leaking into the bedroom through the partially open door. She could hear her mother and stepfather talking, probably as they sat around the dining table. Absent-mindedly, she picked up her glasses and slipped them on, then walked quietly back to the door. An opportunity to eavesdrop on adults should never be bypassed.

“We just got here,” Danny was saying, “and we’re already out of money.”

“First and last on this place took most of it,” Mom replied.

“Ain’t been able to find work. Need to buy a job and I don’t wanna hustle for it.”

Mom laughed. “You don’t have the figure for it anymore, anyway.”

Danny didn’t laugh with her.

“Okay,” Mom said. A chair creaked and thumped as it moved back from the table. A cupboard was opened and closed. Something put down on the table.

“Shit,” Danny said, his voice resigned.

“Where do you want to do this?”

“San Pedro. Drunk sailors by Shanghai Red’s. I know the area good.” His soft Southern accent made the poor grammar sound somehow acceptable.

Her bladder reminded her with a sharp rebuke why she was awake in the first place, and she pulled open the door to stand in the lighted room beyond.

“Hey, kitten,” Danny said.

“What are you doing up, baby?” Mom asked.

“Bathroom,” she replied. “What are those?”

Danny was holding a nylon stocking open at the top and Mom was using a teacup to fill it with metal beads.

“BB pellets,” Danny told her. “They use them in BB guns.”

“We’re making a blackjack,” Mom said.

“What’s a blackjack?”

“If you hit somebody over the head with one,” Mom was still pouring BBs, “you can knock them out.”

She thought about this, decided she didn’t want to know anymore and walked away to the bathroom. When she came back, she didn’t look at the table, but went directly to the bedroom door.

“Want Mama to tuck you in?

“No, thanks.”

“Okay, sleep tight, baby.”

“Sleep good, kitten.”

She shut the bedroom door and took off her glasses. The room was once again out of focus and softer. It was too bad there wasn’t such a thing as glasses for your ears.