The Angry Ghost and Other Stories

by Peter Spokes

  “Well, now for instance… they are sitting on the sofa to your left – no! Your other left,” I said a little irritably. “… Or at least two of them are.”

  “So, you only see two of them?”

  “No. The other one is standing… and dripping… by the door.”

  The consultant turned around again and after several moments turned back.

  “I see,” he said.

  I looked down. “I very much doubt it,” I said while thinking that with little future left before me, if he were to utter ‘I see’ one more time, I would wrap my hands round his throat and throttle him.

  Fortunately, he seemed to take up the undercurrents of my dissatisfaction and continued with…

  “Do you have any connection with the… deceased?”

  “Erm… absolutely not. I did not know them… at all,” I said shaking my head.

  I saw Mikey look up. “Hey, Mr Gibson; what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong,” I said.

  “Well, that’s for me to decide,” the consultant said.

  “No… I was talking to… the guy by the door.”

  “You can hear them and they can hear you? You can actually converse?” he raised his eyebrows and sat himself more upright in his chair. He seemed intrigued. “This puts an entirely different perspective on things. Instead of presumed anomalous visions and spurious aural input you are actually interacting with them and holding bona fide – at least in your mind – conversations…”

  “To a point… they are not the sharpest knives in the drawer,” I said.

  “How would you know that if you don’t know them?”

  “Well, I’ve… spoken to them several times now.”

  “So why do you think they talk to you? Would they talk to me?”

  “I doubt it.” I looked over at the doorway. “Hey, Mikey! Say something to my consultant. He thinks I’m crazy because we talk.”

  “My mum always said that people don’t talk enough…” Mikey said.

  “I doubt that she might have had this situation in mind when she said that…”

  My consultant looked at me, fascinated.

  “Are you talking to one of them?” he said.

  “Of course I am! Do you think me mad?”

  He said nothing for a while before, “What you really want to know is, is it Timmy… that could be causing these… let’s call them ‘manifestations’?”

  “That’s ‘Tommy’!” I quickly interjected. “It’s ‘Tommy’… Tommy the Tumour; ‘Timmy the Tumour’ would sound fucking stupid!”

  “Yes. Indeed, it would. Well, we want to know if it’s… the tumour… or something else.”

  “What else could it be?”

  He held up a semi-transparent sheet showing a skull.

  “It is not uncommon for someone in your condition to imagine things that are not there.”

  This is what I expected and needed to hear.

  “So, they don’t exist,” I said somewhat smugly.

  “Of course not. They are dead and so cannot exist – unless they are ghosts and you believe in them?” he said with a chuckle.

  “Hell no!” I said.

  “Mr Gibson?” Mikey asked from the doorway.

  I turned to him. “Go away.”

  The doctor continued. “Err… ‘Tommy’ is resting against the main artery stem within the parietal lobe of your brain. The parietal lobe is positioned above the occipital lobe and behind the frontal lobe and central sulcus.”

  “And that knowledge helps me how?”

  “Well, there are two parts to this particular lobe. One involves sensation and perception; and the other is concerned with integrating sensory input, primarily with the visual system.”

  I waited.

  “What I’m saying is either you are actually seeing things which are there – which is extremely unlikely; or your parietal lobe is misinterpreting what you are seeing.”

  “So, the last one must be it,” I said smiling.

  “Probably…”

  “Probably…?”

  “Well, generally, when the latter is the case the patient suffers with problems relating to colour, objects and other visual representations. It doesn’t ‘create’ things. Another part of the brain controls that.”

  “Maybe I’ve got another tumour?”

  “No. Not according to the scans.”

  “So what other option is there?”

  “Other option?”

  “Well, yes. You say it could be Tommy but if it is, it’s in the wrong part of my brain; or ghosts really do exist… so what’s the next option?”

  Just then the doctor looked up at the clock. “I’m afraid I have another appointment now.”

  Scene 2: My Corpses

  I sat in my favourite chair and looked over at my corpses.

  It had been several days but I felt sure I would see them again.

  I was right.

  I was staring at the bloody marks on the carpet left from Mikey’s feet as he moved this way and that before the chessboard. It’ll take some stain-remover to get that out, I thought. Luis was biting what little he had left of his nails – not to mention fingers – and Danny was feebly attempting to whistle but too many holes in his face made it clearly something that just wasn’t going to happen.

  It was laughable in a sad way.

  I could see they were unsettled.

  Finally, I spoke. “You didn’t take the pictures, did you?”

  They looked at each other.

  “No, Mr Gibson. We had a little disagreement…”

  “Yes, tell me about i… this ‘little disagreement’,” I asked knowing that this was not going to be good.

  They looked at each other like kids caught pinching apples.

  “We didn’t go back to the gallery. In fact, we never left it…”

  “Go on…” I said.

  Danny spoke: “Some pictures were bigger than others and I said we should take them.”

  “But…?” I said.

  He looked over to Luis. “Luis thought we should take the smaller ones as we could take more that way.”

  “And…?” I said.

  “Well, Mikey said we should only take the ones on the list you gave us…”

  I looked with some surprise at Mikey. “Well done, Mikey! The only one to follow my instructions…”

  “… But he lost the list so we were not sure which ones to take.”

  “You dolt, Mikey…” I said.

  “Hey, I wasn’t given the list; Danny had it…”

  “Don’t you remember me giving it to Luis?”

  “No you didn’t,” responded Luis.

  “Guys! Whatever… what happened…?” I said losing patience.

  No one said anything.

  I waited.

  “Mikey?”

  “We got into… a bit of a bust-up… over it…” he said awkwardly. “It turned quite bad.”

  “A ‘bust-up’! … ‘Quite bad’! You’ve lost body parts!” I said staring again with some disbelief at the road bollard still attached below Luis’ knee bone.

  “Well, there were medieval weapons on display… axes and swords.”

  I winced, “… Okay…”

  “… Danny came at me with an axe…” started Luis.

  “… That was only because you were swinging that Clayborne at me…” replied Danny.

  “It’s… it’s called a ‘Claymore’,” I interjected, “but continue…”

  “That’s it… really… Mr Gibson. Things just got out of hand… and I guess the rats did the rest.”

  “Out of hand!” I said looking at each of them. “The gallery was like a slaughterhouse! Not to mention the mental state you’ve put me in,” I added.

  Da
nny looked confused. “What do you mean? We got a few knocks and bruises… but… I’m sure… things will… grow back…”

  I paused as I often did nowadays before speaking to them. “The three of you do not exist… except in my mind.”

  “What’s that, Mr Gibson?”

  I shook my head.

  “Okay. I now know what happened but still cannot understand it. But anyway, I have some very good news.”

  They looked up, excited. “We’re still going to get our money?” asked Luis.

  “No, Luis,” I said slowly. “The paintings were not stolen and so there is no money – and you are dead.”

  “Oh yeah… I forgot.”

  “No. The good news is that tomorrow afternoon I’m having an operation to have something removed from my head.”

  “Is it your brain, Mr Gibson?” asked Luis.

  “What!”

  “Well, that’s all there is in the head… isn’t it?” he said looking for support from the others.

  “There are teeth… and eyes,” added Danny.

  “Are you having your teeth… or eyes removed?” asked Luis.

  “Why would you have your teeth and eyes removed, Mr Gibson?”

  “NO… NO I AM NOT HAVING MY BRAIN, TEETH OR EYES REMOVED, YOU IMBECILES!” I shouted. “I’m having a small tumour removed, and when done, I won’t see you again.”

  “So… you’re going somewhere?” Luis asked.

  “Where are you going, Mr Gibson? Can we come too?” added Danny.

  “NO, NO, NO, NO, I’M NOT GOING ANYWHERE!”

  I took some deep breaths. “I’m not going anywhere but once this operation is finished I will no longer ‘see’ you.”

  I watched them look at one another and surprised myself in experiencing a sudden ridiculous thought; what would they do without me? They were like children – naive and innocent – shit, so innocent.

  “Why would you do that to us, Mr Gibson?” Mikey asked.

  I was surprised how upset they appeared. Luis was wiping what was left of his nose on the back of his fleshless wrist.

  It wasn’t nice to see.

  “Well… you don’t exist,” I said. “You are in my mind.” For some reason, I actually felt some pain in telling them this.

  “What, all of us?” Danny said with some fascination.

  “Yes, all of you. Danny, Mikey, Luis; what you are… what you are doing… is quite impossible, but the tumour in my head is making it all seem real.”

  “I feel like I’m here,” said Mikey looking at the others, “… and I don’t have any tumour.”

  “Me too,” said the others.

  “No, it’s me who has the tum… Oh, never mind.” I said.

  I looked once again at each of them and felt oddly saddened.

  With some surprise I wiped my eyes from the sudden spurious emotion and looked up again.

  They were gone.

  Scene 3: Officer Waterhouse

  I suddenly took a deep breath and opening my eyes, I saw white ceiling tiles.

  I was lying in a hospital bed.

  The consultant stood nearby and approached.

  “Welcome back, Mr Gibson. All went well. The tumour is gone and I can guarantee that you’ll see no more of your imaginary friends.”

  Strangely, the last bit didn’t cheer me. I still remembered the sad looks on the fleshless faces before they left. They had seemed so real.

  I looked around the room half expecting to see something corpse-like sitting in a chair and smiling in the way that only a corpse can.

  But sure enough there was nothing.

  Several hours later, I was once again at home. I made a coffee and settled into my chair and sighed. I had always thought of Mikey, Danny and Luis as serious pains in the butt and yet I felt sad that as I was now ‘cured’, I would see them no more.

  I looked up as the doorbell rang and springing up I ran to the door. It was irrational to expect my corpses but I still found myself hoping.

  I opened the door to Officer Waterhouse.

  “Oh, hello,” I said disappointed at the lack of corpses but happy to see the officer.

  I invited her in.

  I sat in my chair and faced her across my chessboard. “How are you feeling, sir?” she asked with concern.

  “Not bad,” I said vaguely aware that I couldn’t say that I missed my cadaverous friends.

  I smiled to myself as I realised that I was now thinking of them as ‘friends’.

  “Do you mind me asking… do you live here by yourself?” she said tentatively.

  I nodded, “Yep. I like the peace and quiet and my own independence,” I lied.

  She looked thoughtfully at me.

  “Nobody should be alone,” she said keeping eye contact, “… and I’m so lonely…” she continued.

  I opened my mouth but didn’t quite know how to answer – still, I gave it a go.

  “Well…” I back-peddled hastily, “… when I say I like peace and quiet and my own independence, what I mean is…”

  “That’s okay… I didn’t mean to be forward and assuming…” she interjected.

  After a slight moment of awkward silence, I started, “Are you here because of my phone call?”

  She looked up suddenly. “Phone call?”

  “Yeah, I wanted to speak with you – if it was convenient.”

  “And what did they say?” she looked quite alarmed.

  “The chap said he didn’t know where you were but as he was new, he would ask around and get back to me.”

  She looked down and said nothing.

  She didn’t look happy.

  I felt I had made an error. “I’m really sorry – it was very forward of me. I’m sure you’re happily married to a six-foot-six husband with biceps the size of Washington…”

  “No… no, I’m not,” she said smiling.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

  “No, I mean I’m not married – happily or otherwise…”

  I paused for a few moments and then realised the truth.

  “You are not a police officer, are you?”

  “No… but I was,” she said.

  I waited but my curiosity got the better of me.

  “What did you do wrong?”

  “I got shot.”

  “Oh.”

  Fortunately – or not as it turned out – the phone rang.

  Bollocks, I thought.

  “Excuse me,” I said politely and lifted the receiver.

  “Chris Gibson…” I said looking over at Officer Waterhouse and smiling.

  “Hello…? This is Officer Davis at the precinct. You made an inquiry about speaking to an Officer Waterhouse?”

  “That’s right,” I said.

  “Well… err… are you a relative?”

  “I’m a close friend,” I said smiling over at the officer.

  She didn’t return the smile.

  “Well… I’m so sorry to tell you, sir, but she was killed in the line of duty six months back…”

  I slowly returned the phone to its cradle and wandered back to my chair.

  Officer Waterhouse simply stared at me.

  Her smile was gone and then she looked down.

  I said nothing for a while as I tried to make sense of the situation. If the operation to remove Tommy had been successful… then…

  Officer Waterhouse looked up and I saw tears in her eyes and my heart went out to her.

  “As I said, I’m so lonely. No one can see me.”

  I said nothing.

  She continued, “I’ve always loved the paintings in the church so often hang around there. I was so surprised when I saw you looking at me… you were actually seeing me.”

  I paused again. There was so much that didn
’t make sense.

  Finally, I started, “I have recently had a tumour removed. I was told that it was the cause of my seeing things that are not there. It is curiously ironic that I now miss those things that once I could see. I wish it could be put back so I could be with my friends again.”

  Waterhouse looked up at me again and her smile crept back. It was so nice to see.

  “I don’t suppose your friends were… lacking… in the flesh department…?”

  “Actually…”

  “I see them at the church… They’ve recently looked quite sad…”

  “You have seen them!” I said staring unbelieving.

  “I have…”

  I looked down. “I thought you were looking at them when I first met you.”

  “I saw them…”

  “So, it never had anything to do with my tumour?”

  “I doubt it… we’re ghosts,” she said simply.

  Just then the doorbell rang again and I rose to answer it.

  On opening the door, I was met with three decomposing, rotting figures.

  I reached forward to Mikey and, despite an experience that could best be described as ‘squishy’, I held him in a tight embrace.

  “Erm… you okay, Mr Gibson?”

  I stood back and took a deep breath. “Shit, yes! Come on in,” I said grinning like a Cheshire cat.

  As they entered my sitting room they looked over at Waterhouse. “Hi Pamela; okay?”

  Waterhouse looked up and smiled. “Good timing…”

  They all sat down and I looked at each of them in turn.

  I never thought I would be so pleased to see them.

  I noticed that as before, Mikey was staring at my chessboard.

  “Do you know how to play chess, Mikey?” I asked.

  “Of course, Mr Gibson.”

  “Really! Would you like to teach me?”

  “You bet.”

  “Call me Chris,” I said to the four ghosts.

  Alice and I

  Scene 1: My Sister

  It was late as I quietly opened my bedroom door and headed – with some anxiety – down the old and dusty stairs. The candles had been put out a while ago and so I crept carefully from the attic bedroom towards the bedroom of my sister.

  The reason for my anxiety was that my parents didn’t like me – which I suppose is why I now inhabit the attic as my playroom and bedroom while my sister frequents the lighter and larger rooms below.