Ghost Story

(Warning: Parental guidance suggested. Frightening images.)

 

 

So as not to disturb, a fine gentleman and his respectful wife tip-toe in through the back door of a community meeting already underway. The group of at least a couple hundred people are seated in circular formation. There appears to be no open seats, so the man lifts two stacked chairs from the back of the room, first placing one on the floor in a new row, for his beloved wife, directly behind the last line in the circle. She smiles sweetly in gratitude and sits, bringing her attention to the leader speaking in the center of the room. In her periphery, she is aware that her husband had placed his seat next to hers—but then sees him suddenly bolt back out the door whence they came.

 

She thinks this to be odd, peculiar behavior.

 

 

 

And then, most reluctantly, she quietly shakes her head. She understands.

 

For the love of all that is good, decent and holy, she wants to disbelieve. But there is no denying the ghastly-air wafting, a stench so wretched, so wrong and heinous that it begins taking on a physical black-green, smoke-monster shape—a ghostly apparition as one might see in a horror film. A frightening blob which then morphs in and out and back into a faux gentleman shape, much like a human chalk outline at a murder scene—a blurry human shape wearing Rainbow Sandals and a salt-and-pepper goatee. Like a contagion, the billowing, ever-changing infectious mass grows larger, spreading into the surrounding rows of chairs and beyond. In a wave, the bystanders begin to gasp and in zombie-like unison, with upturned noses, they begin looking side to side, confused and terrified.

 

The searching, horrified eyes land on the abandoned woman, who holds her breath while still managing to smile sweetly, as she waits the return of what’s sure to be her sheepish ghost.