Christmas Ghost 6

“Come on, hurry up, hurry up, even if this is time travel we don’t have all night.” The gray-clad ghost picked up its robe and its pace, pulling EE behind him.

“Aren’t you supposed to be silent and mysterious?” asked EE.

“That’s what everybody things, but nope. That was just the day Father Time bet me I couldn’t go a day without speaking. Twenty pounds, ca-ching! Anyway, here we are.”

They passed through a wrought iron gate and stopped in front of a rectangular tombstone. EE looked down at the name, carved in Comic Sans MS, size 24.

“No, no!” EE cried, falling to his knees.

“Fraid so,” replied the ghost, shoving some unmown grass aside with his brand new Nike sneaker. “See the date? Now let’s see what’s happened since your future death!” The graveyard faded away to the interior of a bookstore. EE heaved himself up and panted over to the bookshelf.

“A Spider’s Guide to Catching Fleas? Sinner’s, Theive’s, and Hel? How to Fite Depression by Cook Lint?” EE scratched his muttonchops. “These sound familiar.”

“Yes, Evil Editor.” The ghost’s voice grew solemn. “They were in your slush pile when you died—and no one ever rejected them.”

EE’s eyes grew wide. The bookstore faded away to his dark, musty bedroom.

“So,” the ghost said, pulling out a folder. “In light of the future, the other ghosts and I have taken some initiative on your behalf. Here’s your new gym membership, complete with personal trainer, and be sure to eat your fruits and veggies.”

EE took the gym membership by the corner and held it like a dead fish.

“Oh, and we rustled up a nice rejected stamp, just for you.”

“I don’t know,” EE said. “I rather like the sound of Sinner’s, Theive’s, and Hel.”

--_*rachel*_