Booley

t was a very small ghost.

I was rummaging in my sock drawer, searching for my Halloween socks, the black ones with the orange Jack O' Lanterns knitted on the cuffs. I moved a pair of argyle knee-highs, and there was the ghost, curled up in a ball like a small white kitten. At the touch of my fingers, it unfurled with a start, and shot out of the drawer, making straight for the top of the bedroom drapes, where it bobbed gently in the air like a little lost cloud.

I closed the drawer, forgetting about the socks, and went downstairs. "We have a ghost." I announced.

My husband, who always thought me a trifle dingy until I had my first cup of coffee, peered over his morning paper, "Uh-huh. Look, I know Halloween is your favorite holiday, but aren't you carrying this Trick or Treat business a tad too far?"

My hands shook. I poured myself a cup of Maxwell House, wishing it was a double shot of Scotch. "Frank, I'm serious. Put down the paper."

Slowly, the paper decended, draping over his cereal bowl. "There are no such things as ghosts."

"OK, then you go up there and tell that to our guest." My voice quavered. I gulped the coffee, wincing as the hot bitter liquid raced down my throat.

He shot me a shrewd squint. "What time of the month is it?"

Men! "Oh for Pete's sake, Frank. Every time I say something that throws you for a loop, you ask me that same stupid question! I do not have my period. But we have a ghost...upstairs...in our bedroom. If you don't believe me, go look for yourself."

Something in my voice must have caused him to reconsider. Or maybe it was because my eyes were all bugged out and my hair was standing on end. Frank stood up. Tossing the newspaper on his chair, he headed for the stairs. I trailed behind, chasing goosebumps from my arms with the palms of my hands.

It was still there, perched on the drapes like a truant parakeet. "Son of a gun." was all Frank could croak. "Son of a gun!"

"Is it that time of the month for YOU?" I mocked. He dug his fists in his eyes, then looked again. "It's still there."

"No kidding! " I sneered. "Now, what do we do? I don't want a ghost in our bedroom. Not even a small ghost. In fact, I don't want a ghost in the house at all."

"Why? You worried he might not be paper trained?" A sudden fit of hysterical giggles seized my usually dignified husband. "Maybe you're worried he'll eat us out of house and home?"

Our arguing must have disturbed the dimunitive spectre, because it started to drift from one side of the drapes to the other, its small head, (at least, I think it was its head) bobbing up and down like a cockatiel's. We stared at the ghost, and the ghost stared back. After a moment, Frank whispered, "Do you hear that?"

"What?"

"It's making a noise..real soft. Listen."

I strained my ears. Sure enough, I heard it too, whirring like the purr of a cat. Booo, booo, booo.....

"That does it. " I turned and headed for the stairs. "I'm going to get the broom and shoo him down. Maybe we can chase him outside like a bat. Keep an eye on him."

"Yeah." Frank sat down on the bed. The ghost perched above the drapes.. Booo, booo, booo...

I came back waving the broom like Don Quixote wielding a lance. "You open the window, and I'll take a swat at him. Maybe he'll fly outside."

"Alice...It's a ghost. Why would he need an open window? Ghosts are supposed to go through walls and stuff. "

"How the hell do I know? Just open the damned window. It's Halloween.. Maybe he'll hear other ghosts outside and decide to pay them a visit."

"All right-all right!" Keeping a wary eye on the small blob of white mist above his head, Frank raised the window. Outside the crisp autumn air smelled of burning leaves. High up in the pine tree outside our bedroom window, a crow hailed the morning with a series of racous caws.

"Stand back." I gingerly prodded the drapes with my broom. The white blob tensed, shivered, and darted from the curtain rod to my open closet, disappearing between my favorite red sweater and an old purple robe. "Damn.." I muttered, "Now what?"

Frank eyed the closet. "I don't know? Maybe we moth ball him until he passes out?"

I wasn't amused. "Very funny. I'm not going into that closet after that...thing. It can stay there and rot for all I care."

We went downstairs to regroup and plan our next strategy. "What about an exorcist?" Frank wondered.

"I think an excorcist is for demons." I poured a second cup of coffee, and one for Frank. "Our little visitor appears to be harmless, at least for the moment. How about a psychic? They're supposed to be able to clean houses..of ghosts, that is."

"OK. Where's the phone book?" Frank pulled the heavy yellow volume from the bookcase next to the fridge and began to thumb the pages.. "Hmmm......here! Here we are. How's this one sound? Madame Grisel...Palms, psychometry and scrying. Specialty: Finding lost items and loved ones.."

"No. We want to LOSE something, not find it. Try another one."

"OK, here's a possibility. Anna Zelenska. Tarot and spirit communication."

"Pay dirt. We'll call her."

Just our luck...Anna was out of town. Her daughter said she was at a psychic fair 300 miles away. Mrs. Zelenska would be back tomorrow, and would call us to set up an appointment. In the meantime, we were to go about our daily routine and try to ignore our guest.

The afternoon was uneventful. The ghost stayed in my closet, and I stayed downstairs.

Things changed with the advent of evening. I filled a large bowl with Halloween candy, and placed it by the front door. Soon the neighborhood children would arrive, each dressed as his or her favorite storybook or animated character. Clowns and princesses, Barbies and Barneys, Terminators and Tweety Birds, they would march up to the door and hold up their plastic pumpkins and paper sacks, into which I would toss miniature candy bars or foil wrapped chocolate kisses.

Frank was the first to spot our tiny spirit floating above the handrail by the stairs. "Looks like our little friend wants to join in the fun."

I grabbed an empty paper sack. "Maybe if I'm quick, I can snatch him up and send him home with one of the kids." I crinkled a small bag of gummy worms, "Here, ghostie... Want a treat?"

It drifted a little closer, wafting over my husband's recliner as it took a zig zag course across the room. "Nice ghostie.," I crooned. It edged closer.

I swung the sack in a neat arc and bagged the bashful spirit, but it oozed out the top before I could twist it shut. "Damn," I muttered, watching helplessly as it soared to the top of our grandfather clock, booing just loud enough to voice its displeasure with my feeble attempt to entrap it. Booo, booo, booo...

There it stayed for the rest of the evening, watching raptly whenever the children came to the door, leaning around the topmost finial on the clock to get a better look.

By 9:30 the children stopped coming. I turned out the porch lights and picked up the bowl, marching it to the kitchen so I could put it out of sight, lest I eat most of it and wake up with a chocolate hangover.

My husband, who was working a crossword puzzle at the kitchen table, did a double take as I entered the room. "It's following you."

I looked over my shoulder. Sure enough, there it was, floating in the air like a magician's hanky. "This is ridiculous. If that woman, Anna what's-her-name, Zelenska?.... doesn't call me by 10 a.m, I'm calling someone else. I'm going to bed." I stomped upstairs, leaving Frank and the ghost to work the crossword puzzle.

Three hours later I woke up. Frank was next to me, snoring like a buzz saw. I rolled over to give him a jab in the ribs so he'd quit.

Our little guest was in bed with us, curled around Frank's head like a turban, nestled in the pillow like it had slept there all its life. It even snored... sort of. bbbbbooo, bbbbbooo, bbbbooo....

Breakfast found me bleary eyed. I glowered at Frank when he walked into the kitchen, wearing an odd, lopsided grin. "Guess where Booley slept?" he said. I noticed that our guest dogged him like a vapor trail, close on his heels.

"He slept on your head. I watched the two of you for half the night." I replied. "Booley? You've given him a name?"

"Yeah. We can't keep calling him 'the ghost', can we?"

"Wait a minute, Frank. He's a ghost. I mean, it's a ghost. A pest, not a pet...right?"

"Well...he's kinda cute, don't you think?" Frank wore an odd expression. I hadn't seen that look since before our dog Misty died.

"Frank..."

"Well, wouldn't he make an easy pet? I mean, he doesn't eat anything, and he's probably pretty clean."

"Frank, I...."

"Aw, c'mon Alice. Can't we keep him?" I swear, Frank looked just like our son Randy when he brought Misty home that rainy Autumn night fifteen years ago.

The phone rang. I stalked over to it and yanked the reciever off the hook. "Hello? Oh, yes...Mrs. Zelenska..." I shot a glance over to my husband. The ghost had perched on his shoulder and was nuzzling his neck.. Damn. "Yes..I did leave a message with your daughter."

Another glance... Frank reached up to scratch the ghost, and I watched in disbelief as the little creature shivered in delight, even though Frank's fingers closed on empty air..

"Hmm...Oh I'm sorry, Mrs. Zelenska. I thought we had a haunting problem, but I guess I was wrong. So sorry to have troubled you. Yes...Yes...Thank you...Goodby."

I hung up the phone, and sighed. "All right, all right.... You can keep him."

The ghost did a gleeful back flip, and raced around the room, skidding to a halt next to the salt and pepper shakers. Frank's eyes glowed. "Thanks, Alice."

I sighed, "Booley, huh?"

I wonder what the neighbors will think.

Booo, booo, booo......