Spooks on Toast by Sam Gannon
TALES FROM A HOVEL
OR
SPOOKS ON TOAST
Well they say all good things come to an end and I feel that it’s time I said goodbye to my hovel tales and the hovel. I’m not so much as leaving as being pushed out. The house has always had a resident ghost and he along with a few mates have up until now been fairly quiet. Ah! I hear you say, how does she know he’s male? Well, when the mattress sags beside you, something pokes you in the ribs at 3am breathing huskily in your ear and you know you’re sleeping alone you tend to get the picture.
The trouble is that it’s ok sharing with him, he doesn’t make a mess and leaves the remote control alone. However, the downside is that you know he’s never going to go halves on the bills, leave anything remotely edible in the fridge and no matter how much I beg he refuses to don a white sheet and rattle a few chains when I have unwanted guests, I even tried to get him to get in touch with his poltergeist side, thinking that while he was throwing the ornaments about I could throw him a can of Pledge and a duster and he could do a bit of housework. No such luck! He merely creates one of his cold spots and gets huffy. Neither does he like change. Mum moved a few paintings and he got a tad upset and started moving them about, in the end she gave up and put his favourite picture back on the wall he wanted it on, he’s been happy ever since.
The phantom cat on the other hand is a lot easier although he/she does have a habit of running under your feet and you do feel a twit shouting at something that isn’t there. We’ve affectionately called her Sooty. Unlike the other mewing horrors that occupy the house she doesn’t need feeding, doesn’t pinch the best chair and most of all doesn’t embarrass you by breaking wind when you’ve got visitors. All’s ok until our other black cat (living) watches a horror film with you and you find her sitting on her back legs, eyes as wide as saucers going “look mum, ghosties!” It’s enough to make me hide under the duvet.
But what I have had enough of is her charging through the house in the wee small hours of the morning. I always thought ghosts wafted and not galloped around as if they were wearing hobnail boots and no matter how many times I check under the bed, inside the wardrobe there’s nothing there, so I’ve just decided to call it quits and let them get on with it. It’s either that or a gypsy caravan with a thickset hairy cob with the temperament of a diseased camel. I quite fancy the open road, so I’m busy practising “allo me dearie, you’ve got a lucky face!” It conjures up all sorts of images.
So it’s goodbye to dodgy plumbing and shorting electrics, it’s wide open spaces, butterflies skimming on the breeze, the smell and taste of freedom and if I’m lucky I’ll just make it to McDonalds before they close.
Wishing you all well and happy holidaying and if anyone’s got a pattern for knitted tea cosies and a way of making pegs send it along I’ll pick it up as I trundle past.