Nobody likes a smartass. That’s what the ghost told me when it came to my house. The whole neighbourhood was being initiated in the third phase of the conversion, and I was the only one who had refused.
The ghosts had spent the past week campaigning the neighbourhood. Pamphlets being stuck on walls, demonstrations being held. Very noisy. Keep off my lawn, I told them.
It was a good deal. Abdication of responsibility. An everlasting chance to be in the front seat of somebody living your life to the fullest.
The rest of the people acquiesced rather quickly, the ghost told me. You’re the only one left, sir. Now you don’t want to be left behind, do you? You don’t want to be the only one who’s outside, looking in.
I pointed out the sign on my gate. It said, NO SALESMEN OR HAWKERS PLEASE.
The ghost gave me a shake of the head and left. I think it was more concerned about itself. It would have to wait for the next phase.
The conversion happened yesterday. Last night, the neighbourhood, now all possessed by ghosts, lit a bonfire in the street and danced naked and howled. It looked like fun. I took off my clothes and tried to join in, but they threw me out.
The ghost was sitting on my awning, a bit like a gargoyle. It shook its head at me and flew away. I lit a small fire on my lawn to get warm.