Home For the Holidays

Home For the Holidays
(TheFluffGhost)


“Ah, the remorse, the GhostWriter did moan, to have to spend one more Christmas alone.”

Sighing to himself, GhostWriter closed the latest entry in his diary and replaced the latest volume back in its place amongst its five hundred thirty seven brothers.  One thing was to be said for an endless existence; there was no shortage of writing material.

Knock knock.

“Suddenly I heard a rapping on my chamber door?”  The tired poet asked himself, a slight smirk on his face.  “But who would come calling at this time?  Walker?  No, I’m safely on parole.  Ember?  Nah, she’s doing some mall thing.  Hmm.”  Shrugging to himself, GhostWriter went over and opened the door.

“JIMMY!”  Shouted the eerily similar-looking spirit in the doorway before immediately locking him in a bone crushing hug.

“R-Randy?”  GhostWriter stuttered incredulously.  “What in the Ghost Zone are you doing here?”

“Aw, come on Jimmy, we’re family!”  Randy shouted buoyantly as he dropped off his coat on a nearby rack and plopped down by the fire.  In HIS chair.

“GhostWriter, Randy.”  He corrected briskly, picking up his steaming glass of tea before Randy took that too.  “One’s name should fit oneself.  ‘I think, therefore I am’ and all that.”  Randy snorted as he pulled out three oranges and started juggling them absently.

“Call yourself what you want, you’ll always be Ittle Jim-Jim to me.”  He replied, grinning at the look of horror on his younger half-brother’s face.

“Still don’t like Oranges, huh?”  He teased.  “Really, Jim, you limit yourself too much.  You should go more into general authorship like the rest of the family.”

“We’ve talked about this before.”  GhostWriter said angrily, snatching the offending fruits out of the air and hastily tucking them away.  “The rest of you can stay in the dull, drab world of prose writing if you want.  But I intend to make my words sing!”

“Uh-huh.”  Randy responded absently as he pulled out and checked his silver pocket watch.  “Still as melodramatic as ever, I see.”

“What do you want, Randy?”  Writer asked irritably, pointedly ignoring the watch.

“I was in the neighborhood and thought I‘d stop by.”  He responded simply, wiping off his watch with a purple cloth before replacing it.  “It’s Christmas.”

“That’s it?”  Writer asked suspiciously.  Randy grinned.

“Well, I had heard this rumor going around that you had that Phantom kid knocked for a loop last year.”  Writer actually managed a blush at that, but just shrugged.

“You DID!”  Randy shouted, amazed.  “How’d you manage that, Jim?”

“Writer.”

“Whatever.”  Randy allowed.  “Answer the question!”

“I used my poetry.”  Writer answered simply.

“With the keyboard?”  The poet nodded.  Randy’s face grew confused.  “Then how’d the kid get out?”

“I accidentally typed…typed…”  GhostWriter shuddered.  “Uh, you were juggling them.”

“Orange?”

“AH!  Don’t say that!”  But Writer’s voice fell on deaf ears.  Randy was rolling on the floor, howling with laughter.

“See, this is what I’m talking about!”  He gasped.  “Poetry is limited.  Inferior.  He’d have been stuck good if I’d been in charge.”

“What was that?”  Writer asked quietly.

“Poetry is inferior.”  Randy answered calmly.  Writer‘s eyes flared.  “This proves it.  But then I already knew prose was better.”  The room began to shake.

“WHAT!”  Screamed Writer, flying up and summoning his keyboard.  “I shall show you proper respect, false patron of the arts!”

“False, false…“  Randy sputtered, indignant.  His own eyes flared.  “Prose is just as beautiful as poetry ever was, and infinitely more flexible.  You shall learn the error of you ways, vile servant of whimsy!”  Screamed the older ghost, flying up and summoning a board of his own.  An unkindness of ravens flew straight at him, clawing at his face violently.

“NEVERMORE!”

“HA!  Feel the wrath of Poe!”  Shrieked GhostWriter.  A second later his triumphant laughter was cut short by a flurry of crossbow bolts, apparently coming from a group of musicians carrying hidden weapons.

“And who are you the proud lord said that I must bow so low!”  Screamed Randy.  “Bow before epic brilliance!”

In response, a tiger flew forth from Writer’s board and killed the musicians.

“Only a cat of a different coat!”  Returned GhostWriter.  “In this case, a bright burning tiger!  Your epic held much poetry, brother!”

“Fear the Red Queen!”  Randy shouted.  An entire army approached, behind a towering mad woman.

“Why they’re nothing but a deck of cards!  They shall fall before the Jabberwock!”  The dark creature came whiffling through the Tulgey Wood, burbling as it came.

“War and Peace!”

“AHH!”  Screamed GhostWriter, holding his head and reeling in pain.  “The long, unending, tedious, boringness of it!  It BURNS!!!”  He fell back gasping.  Randy laughed in triumph.

“DOCTOR SUESS!”

Now Randy Screamed.  “It rhymes, but those are not words!  Nothing makes sense any more!”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Danny flew through the Ghost Zone towards the GhostWriter’s lair.  He’d thought long and hard about this, and knew that it was only right that he officially apologize for his behavior last year.  Writer really had helped, after all, and after he’d destroyed his greatest work.

BOOM!

A small explosion blasted him back several feet.  The ghost boy stared in shock as the very air around the vast library seemed to smoke and steam.

“Taste a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury yet signifying nothing!”

BOOM!

“Have at you!”

BOOM!

Backing away slowly, Danny turned took off towards home as fast as he could.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Several hours later, GhostWriter licked his finger and used it to put out a burning lock of his hair.  His task complete, he turned and glowered at his half brother.  Randy just grinned back.

“Well, well, well.”  Walker said.  “Breaking the truce again.  I think you two will be spending a long time together.”

“Hey, look on the bright side.”  Randy said as the guards walked away, pulling Writer into a side hug.  “You put up a good fight, bro!  I’m proud of you.  And at least you’re spending Christmas with family.”  He shuffled around in his pocket.

“Orange?”