The Nightmare Before Halloween

What a night! Drizzle and despair, death and desolation! Darkness has fallen over the land, and October has driven everybody indoors to whine and complain about the weather. The terrible weather suits me just fine, for I’ve never felt more unalive! 

A good day, in short. No external writing assignments in sight, and I’ve also unplugged my fax machine, so I can continue writing my latest novel in peace. This time, I'm trying a stream-of-consciousness technique.

The working title of the book is “Ghost of the Cloth”. It’s a riveting story about a young ghost choosing a suitable sheet to wear from his grandmother's linen closet while other ghost relatives argue nearby. I'll describe the difficulty of making a choice over a whopping 900 pages. This is sure to be a massive hit! Hmm, let's see... "I’ll tell this secret to you alone, this linen I have chosen will never be my own…”

The doorbell rings!

Oh, for crying out loud, who could that be at this hour? How do I look? Is my robe clean? Dare I go to the door looking like this? Oh well, what does it matter what I look like? It's probably just some alarm system salesperson, it would be good if they were scared by my appearance and ran away. Well, I'll quickly check in the mirror, and smooth out the worst wrinkles...

The doorbell rings again!

Coming, coming! This place is a mess! I'll swiftly tidy up as I walk to the door and open it… Good evening, what can I do for you?

A group of children in costumes is standing at the manor door. Lightning flashes and thunder rumbles in the background.

Children: Trick or treat!

O.G. Ghostwriter: Oh, the horror! Is it Easter already?

Witch Child: It's not Easter, it's Halloween, and you have to give us candy, or we'll cover your manor with toilet paper and rotten eggs!

Mummy Child: Yeah, so give us candy… or else!

O.G. Ghostwriter: Is that so? No candy for you when you threaten me like that. In this country, you are only allowed to beg for candy on Easter, as we don't celebrate Halloween! If you want candy, you must give a decorated Easter twig in return. No twig, no candy!

Werewolf Child: If you don't celebrate Halloween, why are you dressed as a ghost?

O.G. Ghostwriter: A ghost? Listen here, you little kid. I've been wearing the same wardrobe for centuries, and I'm certainly not going to change my appearance based on society’s demands. This garment is tried and true, suitable for every occasion, and weight-adaptable!

Mummy Child: Yeah, yeah, we don't care. Are we getting candy or not?

O.G. Ghostwriter: You are not!

He slams the door shut.

O.G. Ghostwriter: Trick or treat, bah! Humbug! How dare they demand candy... I actually have candy in storage, probably from the time of the French Revolution. Maybe I should go look for it... where could they be... Aha! Found them in the utility closet right next to a rusty bucket. Hmm, a bit tough, and covered in cobwebs and dust, but they're still quite good, yes, these will definitely cause cavities...

The doorbell rings!

O.G. Ghostwriter: Won't those brats ever learn? I'll take this bucket, fill it with water, and when I open the front door, I'll throw the contents of the bucket on the beggars! Ha ha haa!

The doorbell rings again!

O.G. Ghostwriter: Just a moment! All right, the bucket is full. Time for a trick!

He goes to the front door, yanks it open, and throws a bucket of water over a male figure standing there.

O.G. Ghostwriter: Ha-HAA! A-haa? Oh no, I'm terribly sorry, I thought you were a trick-or-treater, let me help you wring out your hat...

Male Figure: A goodly eve, my friend of yore! Wert thou, perchance, cleaning? My intent was a sweet surprise, but this hour, I see, doth brook no welcome. A lesson for us all: Let a message fly before the guests arrive!

O.G. Ghostwriter: William? William Shakespeare? ... or rather, his ghost? Oh right, tomorrow is All Saints' Day, and tonight the deceased rise from their graves... and apparently come to disturb me. Do come in.

Shakespeare: Hark! I have not seen thy face for ages past! By all the stars, thou art preserved as freshly as a bloom on May Day! How many centuries have fled since last our tongues did wag? Five hundred years, perchance? 

O.G. Ghostwriter: Yes, time flies when you’re having fun. Now cut the crap and tell me what the hell are you doing here?

Shakespeare: In the long passage of these many years, I have had time to ponder all sorts of things –

O.G. Ghostwriter: Like how I actually did most of the work for "Romeo and Juliet" back in the day, and still didn't get my name anywhere, right?

Shakespeare: Let sleeping dogs lie! I, at least, don't dwell on the wrongs I did to thee, and nor should thou. And need private matters be taken so personally?

O.G. Ghostwriter: If that's supposed to be an apology, I suggest you go back to your grave and practice!

Shakespeare: I did not bother to come to thee to quarrel, but to ask a favor of thee. 

O.G. Ghostwriter: Well, spit it out then.

Shakespeare: My intent is simple. I did but ponder publishing a certain work, posthumously…

O.G. Ghostwriter: ...and let me guess. You want me to write it for you?

Shakespeare: For Heaven’s sake, no! The book is perfected, and hath no need of an outsider’s voice! My sole necessity is such; I need an aide to make my book known virtually, for I am sorely vexed by such earthly toil. I need thee to conduct amusing electronic theater shows and converse digitally with my darling adorers.

O.G. Ghostwriter: So you want me, who has written various literary masterpieces, to promote you on social media?

Shakespeare: If such a task doth not appear too burdensome for thee. 

O.G. Ghostwriter: A writer's job is to write magnificent works of art, not to waste their talents in the depths of social media! I write books that last through time and solar storms!

Shakespeare: Oh what fools these nonmortals be! Willst thou accept the task or not?

O.G. Ghostwriter: Well, of course I will! Do you think this manor's electricity bill pays itself? Fax me the details, and I'll get to work.

Shakespeare: I knew I could count on thee! ´Tis time to make haste, for tonight is the Ye Olde Famous Scribes’ Game Night. Jane Austen is hosting and Edgar Allan Poe is in need of a playing partner. I would ask thee to accompany me, but I believe thou hast more urgent matters to attend to..

O.G. Ghostwriter: ...like scrubbing the facade of my house clean of rotten eggs and toilet paper?

Shakespeare: What for? That guise seems to be some kind of whim in this neighbourhood, bringing with it an uplifting stench from the well-lov’d 16th century, and reminding me of home. Alas, I must bid thee farewell, dearest O.G! Parting is such sweet sorrow, I shall say goodbye till it be…

O.G. Ghostwriter: Yeah, yeah, yeah, bye. 

He slams the door shut.

Well, that was an evening gone to waste. I should probably disconnect the doorbell, hell, I should just nail my door shut! 

So his highness’ novel doesn't need an outsider’s voice? I'll just say that I'm capable of taking on different ghostwriting assignments while still maintaining my own voice and style as a writer! I am a professional, after all! Still, the other writers will never acknowledge my talents. I'll show them! I'll show them all! Where did I put that candy? I feel like eating it all, cavities be damned.

I'll continue writing my own novel. Right, where was I? Oh yes. "This secret I swear I shall to thee only declare, for this raiment is the one my soul shall never bear…”