Spooks

Hello, my name is Steve Winwood. If you Google my name you’re going to think that I’m some semi-famous guy. Well I’m not. I had no idea who the Steve Winwood was until someone said, what, like the Steve Winwood? And I said who?

            This isn’t about how I share a name with someone who I’m ‘in the Wiki know’ about. This is about how my house has spooks. Now, I know what you’re thinking, and that’s not the case, I assure you. I can walk around in the dark anywhere and I’ll be fine. Just not up on the second floor of my house, where the spooks work. Their job is to make me feel uneasy and like I should probably run everywhere I go when I’m upstairs. They do a very good job of this, of course. I feel like every time I reach to flip on the light switch there will be something staring me down when I snap my head around to survey the room I just walked in to.  If I walk by a bed I’m sure that some decrepit skeleton hand will shoot out and grab my ankle.

           

(Never mind that skeletons can’t be strong enough to do any damage to me. One stomp on an infirm skeleton wrist should be enough to cripple it past the point of inflicting physical harm.)

And you may have guessed that the times I am the most spooked by the spooks is at night. This is true. But I maintain: I am not scared of the dark. I’m scared of the spooks. Sometimes the upstairs is still scary in the daytime but it’s not quite as bad. The fact that it’s still scary in the daytime is how I know that it’s spooks and not just the dark.

I used to wonder why ghost hunters hunted with the lights off. If you were to see a ghost, wouldn’t it be easier for you to see them with the lights on? Human eyes were not created with night vision. Then I figured it out. Ghosts use the elements. They’re phantasms, nay, phantoms (!) that have become attuned to the dark because of it’s spooky advantages. What can they do to you physically? Honestly, not much. Not the ghosts that reside upstairs, at least. They could creak a door, maybe, or make me chilly, but that’s not much to have a heart attack over. Nothing to scream myself into acute apoplexy over. So once the haunting community came to terms with this I think they agreed that the proper time to haunt is the night. When things are dark- uncertain- likely harbor a forgotten and discarded artifact to trip you. In the daytime things aren’t nearly as scary. Ever seen a vacuum cleaner look like a short woman with a horridly bent nose? I have. It was at night. Then I saw the vacuum cleaner ten hours later. It was a vacuum.

Ghosts don’t have to be seen; they are felt instead. That’s why the whole upstairs is spooky. I know it’s not one oversized spook that covers the whole upstairs and spills into every nook and cranny of ever room- how preposterous! Those spooks are just everywhere up there. I can feel it. Ghosts are scariest when they wait just outside of your vision- right outside a door or right behind your head when you curl up facing the wall at night.

And, once again, I promise you that I am not afraid of the dark.

The ghost’s spooking jurisdiction ends somewhere near the bottom of the stairs. I feel the tight grip of their spooky hands releasing whatever it is in my chest and throat that makes me feel so uneasy when I’m up there. Let’s just say it’s the human’s spook nerve. When clinched properly it can affect your whole body. It can make you shake; it can make you double over, even. It can make you say the silliest things. Men: it can make you sound like a woman. Woman: it can make your man come running to you in childlike fear. It can make you gulp right after it makes your throat the Mojave Desert. This spook nerve- the one that invokes the powerful emotion of fear- can make you lie and it can make you hurt people when you’re normally as docile as a little Yorkshire Terrier and it can turn you into a scared little rabbit that can’t do anything but run in a helter-skelter pell-mell scramble for the hills or whatever you may be running to for refuge. However you may handle yourself when this nerve is grabbed or pinched and prodded varies with the day, it seems. Sometimes I make my trip down the stairs a quick one, bouncing down each step as fast as I can go without risking a fall and sometimes I walk slowly, defying each and every spook that may be trying to make sure I pee my pants on my way out.

One particular day I was feeling defiant. That day was the day that I actually encountered my first spook. I’m talking visual contact and all.

It was daytime, a perfect time to defy spooks. I started my slow descent down the stairs, not feeling very spooked at all by this trip. Halfway down the stairs I heard something and I stopped. It sounded faintly like someone blubbering on about something through broken sobs- something like this: boo… ablubbadoo-hoo… aboooooo... hoo... hoooo. All with long “o” sounds, of course. Very melodramatic and melancholic.

Galvanized by the inexplicable human notion that everything mysterious needs to be investigated, I turned around. I crept up the stairs as quietly as I could, making sure I would not lose the sound that I was in the process of tracking down. I got to the top of the stairs and craned my head down the hallway to the right- nothing. Nothing in sight, that is. The sound was still there, though, somewhere near the other end of the hall. I walked slowly, stopping sharply at the sound of any creak in the floor. It took me probably five minutes to traverse the length of the hallway. I looked in on the two rooms that I passed on my journey, but seeing as none of them contained The Sound I continued forward, slowly, slowly. Now the hallway presented me with three choices: straight into the walk-in closet attached to one of the guest bedrooms, a right which led to the aforementioned bedroom or a left which led to the bathroom, which was also connected to the first room on the left as you walk the hallway from the stairs. My upstairs is a maze, come to think of it. I know it like the back of my hand, assuming the back of my hand is spooky and implying that I only look at it when I need to. I took a left, following my ears.

It was coming from behind the shower curtain, louder than ever. Someone, or something, was definitely crying in my bathtub. I grabbed the edge of the curtain and yanked it clear to my left and gasped, fell backwards and ripped the curtain off of the railing as I watched a ghostly figure gasp, fall backwards into the wall, sobbing, and make the shower head drip lightly as a spook may do to spook the intended spook-ee. Needless to say, I was spooked. For a few seconds. Then I realized that I still heard this sobbing.

“Gh…ghost?” I said into the air, pulling the detached shower curtain over me like a blanket. A security blanket, to be exact. Don’t tell anyone, but I still have my baby blanket. It’s purple and it is the target of jealousy for many a woman wishing to snuggle with me. I’m loyal to my blankie.

“Go away!” Blubbered the ghost from inside the wall, somewhere just beyond the reaches of my human eyes.

“Is something…is there something I can help you with?” I asked the wall, still feeling a little bewildered at the whole incident.

“Go eat something you’re allergic to! Or, better yet, go find me something to eat that I’m allergic to.” Came the ghost’s curt reply, and then after a dramatic and timely pause he continued in a dragged out bleat: “Oh wait. I’m a ghost.”

“What is going on?!” I asked myself out loud.

“What is going on with you?” Shot back the ghost.

“I wasn’t…”

“How come you’re not scared of me ever?” Whinnied the ghost.

“Um.”

“Every time I’m stuck out here on day shift you’re never scared when you’re up here. Don’t think that I don’t notice. You don’t even pretend to be scared. You could at least give me that! And the others- oh, they notice too!”

And then we were silent for what was probably seven whole seconds. Seven severely interminable seconds. And then I spoke up.

“I, um, you know that I have no idea what’s going on right now, don’t you?”

“I’m haunting you. Wooooo-ooohh” Said the most halfhearted ghost I could have ever imagined.

“Look, ghost,” I said a little uneasily. “I’m scared right now. I tore the shower curtain off.”

“That’s only because you saw me. Showing yourself is a last resort when you’re a ghost trying to scare people, and anyway, I wasn’t trying to scare you. I was on break.”

“On break? From what?”

“From spooking, what else? I’m a ghost. It’s not like I was taking a break from an intense cribbage tournament.”

“I guess.” I said, which, by the way, is something you can say to anything. Seriously. Try it out sometime. (Correct response: Alright…I guess.)

“What do you mean by shifts?” I asked.

“Shifts?” Said the ghost. “Oh. Shifts. Yes. This is the graveyard shift. All the other ghosts are asleep right now.”

“Ghosts sleep?”

“Well, yes, but only because being up all day every day is extremely boring. Especially since you don’t come up here all that often. We just stay awake in shifts. We keep the most ghosts on spooking duty when it’s dark outside.” Explained the wall.

“Ah.”

“Yeah. And they won’t let me work the night shifts with them because they say they already have enough ghosts to cover the shift. Like there can be too many!” Whined the ghost. “The more the scarier, right? That’s how the saying goes!”

“Oh, come on, ghost. You’re scary!” I solaced the poor thing.

“Yeah? Then what was that stunt on the stairs all about? You never slowly walk down the stairs at night!”

“Yeah…well…I twisted my ankle the other day and now I have to be careful on stairs.” I fibbed like a child. It was obvious that I was lying; the ghost resumed its ululations of self-pity.

“I’m the worst ghost ever!” It wailed.

“Ah butter biscuits.” I said under my breath.

“What...did you say?” Asked the sobbing ghost.

“I, uh, said …butter biscuits.” I said feeling embarrassed at my stupid replacement words. I usually just say something random with alliteration that’s likely to make me smile after making a mistake. One time, a few years ago, I said “Aw JonBenét Ramsey!” and my co-worker looked at me kinda funny and I go “Too soon?” even though it was more than ten years after the fact. He didn’t find the same humor I did in it and it probably made the foot-in-mouth situation that I was trying to navigate out of worse so from then on I decided to just say harmless things like “butter biscuits!” and “snake socks!” and “parrot pushups!” and so on.

“B…butter biscuits?” The ghost blubbered back.

“Butter biscuits.” I sighed in reply.

And then the sobbing ghost did something you see children do when they find out that their immunization shot or their first haircut or first rollercoaster isn’t all that scary or doesn’t even hurt. The crying segued right into laughing. Hysterical laughing, choking on breaths and sniffling and I’m sure even a sore ghostly abdomen to boot. Then I started laughing a little bit too.

“Shh…shh!” The ghost said as it calmed down. “You’ll wake the others!” It warned me.

“Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad idea…” I said as a light bulb in my head flickered on.

“No, that would be a terrible idea!” Said the ghost with a plea somewhere in the tone of its not-so-spooky voice.

“Look,” I said, pulling the shower curtain to the side revealing a growing dark spot on my pants.

“Something smells like piss and asparagus.” Said the ghost from behind the wall.

“I know.” I whispered.

“You just pissed your pants.” Stated the ghost, nonplussed.

“I’m going to get up, run out of here and down the stairs. I’m going to drop my phone in the hallway and run back up to get it about a minute after I get down. Wake your ghost friends up.”

I felt cold burst through me right after I said that and I could already feel the whole upstairs getting spookier as I got up and ran as fast as I could down the hallway and tore down the stairs. I stood in the living room, panting a little bit. I walked into the kitchen, turned the faucet on cold and filled up a glass of water. It’s not often that someone will sacrifice their pride for another, but the feeling I had coursing through my veins for what I was about to do as I drank that water was one more rewarding than any I felt in literally years. I set down the glass, put on my game face and crept towards the stairs. I poked my head in the doorway leading to the stairs, mounted the small landing at the bottom of the stairs, and bolted.

Brutus

There was a beast that lived in my grandparent’s basement, just past the bottom of the stairs in that big mysterious room closed off by a large dark green curtain, that come to think of it, was probably just a bed sheet. It was a gigantic rat that fed primarily on peanut butter. Sometimes cheese, but mainly peanut butter. I imagined this rat to be human enough to walk around on its hind legs. It would be hunched over as it dragged its oversized frame around the basement room it had been given. It wore a mahogany colored robe, to keep warm. Its eyes were undoubtedly green and gave off a dim light.

            When I was eight the basement of my grandparents house was a fort. It had a pool table, which was great for sneaking around and crawling under. The basement was spacious for a few kids who had yet to reach a decade in age. It was our play-place whenever our mom brought us over so she could visit her parents. You could get to the basement from the living room. Down one half flight of stairs, where a few rooms existed, then down another half flight. At the bottom of this flight was always the green curtain that we were constantly warned to stay away from. We never dared to question our grandpa- why he kept a giant rat in his basement and if it was so dangerous, how did the curtain keep it at bay? We entered our imaginary fortress the same way every time, by taking the stairs on the far right side and sliding into the room, always staying away from the rat’s domain.

            As I grew older I feared the rat less and less but never tried to peer past the curtain. I never felt the urge to look past it as I got older. The room never existed in my childhood explorations so it never existed as I became a teen.

            Imaginations are powerful things, and children are the magical wizards they imagine themselves to be any given Tuesday afternoon, and the next day they really are in a struggle for their lives as they escape one of their siblings who has turned into a swamp creature. But as the months pass by every child loses its powers. Imaginations fade. You come to realize that your hand really isn't a gun and you really didn't just shoot your brother with it, and on top of that you realize that getting shot would really suck and you have absolutely no desire to really shoot your brother. Schoolwork becomes real, and so does that cute girl you see between third and fourth hour every day on your way to your locker.

            You've grown up. Being a kid was fun, but the days of make believe are over. Right?

            "Mom. Come on- can't I just stay at home this time? I've been there billions of times and there's nothing to do there. It's so boring."

            "You're coming with me and that's final!" Everything moms say are final. Don't ask them why 'that's final' because you'll never get an answer. "Because I said so. That's why."

            Every time it’s the same seemingly involuntary act: I sigh and drag my feet around, suddenly feeling the need to walk aimlessly around the living room half as fast as I normally walk. My favorite windbreaker is waiting for me on a chair where I threw it sometime after I last came home. It's blue, white and orange. I got it on sale. Thinking about it now, I understand why it was on sale. It's ugly. But it made me feel cool when I first put it on and made my mom buy it and now I have an unspoken attachment to it- like the ratty pair of shoes that you refuse to throw away.

            We have a mini van. It's a gray Astro van, and for a van I think it's pretty awesome. It endured many trips of us kids bouncing around before we were finally buckled down, and now it endures trips of three teens staring intently at nothing through its windows.

            In the corner of the basement a variety of bean bags and blankets await our arrival. A few chairs, too, but none of us really liked the chairs that much. Bean bags fit us much better; slouching was becoming the new posture of choice.

            "Ukhh" said the back of Ryan's throat. "I don't know why mom still makes us come here. This sucks."

            "Yeah. But we'd be sitting at home doing nothing if she didn't take us with." I said in a lazy response.

            My brother used to get mistaken as my twin. We really don't look a whole lot alike. Our hair colors aren't even close to being the same. It’s my sister and I that look alike- the blonde hair- the blue eyes. We used to joke that he was the adopted child, when really it was Jacqi and me that bore the least resemblance to our parents. Ryan has brown hair and eyes that he insists are “hazel”. I tell him that they’re brown because he’s a boy and boys shouldn’t worry themselves with whether their eyes are “hazel” or not. He persists. I never understood why people thought we were twins. I guess we just act alike.

            "Apparently she thinks we still play down here?" stated our sister. She was the oldest of the three of us. She knew we were far too old to still play games and communicate across the room with walkie talkies, and if she knew something was true we were liable to believe her. She had over a year of living on me and a little over two on my brother.

            "Come on guys," I chuckled "who wants to be the sea monster this time?"

            "Ha. Not it."

            "You can say you're not it," Smiled my sister "but we can make you be the sea monster again if we want!"

            "You guys suck. And you always have." Ryan had that grin on that he's been making since he was four years old stealing moms coffee from the table top as she got ready for work in the morning. I don't know how it didn't burn his mouth but he always drank it all. And fast.

            "Well... we could go free Garatron from his dungeon." joked Jacqi. She said it like a joke but it was more of a challenge. None of us believed in the thing that came to be named Garatron (Gargoyle+Rat+Tron [we, as all kids in our generation, had a robot fixation]. This name struck the proper fear into the unknown creature that lived behind the curtain), but none of us jumped to the challenge that came up at least once every time we came over.

            "Still not it." He didn't sound excited. The joke was probably getting old to him.

            "You guys. Have you realized that we have never even so much as peeked behind that curtain? That's just silly. We all know there's nothing back there. Grandpa probably just has a bunch of old crap he doesn't want us to break back there." I always felt like mine was a voice of reason.

            "Alright. It's settled. You get to go back there and tell us what you see." Jacqi was always first in command. Whatever she said generally had to happen. When Ryan or me said something she had the power to deny it.

            Well fine. I wasn't afraid. But I wasn't getting up either.

            "Puhftt.." My diaphragm popped my stomach up for a split second as the corner of my mouth pointed towards my eye which was half squinting as I looked back and fourth between the people I had spent most of my life with. They were calling my bluff and I knew it. "fine!" I stood up abruptly; my face still holding that grin assuring myself that I thought this was ridiculous.

            "Go on!" Ryan smiled as he lazily extended his arm and flicked his hand in the direction of the forbidden room.

            "Yeah." I let my head fall back slightly as I turned to head in the direction of the room. I marched the same way as I did when I found out I had to come here earlier today.

            Jacqi started to laugh. Quietly for a second or two then more obviously. Ryan joined in. I had only walked about five steps. Without moving my feet I turned around and smiled. They both shot up to follow me as I picked up my pace and headed straight for the ugly green curtain.

            We stood there in a “V” pointing at the room, me at the tip. I stood staring at it. I had dared to do this before a few times on a few of the many trips we had been forced to make. This was about to be a trip I had only dared to think about up until this point. I reached out to grab the side of the curtain. . .

            Inside there were a lot of boxes stacked against the walls. I saw the mousetraps scattered around with peanut butter. Apparently, if the mousetraps didn't kill it the years of partially hydrogenated vegetable oils were going to do the trick. However, if they hadn't by now the chances were slim. The rat beast must have been smarter than that by now. We slowly walked around the room through the mazes of old crap our grandpa clearly didn't want us to break. I'm sure he's never going to use any of it, though.

            A noise came from somewhere behind me. My heart skipped a beat as I spun around just in time to see my brother trying to set a fishing pole back in its place. "I thought you were Garatron," I said with the quiver in my voice of a nervous laugh.

            "No. That...That's Garatron.." My sister said as she pointed behind some boxes, her mouth partially dropped open. Ryan and I looked over from where we were poking around. I was closest to her and the first to show up and peer behind the box. I saw nothing. Ryan came up and stood looking over my shoulder.

            "There! There's his tail!" he exclaimed and pointed to an edge of one of the boxes.

            "Um," I said, a little confused at the floor space of nothing I was looking at. "Guys..?"

            "He's coming after us!" Jacqi said as she fled the room.

            I looked at my brother and smiled. I looked back and there he was. Exactly as I imagined him. With a grin I was half my age again- seven, eight, and nine with my brother and sister.  "Get the walkie talkies!" I commanded as I took off with Ryan after our sister. We ran back to the bean bag area and found the walkie talkies laying around. The batteries were dead. We probably hadn't touched those walkie talkies in two years. "I'll go get some batteries," I said in a serious voice and I took off for the stairs. I stopped at the curtain and jerked it across the entry way. "I think he's still in there guys!" I called out as I pounded up the stairs.

            I calmly took a right as I got to the top of the stairs, entering the living room. I walked into the kitchen, breathing a little heavier than normal. Mom looked over as I opened a drawer with random household items that didn't really have a place anywhere else. The junk drawer also served as the battery drawer. I tested two nine volts with my tongue. It quivered a little bit as a light shock shot across the two contact points from the first one. "Dith un's gud," I said with my tongue out, ready to test the second one. "Bla. That one too." I shook my head a little. I hated testing nine volt batteries but this was a serious matter. "Bye mom!" I said in a slightly raised volume as I turned and quickly headed back to the stairs.

            "And a hearty 'Hi' to you too!" said my grandpa as he leaned back and looked for me around the corner of the kitchen. We made brief eye contact as I smiled and waved. The stairs thudded under my heavy steps as I ran back down to aid my brother and sister in the struggle we were about to embark in against Garatron.

            "Watch out! He's right there!" warned my sister.

            "Aw basketballs!!" I said as I stopped abruptly on the last step.

            "I have a plan. Wait one second." She appeared back by the stairs a few seconds later holding a pillow. "I'm gonna throw this at him and when I do..make a break for it!"

            I nodded, two batteries clutched in my right hand as I bent my legs, ready to spring forward. She threw the pillow. It bounced off of a box from behind the curtain.

            "Got him! Quick!!" she said urgently.

            I jumped from the final stair and we ran back to the other side of the basement where Ryan was waiting for us, ready to devise a plan.

            "Alright. What do we know about this thing? What can we use against it?" Asked Ryan, looking to us for council.

            "I think it's sick of peanut butter by now. If we're going to lure it, we're going to have to use something else" I said, glancing between the two other faces in our huddle.

            "Peanut butter and pickles."

            "Jacqi? Peanut butter and pickles? How will that help?" Our mom got us hooked on peanut butter and pickle sandwiches early on in our lives. I looked a little miffed at such a ridiculous plan..there wasn't any time to waste! I continued: "Ryan, got any ideas?"

            "Hold on!" She insisted. "This is a good idea. Garatron is familiar with peanut butter. You can't get sick of something if you've never had anything else to compare it with.. so the peanut butter will lure it in. The pickles, something new, will give him even more reason to go after it."

            "Alright good point. I got the batteries, though, so who's next to go up? Whoever does it has to somehow get past Garatron..twice."

            "I'll go." Said Ryan. He was always brave. Never too energetic, but rarely afraid to do something that took some guts.

            "Alright, we need to make a distraction." I said, breaking my position in the huddle to look around the room for something to use.

            "Here's what we'll do.." Said Jacqi, pulling us in with serious comportment. "I’ll get close to him and distract him by talking. I’ll keep moving back into the room every time he gets closer. He's not fast so I won't be in too much danger. You guys will sneak around the pool table, and when it's safe, Ryan, you go up and get the sandwich. Cut it into four pieces. Lee, you go into the room and find an empty box. A big one. Get back to the corner and set the box up on its side and hide behind it, behind the closed side. And take this walkie talkie. Ryan- you'd better make it quick!!"

            And we were off. I didn't think about what I was supposed to be doing hiding behind this box in the corner of Garatrons den and I started to get a little nervous when I heard my brother come back down the stairs and receive further directions from my sister.

            "Alright quick.. find Lee and put a piece right in front of the box." I heard the walkie talkie by my side static and then I heard my sisters voice more loudly: "When we say 'now', jump up and capture Garatron in the box." Then the static preceded my sisters voice again in a distant and faint volume from across the room: "Lay the other three pieces in a trail leading to the fourth. He'll take the bait, promise."

            "Lee..Lee, did you hear that?" Ryan fervently whispered.

            "Yes. And I think I'd feel safer if you guys would just give me a harpoon gun instead of this box"

            And then there was silence. I heard the grotesque smacking of ratty masticating grow nearer until it was almost directly on the other side of me.

            "NOW! NOW LEE! NOWNOWNOWNOW!" It was a sort of unisonous tumult from my siblings, both in audible shouting and staticky telephonic transmissions: an electrified galvanization for a call to action. I jumped straight up, holding the box in front of me. Garatron fell backwards because, as I later learned, his head was actually in the box and all I really had to do was tip the box forward to capture him. Unfortunately I was feeling rather valiant, hence the jump to my feet with the box. Garatron soon regained his bearings and I swear I saw those green eyes glow! He began snipping at my feet, snarling and drooling everywhere in the process. I looked up, fearful and impuissant. My brother and sister stood on, apparently unaware of the struggle that was happening between my feet and this beast. Garatron lunged forward for my seemingly palatable ankles and I saw my window of opportunity. I jumped backwards and brought the box down upon the giant rat at the same time. How the whole things fit under the box, I will never know. The box shook from its attempts for liberation so I pounced on top of the box, securing the rat betwixt the floor and the box. Panting, I called out to my brother and sister:

            "Got him!" I announced with a triumphant grin while kneeling on the box, but no sooner than my grin spread it quickly faded. I heard our secret code beeping through the walkie talkie, three short staccato beeps followed by one long one. It meant one thing: adults. Ryan was feverishly pounding out the warning signal as he looked up at our mother, who was standing right behind the two of them with a smile on her face.

            "Are you guys ready to go yet? or should I leave you be for a while longer? It looks like you're actually having fun down here!"

            "No mom, we're good..we were just..we saw a..." Jacqi stalled for a quick excuse.

            "I donno, I'm ready to go whenever" Said Ryan as he sheepishly hid the walkie talkie behind his back.

            "Don't tell grandpa?" I said with a pleading smile that could win any mom over in an instant.

            "Don't worry kids, I won't. Anyway, someone's gotta be around to keep Brutus at bay."

            "Brutus?" We all kind of said under our breaths at the same time.

            "Well whatever you call him. That's what we called him. You ready?"

            I climbed down off of the box I was still perched on, feeling invigorated but doing my best to not show it as we all walked out of our grandpas house, bidding our farewells and for the first time in years not feeling dread when he said, as he always did: "You kids should come back over sometime!"

Green Giant INC

Last Saturday I pulled into a rest area. I had been driving for two hours straight. I arched my back and crossed my arms behind my head, stretching. I looked to my left as I my mouth gaped for air, yawning. An enormous green statue stood proudly with his hands planted in fists on his hips- big smile spread across his face. I thought back four years, to when I was nineteen. I was a strapping young lad, freshly out of the ranks of matriculated others formerly like myself. I needed a job. Craigslist said that the Green Giant food company was hiring in various positions. After rigorous aptitude testing and a much shorter application I got a call back, and was asked to show up for an interview. I showed up, three minutes early. They said I was so uncharacteristically under-qualified that there is no chance I could ever work in the factory. I felt a little punk'd for showing up but they continued with the conversation..they said a spot as the Jolly Green Giant just opened. After a half an hour of questions they finally came to a conclusion: Your skin is not green enough. I asked: Do I still get paid?

            Four days later I was dressed in a green leafy toga. I worked for a week and a half before being fired for continued neglect to recycle, which was indeed a very green duty, and company policy on top of that. But for that week and a half... I felt massive. My professional title included the word "giant". If there was a top of the job world, I was on it. Or at least at my personal summit.

            Day one I got a tour of the factory. I met all sorts of affable folk of sundry color and dialect. Diversity was promoted, and because of that I thought I should be getting a promotion posthaste, being green and the only of my kind. I brought this up two days before I got fired. Didn't go over too well. I surmise it led to the demise of my job. That and the recycling thing.

            Days two through six I toured schools; an easy first week on the job, they said. I mainly stood around in the corner of the lunch rooms looking rather bumptious and being treated rather rudely. Nothing could slake the students need to make me feel piqued. Fusillades of pejoratives from flocculates of roisterous muckers. Iterations of my effeminacy. By day six I was lassitude and saturnine. The interminable numbers of scapegraces were getting to me. It was not different in any of the schools. Their coteries all became one in the denigration of a green man in tights. At a few of the schools I had to declaim vegetable facts to some of the agriculture classes in addition to my lunchroom duties. Day five came to a close and I thought about my salary number, five digits, yes, and that was enough for me. Day six I tripped one of the children, feeling rather petulant over the whole situation. That..well I suppose that put a coal in the furnace. That and the recycling thing and the jejune request for a raise.

            Days seven and eight were days off. I received these days without makeup, tights or togas. It was refreshing. I visited the YMCA, which was encouraged by my bosses since they said the jolly green giant should appear to be toned, not corpulent, or in my case, emaciated.

I am not that thin, for the record.

            I watched a few episodes of Freaks and Geeks. I made bacon in my one piece raiment of Hanes briefs, crumpled it up in some chicken Ramen and felt like a true bachelor. By day eight, which was a Monday, I was feeling very bored. When I Googled Oprah I knew things were getting out of hand. I almost called my mom but instead I decided I would call into work to see how things were at the office. By the first ring I changed my intention of calling.

            "Green Giant incorporated," said a robot. "If you know your parties extension, please dial it now. If you would like t..."

            Four beeps at my fingers command.

            "Green Giant, this is Tony" said a hurried but jocose and throaty voice in its fifties.

            "Tony. Hello. This is Jerry Atricks calling about your latest lab results from your compulsory heart checkup."

            Silence. I was breathing a little abnormally trying to stifle a laugh.

            "You might as well call your heart Ringo Starr because that thing is beating li.."

            "Jacob."

            I choked on my word as he cut me off. 'Like' became 'likuhhh'.

            "I will see you tomorrow." Apparently he had caller ID.

            The next day marked the final stretch of days at my job, days nine through eleven. Day nine they had me watching a few training videos. All very boring, all made at least fifteen years ago, all with terrible actors. The final one was on the importance of diversity. Tony came in to wheel the TV away and asked me if I had any questions.

            "As the only green person in the company..."

            Day ten all they wanted me to do was watch the juggle of faxes being passed around the office. The idea was that if things slowed down for the green giant with appearances I could help around the office. Tony came up to me sometime after lunch and pointed at a few papers, explaining what they were. I pointed out a duplicate.

            "Ah yes. That happens sometimes. Just recycle it."

            I crumpled it in a ball and in perfect overhead form, shot the paper ball into Tony’s waste basket, with a flawless rebound off of his mini basketball hoop backboard which was ten feet away. Tony shot daggers at me with his eyes and walked away.

            Day eleven was gloomy to begin with. It was drizzly and I was feeling lazy and tired. I parked in Tony's spot because all of the open spaces were on the other side of the lot. He got to park close every day! I think he could use a good walk now and again as it is. I thought of it as a favor to the both of us. But he didn't. He called me into his office for a "meeting". On my way to his office everyone sent knowing presages in their glances. And do I even need to tell you how it went? They may as well have put me in a kiln. I was fired. Should have seen the auguries from a mile away. I had to turn in my toga and my green clogs and everything. But they let me keep the tights.

The Good Witch of Sinclair

"AHhahaha!!" Rose a deep, raucous and rancorous cackle from the first floor, far back and far left room of a large community house. The house is called, due to lack of a more creative name, Witch House. The running joke goes something like this: witch one- "Where are you headed after school?" witch two- "The house." witch one- "Which house?" witch two- "Witch House!"

Cackle.

            Nobody lives at the house formally, however some may end up staying the night after a lengthy witching party paired with pizza and gossip. The house, on the outskirts of a small town by the name of Sinclair, Ohio, is abandoned, so meeting there is illegal, which is indeed perfect for their recreations of choice: potion crafting and spell casting.

            The whole house resounded with intermittent cackles as the fourteen and fifteen year old girls added various ingredients to their witchy potions, mainly herbs and spices from their parents’ pantries. These ingredients went into pots full of warm water- rather, cauldrons. Every one of them has their own personal wooden mixing spoon, which has been uniformly branded in the schools shop classroom by an honorary warlock, Jerome, who is the boyfriend of one of the witches. From one particular room on the first floor, the room farthest back and farthest left, the pungent smell of vinegar emanates throughout the halls. Hellga (with a purposeful and verbal emphasis on 'hell') is creating a very special spell this time. This is no love potion; no, it is much more complex to create. The effects, if the potion is conjured properly, are impossible to reverse.

            "HahaHA!!" Rose a light, euphonious and amicable laugh from the second floor, far back and far right room of the very same house that Hellga was conjuring up her special potion in.

            "Why do all of these potions include tadpoles?" Tadpoles were easy to acquire in the right season- a river with a pool of general stagnancy in a small natural inlet of sorts was just a short walk away. "Forget it. No tadpoles this time." She decided.

            "I wonder if these potions actually do anything." Said Glinda out loud. She was talking to herself. As a common courtesy, new witches were left to practice potions and spell casting in the privacy of their own room. Error was okay; it was a part of the learning process. The more advanced witches let others come in and watch 'how things were done' but Glinda was nowhere near that point. She had just joined the coterie last week.

            Glinda grabbed a packet of Kool-Aid out of her purse and poured the contents into her stew of warm water, garlic powder (not garlic salt; garlic powder. Garlic salt would RUIN it), three dandelion heads and two slices of untoasted whole wheat bread. The bread was then to be cooked like a grilled cheese with mayonnaise instead of cheese betwixt the slices and then consumed with a vial of enchanted chocolate milk. Glinda, of course, had no plans to follow through on such preposterous plans and if she did the Kool-Aid would have cancelled out the effectiveness of the potion anyway. Convinced that she could do anything a potion might ostensibly accomplish, she opened her window and dumped the potion onto the ground, two floors down.

(It was one of many variations on a love potion)

            The next day at school Glinda was gliding through the hallways, holding her unicorn and rainbow themed trapper keeper close to her chest with both arms crossed over it. This trapper keeper was special- she had owned it for three years now and a lot of memories were stuffed into the zip pockets, some hidden away under the hole that gave access to a new secret compartment under the unicorn and rainbow scene. Old notes were bit apart by the metal rings and any surface was etched all over in back in pen and marker- all of this amid a tumult of homework. In fact- there was a math assignment to turn in two hours from now...where exactly was that?

            I could have sworn I slid it right on top of the rest of my papers in here! she thought to herself. She began fishing for papers at random, pulling one out as she navigated the familiar hallways, stuffing it back in and fishing for another.

            "AHA!" Glinda said as she thrust her hand holding the paper straight into the air. "Got you!" She said, and just as she returned her gaze to the hallway in front of her it met the bewildered eyes of someone she had known for most of her life, thanks to the even longer standing relationship of their fathers. Glinda's trapper keeper slid across the floor and her math assignment floated peacefully to the ground to take its place among the rest of the papers that fell out of the trapper keeper from the collision and the ensuing bounce and slide across the floor that threw open the already unzipped trapper keeper.

            "Rachel!" Said Glinda, still a little shook up from her literal run in.

            "It's Hellga." Replied clinched teeth complete with an icy glare. "You know we're supposed to address each other by our chosen names when there isn't an outsider around."

            "Right…well you know I'm still new to this whole witch thing. I think you should pick a nicer name, though." Replied a white simper complete with a warm countenance.

            "A nicer name?! We're witches!" Hellga retorted in a raised voice. "What's nice about being a witch?!"

            "Well I'm a good witch...that’s a nice thing, isn't it?"

            "Any real witch wouldn't be a 'good' witch." She gesticulated sardonically. "You don't know anything. All you do in your stupid room is make kool-aid! I don't know why you even come hang out with us..." She gave a haughty mien and in a mocking undertone made her parting salutations: "...Glinda." And off she went. Glinda picked up her papers that were strewn about all by herself and continued on her way.

            I'm not even a witch! She thought to herself.

And that, my friends, is how she is a good witch.

            Later that evening back at Witch House (which house?) Hellga was at it again, perfecting her potion. This was the third and final version that she was to brew up. The first two, she perceived, were good enough as they were to do the trick, but she had to be sure. She didn't want any half effectiveness for this potion: that would leave the victim in obvious need of help. If the potion worked properly the victim would not be able to ask for help in any way that any other human would understand nor would they be able to do anything about it even if they could ask for help!

            Steam and odors of repugnance rose from her cauldron- a large pot usually used for her families spaghetti night- as she mixed the last and most important ingredient into the potion with her branded wooden mixing spoon. The target of the potion was actually in the house! she thought with a crooked smile of misplaced antipathy. This feeling, which she had never stopped to think about, had morphed and grew into something completely bigger than it needed to be. In actuality, Hellga should have only been angry with herself. It was not her friend that had done the disowning; she had done it to herself! She had been friends with her now sworn enemy since they were little babies goo-gooing about poop and sucking their thumbs if they ever lost their pacifier. It all came crashing down one and a half years ago when they entered middle school. The school was a combination of two smaller elementary schools, so naturally people picked up new friends in the halls or at class. Hellga, whose name was still only Rachel at the time, was intimidated by the new faces and shrunk from them. Her best friend flourished at the new faces and became friends with many, many new people. Rachel recognized this and took it personally.

            With the potion carefully held in her left hand she exited her room. She watched the liquid level of the concoction sway between the edges of the cup, reaching high every three or four steps but never quite high enough to spill over. With the confidence gained in herself to not spill, she continued her short stepped gait and looked up just in time to catch the bewildered eyes of someone directly in front of her that she had known for years. They met in a slow but direct frontal body collision and the potion held in front of Hellga was lost mostly on her shirt and a bit on both of their shoes.

            "RACHEL!" Shrieked Hellga as she gave off a frightening miasma.

            "It's Glinda." Replied an ingratiating smile.

            "I don’t care what you think your name is! I hate that name! It's from that stupid Wizard of frickin' Oz movie- which has nothing to do with real witchcraft!! And what's worst of all is I hate MY name now because it's also YOUR name!”

            "Oh come on, now, you don’t hate it! Remember when you used to like that they were the same? We'd try to convince people that we were twins, but it never worked." Said Glinda, unfazed by Hellga's ardor. "I guess we never thought that people would figure out that parents are only cruel enough to name twins in alliteration and dress them the same until they are old enough to know better. They couldn't get away with naming twin girls 'Rachel and Rachel'." She laughed a little at her wandering thoughts and looked back at Hellga.

            After a pause Glinda lifted up a bottle, which had fallen to the ground. "Kool-aid?"

            Hellga forced a smile. "I think I could go for some." She said, reaching for the bottle. "Look…I think I know what I need to do. Let me go back into my room and make a basic elixir to share with you.” Hellga slunk back into her room and started making what she had no doubt in her mind was the most powerful potion she had ever managed to concoct.

            They met in a basement room, which was the only room (besides their personal witching rooms) that was likely to be empty.

            "So what did you make for us anyway?" Asked Glinda, a little excited and a little nervous because she had never really tried a potion and although she was skeptical of their effectiveness she never really knew for sure that nothing would happen.

            "It's a basic love potion. Not like...a philter that everyone is trying to make and give boys at school, so don't worry about that.”

            “I would just use a Mickey Finn if I ever wanted to make a philter.” Glinda grinned. Hellga looked confused. “Maybe I need to work on my witch jokes…” Glinda sheepishly concluded.

            “I realize that I have been terrible to you for no reason,” Said Hellga after a pause. “and it's time we make this right. Let's drink this together and see what happens…"

If only she had believed that she had been terrible and wanted to make this right!

            Glinda took the potion in hand and without second thought or a whiff of the pungent mixture and gulped it down as fast as she could. Hellga smiled and drank down what was actually a vitality elixir with food color to look the same as the potion she gave Glinda. With her eyes on Glinda the whole time, Hellga waited for something to happen- a change to begin. Glinda stood smiling back, not sure what to say or if she was supposed to wait for a minute for the potion to set in.

            "H...how do you feel?" Hellga hesitated.

            "The same as before." Glinda smiled.

            Hellga's eyes shifted towards the ground and her eyebrows and lips suggested that she was working something out in her head.

            "But I think that's because you never lost your place in my heart, Rachel. I always have and always will consider you one of my closest friends- even if you hate me." Said Glinda, catching on to these idiosyncrasies that she used to be able to pick out in split seconds and know the exact meanings of.

            Hellga looked up and her mouth tightened slightly as she involuntarily began grinding her teeth.

            "It's not working..." She muttered at first. After a pause of confusion from Glinda and a pause from Hellga while retracing the making of her potion- what it could be that is stymieing the progress of her diabolical plan she iterated: "IT'S NOT WORKING!"

            She shouted this time, infuriated because she knew everything was perfect, even in making it so quickly.

            "What... what are you talking about?" Stammered Glinda, afraid for the first time that a potion might actually have some effectiveness.

            "You'd better be barking in about seven seconds!" Hellga shrieked in response. She was standing, her arms were locked straight down at her sides and her hands were making tight fists.

            Glinda swallowed a giant lump in her throat. Her mouth was dry.

            This potion was indeed a dud, much to Hellga's growing concern. This potion was meant to transmogrify the victim into a cocker spaniel. The potion description did not say 'transmogrify', though. It said 'transform'. Transmogrify, however, is the proper term for witchy potions crafted by these middle school girls.

            "TURN INTO A FREAKING COCKER SPANIEL ALREADY!!" Hellga finally shouted in Glinda's face, revealing the intent of the drink.

            The right corner of Glinda's mouth bumped up, forming a half smile. Her diaphragm made her stomach look like it was getting jumpy because she was letting a few involuntary laughs out under her breath.

            Embarrassed, Hellga threw her own glass that formerly contained the food dyed vitality potion onto the ground, shattering it.

            "Witchcraft is so stupid!! It never works!" Hellga said in a long avoided admission to herself. “I quit...” She said under her breath. “and I’m sorry.”

            Glinda wrapped her arms around the post that Hellga had made of herself since the potions failure.

            "How could I ever be mad at you?!" Said Glinda to her post.

            "How long were you going to be a witch for?" Said Hellga, quietly.

            "As long as it would take."