Ghosts in the waiting room
Issue #574 Keith’s SciFi Musings Sunday, April 21, 2024
It’s not like what you think. Not at all.
When you watch the movies, ghosts are usually scary see-through beings that can drift through walls and that sort of thing. Depending on who wrote the storyline, ghosts can either chase folks around while making spooky noises, rattling chains, etc., or they can be a bit more creative. And creative usually means scary, which is what makes a good ghost story fun.
In the old movies, you always found ghosts hanging around inside large drafty castles, the kind you see in the English countryside, or making bumps and groans in the night - always at night - inside a massive Victorian mansion that was usually located at the top of a hill, isolated, at the end of a long and winding road. More modern adaptations proved that ghosts can be just as troublesome in the suburbs in a 3-bedroom ranch-style home as in some Transylvania-looking monstrosity. Even in the daytime.
I always loved ghost stories when I was alive. Nothing was more fun than sitting inside a dark movie theater, popcorn in hand, waiting to be scared outta my wits by the latest imagining of what a ghost should be. Although the storylines were usually pretty similar (because if it ain’t broke, and is making money at the box office, why fix it) there were still enough newly designed thrills and chills to keep me smiling. And every so often you would have the real breakthrough movie, like Poltergeist, that would seriously escalate the genre to the next level.
Truth is, I loved ghost stories so much that I secretly kinda wished I was dead so that I could act out my own well-honed fantasies of what a really scary ghost story should be. And then bring it to life inside some poor unsuspecting horror fan’s home. Because as many of those stories as I had watched - and read - throughout my teenage years, I figured I was as qualified as anyone to create the ultimate terrifying ghost tale. There was no reason why I couldn’t give Stephen King a good run for his money. Because who would want to read a Stephen King horror novel when they could read about the real thing? Produced and directed by yours truly?
But then I died. For real. Damned car accident that wasn’t even gory. Hardly any blood at all. There was this large truck that suddenly swerved into my lane one night, and the next thing I knew I’m sitting in this dark shadowy room holding a numbered card in my hand. And in this room, there are other confused-looking spooks like myself wondering how in the…? And where…?
Then I noticed the screen on the far wall. It read, “Now serving guest #34. Your patience is appreciated. All questions will be answered upon receiving your assignment. Please keep waiting room chatter to a minimum.”
I looked at the card in my hand. Shit. But I just got here! A door opens at the other end of the room facing the screen that I hadn’t noticed before. A smiling, dark-skinned woman with an impeccable short afro and a trim figure tucked comfortably inside a white pants suit steps through holding a clipboard. Everyone stares at her as she looks calmly around the room until her eyes land on me.
“Number 35? Sam Marston? Will you please follow me?”
Before I get a chance to answer, she spins around and heads back through the door. I race to catch up as I hear the door slam shut behind me. The sound of her rapidly moving heels is echoing in the well-lit hallway.
“Excuse me, Miss. I just wanted to know, is this…it…?”
The woman giggles as I pull up alongside her.
“Sometimes you need to be careful what you wish for, Mr. Marston.”
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