Posted By Sebastian Malloy on November 8, 2011
The noise, the noise, the bloody noise!
I gave up attempting to write anything coherent an hour ago and instead set about finding a way to attempt communication with my ectoplasmic stowaway. My earlier comment about wishing I’d brought a Ouija board with me got me to thinking, and I set about creating a rudimentary one. Using one of my pens, I wrote out the alphabet, a series of numbers and the words “yes” and “no” on the top of the retractable moon pool cover, and utilized an empty tuna can as a planchette.
Distraction is the mother of invention.
I sat cross-legged on the floor in front of my creation. “Alright, spirit, let’s get down to it. Obviously you want my attention, so provided you aren’t the soul of some illiterate pirate, this should help facilitate our conversation just a bit.” I rested my fingers lightly on the upside-down tuna can. “First things first: what’s your name? I’d prefer to have some way to address you other than ‘spirit.’”
Nothing happened for a moment, but then the ghost slipped across the room and hovered next to me. Two tendrils of glowing energy–I hesitate to call them “hands”—pressed against the tuna can, and it slowly began slipping across my makeshift Oujia.
b… e… t… t… y…
“Betty?” I said. “Your name is Betty?”
The can moved across to the word “yes.”
“Well, that’s hardly a pirate name, so I think we can write off that line of thought.” The wailing, I should point out, was still going on at this moment, and I thought it was time to bring that up in the conversation. “Do you think we can stop with the noise, Betty? Please? It’s making it extremely difficult to think.”
The ghost stopped its noise immediately.
“Oh, thank God. I was about ready to open the hatch and drown myself right here.”
The planchette slipped across the floor, spelling out: not funny.
“Hmm. Yes, I suppose given the circumstances, you’re right about that. I’m sorry.”
Forgiven.
“Well, Betty, if introductions are in order, my name is Sebastian Malloy, and I’m down here writing a book.”
Yes. I’ve been reading.
“Have you now? Over my shoulder?”
Yes. It’s terrible.
“What! A critic! All the lost souls in the world and I get stuck with a critic!”
Not critic. Writer.
“You’re a writer?”
The can moved to “yes.”
“Where did you… pass on, Betty? In the bathysphere or in the Bay?”
In Bay. Long walk short pier ha ha.
“You didn’t… jump, did you?”
There was no answer to this question.
“You don’t have to say, of course. I don’t generally pry into people’s personal business.”
Can help you.
“Help me? Help me with what?”
Book.
“Help me with that book?”
Characters unbelievable. Plot convoluted. Dialogue wooden.
“Now, just a minute…”
The can moved in a flurry of letters: Rewrite chapter 1. Villain cardboard motives. I will edit and help.
“Wait now…”
I will write. You take credit.
“I am perfectly capable of writing a book without the help of… of… a ghostwriter!”
Could have fooled me.
“I’m not sure if this relationship is going to be going anywhere positive, Betty. I don’t suppose you can go haunt anyone else for the next month or so, can you?”
I can wail some more.
“Oh, please don’t.” I was quiet a moment, considering. “Okay, look: the entire reason I’m down here is to write this book, and I have to finish it by the end of the month, or at least be well on my way to a conclusion. There isn’t time for rewriting until the first draft is done, and I think it’s going just fine the way it is.”
I heard a faint and ghostly laughter, and then the planchette moved again: No Hemingway.
“Listen,” I said. “I’m glad to share the space here with you, and you’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like. The company, honestly, even such as it is, is a welcome thing. But I’m the one writing this book, and I’m afraid that in the spirit of the adventure, I can’t let you participate in the actual writing. There are rules here, you know. Self-imposed rules, but still.”
Betty’s ghostly blur moved from where I sat and over to the laptop. I heard the sound of the keys being pressed on the keyboard, and I stood and went to go see what was happening.
Screw the Ouija. I can type a hell of a lot faster.
“Well why didn’t you say something sooner, dammit?”
Takes a lot of energy. Had to build up to it.
“Can you keep up the typing, or is this a temporary thing?”
We’ll see.
“Type all you want then, when I’m not using the computer. And please, no more yelling, okay? My head was about to explode.”
Had to get your attention.
“There are quieter ways of doing it.”
Not as much fun, though. It’s lonely down here.
“Where are you? Your body, I mean?”
Again, there was no answer from her.
“Right, sorry.”
Ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no lies.
“That’s a fairly poor answer, Betty.”
I’d shrug, but you wouldn’t see it.
“True, that. I’m no Edgar Cayce.”
Or Egon Spengler.
“Who?”
You need to get out more.
“I’ll keep that in mind. Look, Betty, all of this excitement, and what I mean by that is your endless moaning and wailing, has worn me out. How about I just go on to sleep, and you can have the computer to yourself for a few hours? You do know how to use a computer, don’t you?”
I have no idea! I’m just a poor old ghost, I can’t even feed or wipe myself without help.
“Your sarcasm isn’t appreciated. For all I know you’ve been down here a hundred years and haven’t ever seen a computer before.”
I’ve seen every episode of Friends, so yes, I’ve used a computer before. I’m not that old, thank you.
“How was I to know, yes?”
2006. I’ve been dead since 2006. Good enough?
I nodded. “Good enough. Then the ship is yours, my dear Betty. I’ll get a few hours of sleep, and then pick up the writing again in the morning. I trust you’ll keep out of my book files, won’t you?”
I’ll keep myself otherwise entertained.
“Good ghost. Boundaries, Betty. Without boundaries, we are the same as the animals.”
Also, we don’t pee on the floor.
“Yes, I suppose that’s also true.”
Goodnight, Sebastian. I’ll try not to howl at the universe while you’re trying to sleep.
“I’d appreciate it, thank you. I’ll see you… or something like that… in the morning.”
I slipped into my makeshift bed and tried to get comfortable in the enhanced ghostly chill of the bathysphere. In moments, Betty was typing away at the keys like a ghost possessed (is that even possible?), and the soothing sounds of her clack-clacking away was a welcome sound to me after a week of silence in the submersible.
Everything about this month is getting more and more interesting…
Category: Adventure |
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Tags: Betty the (hopefully) friendly ghost, ghostwriting, speed typing, writing
