A gHost Spell: a W-C'S HAUNTing return

-Well, well, well, I must be cursed, I can’t sleep in peace anymore, not when I know who is playing that tune, the ‘Toccata and Fugue in D minor’.


The ghostly hand of Abraham Wilton-Cough rose from his corpse, tried to push the coffin lid open with no success. His desperation grew with every second of struggle as he vociferated for himself,

-I just want to see my boy Josiah! He is becoming a church organist like I feared. With the new will I left behind, he should have shown more ambition… I have visions of concert halls full of people to see him play.


Suddenly a tiny light appeared within the darkness of his coffin, right in front of his nose. It was bright enough to startle Wilton-Cough and make him swear,


-Bugger! Money can’t buy you everything these days. Spend it on a bug free coffin, top of the range coffin-wise, they said, and it doesn’t do what it says on the tin. I have a bloody glow worm in here! Just wait for his less glowy brothers to get in and I am just an happy meal.

Becoming stronger the light landed on his cadaverous nose, where it sat and crossed its legs and arms across its chest and looked very much like an angry Angel although a very tiny one. The little voice coming from it was very powerfully upset,

-Pray Abraham, first, what is wrong with Josiah becoming a church organist? Explain yourself. Second, I am not a bug nor a glow worm. Third, apologies are in order for your corpse not to be eaten by an army of worms, right now. Last but not least, you are a ghost and whatever will be chewed off will not affect you for you are spirit matter.

Pulling his other hand from his cadaver and checking its consistency out, or rather inconsistency, Abraham repeated as if he was digesting the information,

-Ghost… Spirit matter…

He raised his ghostly head from his corpse, shook it negatively, making the tiny Angel slide from the bridge of his nose, before he stated strongly,

-I do not like the sound of that. Plainly speaking, that means my soul is not resting properly, now is it? I thought I redeemed myself.

The small Angel cocked an inquisitive eyebrow while sneezing loudly within the dust cloud her fall raised from the deep velvet of the corpse’s black jacket. She corrected with confidence, standing upon his chest and dusting her shoulders,

-No Angels would take that away from you that with the few minutes you had left, Abraham, you did redeem yourself pretty well. But, alas as much as your skeleton is gathering dust, your lively bones gathered sins by the bucketful. I know full well for I am the result of one of them you tried to totally ignored under the thick carpet of your stubborn mind. However what causes your unrest this time around, is a pure technicality…

She was interrupted by Wilton-Cough’s fearsome sneeze which had the strength to push the light of her to the far end of his coffin, while he apologetically acknowledged her small entity,

-I know you! You are my big fat tiny mistake! You are Abigail, the result of my old bone diving into the poor and totally drunk Widow Bates. Sorry for just waking up from the dead, my mind, stubborn or not, is trying to adjust back to reality. Last time I saw you, you were, well, awesomely tall, fearsome and all…

Coughing, spreading her tiny wings, tidying her pristine white toga, Abigail landed back upon the dead skeleton. She scolded with her nose up in the air,

-Last time you saw me, Human, was a premonition dream, kind of a glimpse of the future set in the present. You see me now as a spiritual Angelic form. I am still to be born to Amelia. Give or take, I am due in a couple of weeks on human terms, however on Angelic ones, I come when it is needed. As for you, you laid in there for the past five months. Know that your sleep was far from peaceful and you were bond to wake up soon or later. Every time I paid you a visit, your spirit was doing the twist and turn within its skeleton and never tried to reach for Paradise. A lot of souls are true grave dwellers yet yours is still in there for another reason: the technicality.

Hearing the technical word a second time, Wilton-Cough grew extremely worried. He expressed his anxiety,

-I do not like the sound of your last word either, my soon to be born Angelic creature. Do I have some more redeeming to do for you to pester my grave? Are you going to take me on a punitive journey where I will have to learn to repent all over again? For frankly, last time was gruelling enough. Besides I think I am a truly sorry arse down here. Did you happen to sneak upon my two boys too? How are they doing? How is my Angie? How is everyone coping after my death? Do I dare to just ask, am I being a little missed if only just for a fraction of a minute?

The tiny Abigail climbed inside the ghostly hand of Abraham. Within his very pale palm, she enjoined him with a compassionate yet sad smile,

-Come, dear old Soul, do not fear any journey, emotional or not. As an Angel, I will only let you alone whilst I know, once and for all, that you can rest in peace. As you clearly are not at peace, I will endeavour with all my might to make you be so. As your daughter, there’s only one place I will accept you to be, and I can tell you now, that it is not seeing your ghost, tossing in his grave, roaming cemeteries, and be one of the restless souls burning in Hell. No, the only place for you Pa is Paradise. Let me make sure of it. Follow me I will explain en route all the technicalities.