A Ghost Story Before Christmas

Happy December!

As you know if you've read my blog, I'm a firm believer in the tradition of the Christmas ghost story. I generally post one or two of them this time of year, and I've even written a couple myself.

I thought about giving it a rest this year, but I was inspired to write something after a recent trip to Disneyland. It's not a great story, but it has one thing going for it.

It's short.

Recurring Christmas Nightmare
by John R. Logue

I hate this time of year.

There's nothing the least bit scary about the place. They've "Jacked" it up with their "Nightmare Before Christmas" crap, sickeningly sweetened with incessant Seussian rhymes.

Hold on, here comes the best part. Listen...

Jack’s holiday vision was unlike no other,
So ring out the bells! There’s more cheer to uncover.

There! Did you hear it? "Unlike no other," a double negative.

The scariest thing about the place is the grammar.

Walt wouldn't stand for that sort of thing. He must be spinning in his grave. (Or, if you believe the rumors, his head must be spinning in its cryogenic chamber.)

I miss Paul Frees, the original Ghost Host. Now there was a pro. If someone handed him a script with a double negative, you can be damned sure he'd demand a rewrite, and make damned sure it was scary.

With no goddamned rhymes.

Here's the ballroom. See what I mean? What's scary about a damned gingerbread house?

Plenty of people seem to like it though, judging from the crowds this time of year. Maybe that's why they like it—because it isn't scary.

But shouldn't it be scary? I mean, isn't that the point? People who visit a haunted house want to be scared.

They’d be plenty scared if they knew about the scattereds.

I'm talking about the real ghosts: the dead people whose relatives snuck them in here. Strictly illegal, of course, and most of them are found and vacuumed up. But some of them aren't, and I feel sorry for them. They're stuck haunting whatever spot they happen to have been dumped in.

Compared to them, I've got it good.

I wasn't scattered. Nobody had to sneak me in.

I died right here, on the ride.

And before you ask—no, I was not "frightened to death." Please! It was a ruptured aneurysm. It could just as easily have happened on "It's a Small World."

Wouldn’t that be a nightmare?

True, I'm stuck in this Doom Buggy. (That's right, it's a Doom Buggy, not a damned sleigh. Such a clever play on words, "sleigh" and "slay." Ho. Ho. Ho.)

But at least I get a change of scenery. At least I get to ride.

I guess you could call me a genuine "Hitchhiking Ghost." (Sigh. I miss those guys, too.)

“Hurry back?" Don't worry, I will.

Again, and again, and again.

Sigh.

Oh, don't get me wrong; I love this place. It's just that sometimes this holiday stuff gets me down.

Especially that double-damned double negative.

Speaking of which, here we go again...

Jack’s holiday vision was unlike no other,
So ring out the bells! There’s more cheer to uncover.

I hate this time of year.