Ghostly Prompts For The Christmas Season

Earlier this month I posted a story about my family telling ghost stories at Christmas- it’s a Victorian Tradition and one that I really enjoy taking part in. I’ve posted some links here for a little inspiration and if this Winter you have that feeling in your bones ( that can only be a ghost story trying to make it’s way into the world ) then you might find these useful too.

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How To Write A Victorian Christmas Ghost Story

Best Thriller and Suspense Writing Prompts of 2021 (reedsy.com)

Writing Prompts About Ghosts

Forget Me Not

Inspired by FOWC: INTERFERENCE

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Sometimes Facebook pulls up a memory that I forgot all about and I am pleasantly surprisedĀ  with the find.

Sometimes they are funny, not in a funny ‘ ha, ha ‘ sort of way but in a ‘ those little facts you hear about memories that sound sketchy really aren’t so far fetched. I mean I don’t have a real sense of humor but apparently my brain does because my memory played a trick on me.

Here is the memory in question:

When I think back on bringing Hamish home when he was just over 10 weeks old, I remember my cats were really good with him. That he hung around them all of the time and that at night they insisted heĀ  stay close to them ( that was something they learned to do from my older dogs who had since passed on and had raised them ).

Kolchak, Darwin and Hamish.
Photo A..M. Moscoso-2014

Apparently I have been looking back and not seeing the bumps in the road that they hit- like this one:

My cat peed on Hamish’s bed. Hamish buried my cat’s food bowl in the backyard. And the battle rages on…

Hamish Macbeth
Photo A.M. Moscoso
September 2014

From the way that reads, there was an on going power struggle and for some reason I forgot all about it. I didn’t run interference from the looks of it. You’re not supposed to dabble to much when you move new animal into the home, but some of this stuff looked funny and I still forgot about it.

I wonder why?

Photo A.M. Moscoso
Hamish and Micey
2017

Baby Amby

I want to tell you about the night my baby cousin, Amby, died.

I don’t remember the date, but it was snowing that night and the roads were slick with ice.

I remember I was in the living room watching Lawrence Welk with my Grandparents when the phone rang. My Mom was sitting on her end of the couch, my Dad was sitting on his end and I was on the floor . I rolled over so that I could see them fight over who would get the phone.

They had this thing- when they argued they never said a word.

My Dad would look at my Mom, she would take a long hard drag on her cigarette and my Dad would huff and puff. Then she would slam her hand down and throw herself up to her feet and leave the room.

Sometimes my Dad lost those fights and when he did he would huff and puff harder then usual and then he would somehow stomp his feet hard enough to shake the floor and then he would stomp off.

That night my Dad lost that fight and as he stomped off to the dining room where the phone was. she leaned back and took another hard drag on her cigarette.

That was her version of a parting shot and it must have gotten to him because he stomped his feet hard enough to make the candy dish ( which served as a back up ashtray) and the actual ash trays which were always full dance on the coffee table.

I never got tired of watching those ashtrays dance.

I heard my Dad’s voice rumbled through the walls. ” God. No. When? ”

He came back out into the living room.

He held his hand out to my Mom and sort of snapped his fingers. She leaned to the side table and took a cigarette out of the pink quilted cigarette case I had given her for Mother’s Day and she tossed him one.

He lit it with the cigarette that was dangling out of the corner of his mouth and then he stubbed it out in the candy dish/ashtray I had made in Brownies.

“Velma went in to wake up little Amby- he was gone. It got him. Crib death. ” My Dad said.

My Mom who had went in to my little sister’s room a few years ago and found her gone the same way too, winced.

” We just can’t keep them, can we? ” She asked my Dad.

He sat back down and he reached out for my Mom but she pushed his hand away.

” You kept me. ” I said. I flopped back on my belly and watched Lawrence wave his baton from side to side. He was smiling. I liked his smile. ” I’m still here. ”

” You’re different. ” My Grandmother said from the side chair in the darkest corner of the room. ” Crib death didn’t take you. A car did. ”

” It took all three of us. ” My Grandpa reminded her from the chair he haunted next to her.

Lawrence’s audience started to clap and the bubble machine behind him went off.

I rested my chin in my hands and Christmas music from the tv floated out towards us.

Smiling, just a little, I thought about babies and empty rooms and stuffed dogs and cats gathering dust in rooms nobody went into anymore.