It was a motley crew before me, sitting in the drafty study of the victorian Cubberley Mansion. They sat in the antique chairs, sprawled on a plushly upholstered sofa, or leaned against the walls in the back of the room. I paced back and forth before the crackling grand fireplace, eyeing them skeptically.
"As you all know, I could sell Cubberley Mansion for millions of dollars, but I have been blocked. BLOCKED. By ... the Ghost-"
"ooooOOOoooOOO!!" warbled Ricky and Scott.
"-of Cubberley Mansion WILL YOU TWO CUT THAT OUT!!!"
"Awesome dude," said Ricky. "Oh yeah," said Scott. They fist bumped.
"All this supernatural force is making me feel all tingly!" said Alice, clutching her lowcut ample bosom.
"BUT," I said. "But --"
"He said butt," snorted Ricky. Scott was watching Alice's bosom.
"but HOW do we KNOW there is a ghost?" I continued.
"Oh there's a ghost all right," said Ethel, grinning toothlessly, spitting tobacco into a spittoon with a ding!.
"I've seen things moved about," said Jack, the gardener, flexing his arm over his head to scratch behind his ear. Alice watched him with moony eyes. "The garden's good, but the house isn't. It's not natural I tell you."
"Ethel!" I said, jabbing my pipe at her. "How do I know YOU are not the ghost?"
"I'm real, don't you worry about that, pretty boy," cackled Ethel. "I can feel the weather in my knees! If I were a ghost, why would I bother still having arthritis? You tell me that. And me son, he never calls me."
"Your son does love you," mumbled Wendy, the neighbor girl with long black disheveled hair standing lightly behind the sofa.
"Maybe it's you, Wendy!" I said.
Wendy rolled her eyes and poked Scott. "Yo cut it out," said Scott, pushing Wendy.
"Don't push little girls!" said Ricky, pushing Scott, who pushed Ricky, who pushed Scott.
"Hey not in the house," said Jack the gardener, looming over them.
"And what about YOU, Jack?" I asked. "YOU seem attached to this place. Perhaps YOU are the ghost!"
"Is it hot in here?" asked Jack, ripping off his shirt, exposing his chiseled abs. I face palmed.
"Oh, Jack!" gushed Alice, who leapt up and flew into his arms. They embraced.
"Find a room!" yelled Scott at Alice and Jack.
Jack carried Alice out of the study to one of the back rooms.
"Um." I said, watching them leave. "Uh. Well. I know I'M not the ghost."
"Prove it," said Ricky and Scott together.
Wendy threw her shoe at me. It hit me in the head. "Ow!" I said.
"He's not a ghost."
"Well, if none of us are ghosts, there IS no ghost! You're wrong, Ethel!"
"Oh there's a ghost all right," said Ethel. "Plain as day."
"How do you know?"
"Try asking it to go away."
I looked around, feeling foolish. "Um, Mr. Ghost of Cubberley Mansion? Could you please go away?"
The room wavered, evaporated. We were standing on the ground, with the remains of a brick fireplace crumbling behind me. It was a partly cloudy day. The draft in the house was in fact an outside gentle breeze.
"Find a real room!" yelled Ricky at Alice and Jack.
"Cubberly Mansion burned down eighty years ago," said Ethel.
This was in response to a prompt on reddit.com r/WritingPrompts, "He ripped his shirt off. I didn't even stare at his chest; I just wondered what kind of person would waste $15 like that." I had just watched "Big Trouble in Little China", where all the characters were caricatures and their aimless "I don't know what is going on!" speeches prophetically told you want you needed to know to follow the next bit of the plot.