Ghost Shop - Ghost Show

 

The billboard proclaimed

everyone should come to see

the brand-new “Ghost Shop – Ghost Show”

on the Avenue of Main at the

stroke of Three.

 

The billboard hadn’t been there

yesterday, you see, decorated

with flashing neon commands for such an affair,

so you dare not miss it,

for the penalties would be despair, it read.

 

There was no sign post or billboard

the day before, nor the day before,

it was just there, suddenly, a bold neon sign,

just along the road, mysteriously appeared,

but no one worried it seemed, except Abby.

 

“A Ghost Shop,” scoffed Abby, with

a shrill sort of snort.

“There’s no such thing as specters or

ghouls, only a way to for a business

to fool people and their money extort.”

 

Thought Abby aloud,

to the crowd,

who booed and hissed

forcing her to kowtow

and shrink back to the shadow.

 

The Avenue of Main, near the stroke of three,

was packed with those people wanting to know,

what was indeed the Ghost Show, at the

Ghost Shop, the billboard had so proudly

proclaimed.

 

Abby snorted, in her shrill sort of way,

“I bet the proprietor is a monster, here to

steal souls and make a clean getaway.”

The crowd hushed her again, saying,

“Go away doubting Abby, you spoil our fun.”

 

The Church bells tolled three loud chimes,

and the doors to the store opened wide,   

plumes and tendrils of smoke wafted out,

the crowd eagerly cried their, “Oooh’s.”

the owner came out with a spooky glide.

 

“Welcome to the Ghost Shop – Ghost Show,” said the gaunt man.

“It’s my pleasure to welcome all you boys and ghouls!”

His boney wrist cracked as it flicked and produced

a bouquet of funeral lilies from up his long sleeve.

To which the crowd applauded, politely it seemed.  

 

A witch cackled and flew down from the sky,

her broom landing between the man and the door,

“Horace, you fool. This shop is cursed,

as I told you before.” Her long finger pointed

at the man’s wrinkled lapel.

 

“Horace,” chuckled Abby, “What a name to have!”

She nudged the ribs of the man next to her

who said, “Ow, that hurt. Please… I’m

trying to watch the show, leave me alone.”

Abby bit her lip and bowed her sad head.

 

“Eunice, you hag, be away with you!” shouted the

gaunt and mysterious proprietor at the

ugly old witch. “I’ve trinkets and treasures

to sell to these good people.”

To which the people cheered and clapped.

 

The witch looked at crowd,

perplexed as to why they cheered so loud.

“No, you see, I’m here to help. This man is no man,

no quiet shopkeeper. He a demon from beyond, a

casual Grim Reaper.”

 

The crowd, whipped up by this new shop,

wanted things and wares from Ghosts and whatnot,

so they threw stones and rocks at the poor woman,

and caused her to flee, but before she left,

she made a decree, “You’re all idiots, except that one.”

 

She pointed at sad Abby, who looked up, “Who me?”

The witch nodded from her broom, “That one there,

she’s the only one not doomed.” With another cackle

the witch clicked her heels and flew up to the sky

out of sight.

 

The billboard was gone the very next day,

the town was in flames and people went away,

except for doubting Abby, who rose above the fray,

to spend a nice evening drinking tea and eating cakes,

with the Witch of the Mountain at Halloween Hall.