The red ghost

As the days were getting shorter, little Tommy noticed that it was starting to get dark outside before his daddy came home from work. He sat at the kitchen window of their flat, looking down at the streets, waiting for his daddy.

It was a particularly rainy day, and his mummy was stirring the sauce for the chili sin carne. As their little kitchen didn’t feature an extraction fan, the windows were steamed up and the whole flat smelled of feel-good food.

Little Tommy had used his sleeve to wipe a part of the window and had his nose pressed against the surface. His mummy was humming a pop song, when Tommy suddenly turned round to her, his eyes wide with shock.

“What is it?” Tommy’s mummy asked.

“ I saw a ghost,” little Tommy whispered. “A Red Ghost.”

His mummy put her spoon down and walked over to the window. “Where is it?”

“He’s gone,” little Tommy said, “he was on a bicycle.”

“Well, if he’s gone, we don’t need to worry about him, do we?” his mummy said. She picked some rosemary, which was growing in a terracotta pot in the windowsill, and returned to the cooker.

As Tommy’s father was waiting for the lift to get up to the third floor, he took off his red poncho. In the lift, he rolled up the poncho and put it in a bag.

“Daddy, daddy,” little Tommy ran up to his daddy and hugged his legs. “Did you see the ghost too?”

“A ghost?” his daddy lifted an eyebrow and kissed his wife

“Tommy saw a red ghost on a bicycle, just before you arrived.”

“Why are you home so late, daddy? Was the ghost chasing you? Are you okay?”

The daddy smiled, lifted Tommy on his lap and confessed that yes, he had seen the red ghost. And yes, the ghost had been chasing him, but little Tommy needn’t worry, as daddy was so much faster the ghost would never be able to catch him.

As it was autumn, the next day was equally rainy. Tommy had opened the window and was leaning out so that he would be able to spot his daddy sooner.

“Mummy, mummy, come quickly,” he begged.

His mummy rushed over. “What is it, darling?”

“It’s the red ghost again,” Tommy said, pointing at his daddy’s poncho. “And I don’t see daddy anywhere!”

Relieved, his mummy started laughing. “Don’t worry, silly,” she said, “you know your daddy is quicker than the ghost! He’ll be here any minute, I promise.”

Tommy couldn’t understand why his parents weren’t worried about the imminent threat of the red ghost. When it rained yet again a third day, Tommy positioned himself at the window even before his mummy started cooking. Tommy was waiting and waiting, and feared that the ghost had caught up with his daddy. When he spotted the red ghost, he leaned out of the window even further, and recognized his daddy’s bicycle – but there was no sign of daddy. Little Tommy decided there was no time to call for his mummy. He reached for the terracotta pot with the rosemary plant and dashed it, with all his might, at the red ghost down below.

The rosemary hit the ghost right on the head.
But Tommy’s daddy never came home again.