The Visitors

The ghost of J.S. Bach showed up last night in my living room. I’m usually okay about meeting a ghost because I’m lonely and the dead are happy to talk with anyone. But I was tired, and the ghost of Bach was talking about the glories of of G-7th Major versus A-minor derivations, and I shouted out for him to shut it. The ghost of Bach started crying tears of dust. Ghosts have no water in their bodies. It turns out water is what makes us come to life. The dust made me cough.

Just then the ghost of President Dwight D. Eisenhower showed up. He invited us to take a hike through the cemetery down the road. The ghost of Eisenhower was ambitious in his intention to wake up all the dead and lead them in a parade down Main Street and let it be known that ghosts really do exist. I said it was late and no one would notice the parade. The ghost of Eisenhower was dejected and began to rain ectoplasm. 

The ghost of the Indian poet Shiv Kumar Batalvi appeared amidst the dust and spirit gel rain. The ghost of Shiv said, “Life is a long road, with many sites to see, we walk from one to the next, our footsteps becoming heartbeats.”

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