The Ghost Who was on Fire – Heroes, Legends, Fairies, and other Absurdities

I asked Dragon for a prompt. She wanted a story about a ghost that was on fire.


In a realm of magic, in a time of heroes; there was an empty house with a lonely ghost. What felt like ages to the little ghost was only a few months and eventually the house was bought and another family moved in.

The little ghost was young and didn’t appreciate the new owners, especially the little girl who moved into his room. She changed the colour of the walls and added stickers of dragons, princesses, and flowers.

“Stop changing my room,” he said to her.

Now, some people would be scarred of a ghost suddenly appearing, but not this little girl. She simply shrugged and replied, “No. It’s my room now.”

“No, it’s mine,” he said.

“Mine,” she replied.

They went on like this for a long time until the little girl became angry and stomped her foot saying, “Listen here. This isn’t your room anymore, this is mine. You’re a ghost. You’re dead.” He deflated, quite literally, and hovered on the bed crying. He cried and he cried and after that, he cried some more.  Feeling guilty, the little girl added, “I’m sorry I yelled. Maybe we can share the room?”

“No. You’re right. I’m dead.”

“Shouldn’t you move on then?” It’s common knowledge, or at least it was to the little girl who loved reading ghost stories, that ghosts move on after they’ve accepted their death, unless they have unfinished business.

“I can’t, I’m too cold.”

That must have been his unfinished business. She decided to help him and find a way to make him warm again. But how?

The first thing she tried was to wrap him in her warmest blanket; it fell right through him. She made it into a little tent and he said it didn’t make a difference.

The second attempt was based off what she used to warm up her feet. There was a small heating vent behind her father’s desk. When her feet were cold, she’d stand on the vent and let the hot air warm her up.

She brought him downstairs and he positioned himself over the vent. They waited for the hot air. She was about to go try and reach the thermostat when the air turned on. The little ghost hovered in place for a few seconds and then was pushed by the air higher and higher until he was squished on the ceiling. The sight made the little girl giggle and giggle until she was flat on the floor.

When they had both peeled themselves off their respective surfaces, the little girl had an idea.

“We need something hotter. Something really hot.” She knew she shouldn’t play with matches or lighters, but since no one could see the ghost, she didn’t need to light anything.

They waited until just before dinner and when her father lit up the barbeque, she said, “Now go in there.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” he asked.

“Yes, but you’re a ghost remember.”

“Okay.” With that, he flew at the barbeque and bounced off of it into the snow.

“Iron,” she said and smacked her forehead. “Ghost don’t like iron.” She’d learnt from her ghost stories that salt and iron kept ghosts out of places.

“Wait until he opens it!” she ordered.

The little ghost shook himself off and waited for the barbeque to open. He flew inside and when the lid closed, he was trapped.

When the lid was opened again the ghost flew out screaming, “Ow ow ow.” Inside his translucent skin were embers from the fire. He flew around in circles and finally dove into the snowbank again. Little spots of embers melted the snow in an odd pattern.

Back inside, in her room, she watched as the ghost shivered, still hovering over her bed.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“It’s okay. You tried your best.” The little ghost’s words were punctuated by shivers.

They stayed where they were for a few long quiet moments and the little girl started to cry. The ghost’s whole situation seemed hopeless. Between sobs, she said, “Maybe you could stay here and we could be friends?”

“You want to be my friend?” The surprise in his voice made her giggle through her tears. Giggling and crying are closer than most people want to admit.

“Of course I do… Hug?”

In response he nodded and she wrapped him in a big warm hug. It wasn’t until after she was holding him in a hug that she was surprised she could feel him.

Slowly, his shivering stopped and he gave a big sigh. “Thank you. I needed a friend. I think I can move on now.”

They both said goodbye at the same time and he slowly faded away, moving on to the next great adventure.

The moral of this story is simple: A warm, consensual hug can make everything better.

Heroes, Legends, Fairies, and other Absurdities are the expanded versions of stories I’ve told my children at night before bed. They’re short, silly, and were completely improvised in the telling.

The Teapot Chicken – Heroes, Legends, Fairies, and other Absurdities

In a realm of magic, in a time of heroes; lived an old cantankerous wizard named Myrka. Despite living in an ideal little village, close enough to the castle to buy anything she needed but far enough not to be disturbed, she hated people. Wanting nothing more than to be left alone in her small, comfortable cottage, to drink tea and read her books.

Unfortunately, as a Wizard, people always seemed to need her to heal something, fix something, find something, or just stop some ultimate evil.

Because of the drain on her time, people were constantly touching her things. They’d come into her home begging to turn their children back from frogs. (Despite the fact that those same children had been warned that kissing an enchanted frog was a terribly dangerous idea. She’d even done a very informative talk at the local schoolhouse.) While they were inside they’d start touching things. Leaving fingermarks all over the wizard’s books, paintings, or teapots.

One day, after one of the ungrateful townsfolk had a second head removed (How’d she get the second head? That’s another story and the wizard didn’t care to ask.) they touched her favourite teapot, a dainty little china number with pastel blue flowers. The dark black smears on the spout of the teapot made the wizard’s stomach roil and she had to throw out a perfectly good pot of tea.

The wizard finally had enough and decided to enchant the teapot. She took her time in deciding how, but finally settled on making the teapot turn into a chicken when touched by anyone but the wizard or her family.

Why a chicken you ask? Well they’re both cuddly and vicious at the same time. Like tiny dragons, with feathers. She named the teapot Tina and could be seen absentmindedly stroking its spout and lid while reading.

One day the ruler of the land decided she wanted something from the wizard. Despite the wizard doing everything in her power to make people think she wasn’t powerful, word had gone around and Queen Renelle the Sixth needed something.

The Queen didn’t send a messenger or a knight to bring the wizard to her, no; she and her personal guard, court wizard, royal band, and half her court, showed up one morning on poor Myrka the wizard’s doorstep.

The small cottage was only able to accommodate the Queen and two of her guards.

“Would you like some tea Your Majesty?” Myrka asked forgetting the rituals of the court. She had always been more interested in the workings of the magical universe, so it’s understandable that she not know that, in that queendom, when the Queen visits, she must serve her host.

Before anyone could say anything, the queen picked up the teapot, yes that one, and started to serve tea. The events that followed saw the Queen soaked in scalding tea regurgitated by an angry chicken, and the wizard imprisoned for attacking the Queen. Tina hovered off in a huff, pecking several guards on her way out.

The Queen promptly forgot about the Wizard, who was placed in the deepest part of the dungeons. So deep as to have no guards, light, food, or drink. Just a rotting smell from the other prisoners.

Thankfully for the wizard, Tina the teapot was fond of her. The little teapot forced herself into chicken form and made her way to the dungeons. It’s amazing how little attention people will pay to a random chicken and how a strong peck to the nose will dissuade predators.

The valiant teapot freed the wizard from the dungeons and the two headed back to their little cottage.

The thought of cursing the Queen came to the wizard’s mind, but in the end she decided that wherever there was a curse there was always a pesky hero trying to break it. Instead she cast a spell making everyone in the castle forget that she existed.

To avoid the same situation happening again, the wizard enchanted her cottage. The next time a royal knocked on her cottage, the entire thing sprouted legs and ran away.

The moral of this story is simple: Always warn your guests about spells placed on your dishware. Also, don’t bother a wizard while they’re relaxing with a cup of tea and reading.


Heroes, Legends, Fairies, and other Absurdities are the expanded versions of stories I’ve told my children at night before bed. They’re short, silly, and were completely improvised in the telling.