THE GHOST WRITER
No, this is not your usual definition of a ghostwriter, or some tit bits on ghostwriting. This is a story of three tales; the writer (Ekow Author Excellence) who went MIA on Medium and his return, his ability to tell ghost stories with dexterity, and the element in this particular story.
Grandpa was an organist. He played that piece for well over fifty years! What a finger twitching mile!
In the wee hours of the evenings, a neighbour’s dog would come looking for food. Of course it wasn’t a true hunt, because grandpa would serve him some crumbs off his chow.
The grandfather’s clock finally ceased ticking. Next was his funeral.
In the Ghanaian traditional setting, the deceased is usually brought home from the morgue on Thursday evening or Friday dawn. That helps the undertakers bathe it, and dress it up for burial. When this is done, some of the bereaved family and close friends keep vigil. We call it wake-keeping.
On that fateful day, the corpse was brought home. I was a little boy then. I heard this when I grew up. The undertakers undertook thief assignment.
It was midnight. The stars twinkled, flickered, and sprinkled some lights on the dark carpet, which swooped over town.
Old guards said that a little after midnight, they heard the dogs “barking”. However, their barks didn’t sound doggy.
Every Tom, Dick, and Harry who was awake that time of the night, said that they heard an organ playing some melodies. Shocking, isn’t it? But that’s not the end.
Remember the neighbour’s dog I mentioned earlier? As though he knew it, he no longer stood in front of the door, waiting for his old friend to feed him, but he made his way through the doorway to grandpa’s favourite spot to lie down. Believe you me,he never got the chance to get in while his friend was alive. So how did he know? He trailed his scent? Or was it another paranormal activity? Well, your guess is as good as mine.
