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Description
Ghost Writer hovered uncertainly front of the coffee shop, clutching another cup of coffee in his hands. He hated to admit it, but he had no idea where Technus actually ‘lived’. He resisted the urge to hit his head on the glass window behind him with some difficulty.

One problem after another … this never happened with any of the other things I wrote! But then again, this must mean that The Fright Before Christmas is going to be brilliant! He momentarily lost himself in the mental image of the poem finished at last, before snapping back to the harsh reality that, at this rate, he wasn’t going to finish it. He mumbled something about how luck just didn’t like him and gazed miserably at his reflection in the coffee’s surface.

“Looking at coffee while miserable. That’s against the rules.”

Ghost Writer resisted the urge to hit the speaker.

“Not acknowledging a warden when they’re talking to you. That’s against the rules.”

He gripped the Styrofoam cup tighter.

“Deliberately disregarding a senior officer’s warnings. That’s-“

“Let me guess? Against the rules!” Ghost Writer shouted, flinging his coffee straight at Walker. He must have been mad to give up his coffee.

Walker stared at his white suit, now complete with a lovely stain. He looked back up at Ghost Writer. “Throwing a drink onto a person’s freshly dry-cleaned clothing. That’s against the rules.”

Ghost Writer just stared. “No it’s not.”

Walker retrieved a now-soggy notebook from his pocket. He then fished out a pen and scribbled something, before shoving the notebook in Ghost Writer’s face. Ghost Writer read it out to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating, “’Rule number 893; no security personnel must wear a tutu to drill practice.’ How does that relate to me?”

Walker blinked before looking at the notebook. “I meant the other rule!”

“’Rule number I-don’t-know-because-I’ve-lost-count; Drinks and food must not be spilt on freshly dry-cleaned clothes.’ Well that makes more sense.” Ghost Writer heaved a silent sigh of relief at a semi-sane rule. After all, he needed the semi-sanity after his recent trials …

That snapped his mind back to his mission. “Walker, I realise I’m being rude, but where is Technus’ home?”

Walker stopped in the middle of writing something. “Keyboard broken?” A quick nod from Ghost Writer “Makes sense now. Go towards Skulker’s island, left just before there and keep going straight on. It should be one of the doors near to where the Fright Knight’s castle is.”

“Thank you!” Ghost Writer sped off into the green and black swirls of the Ghost Zone, Walker shouting after him “speeding is against the rules!” Well, he would have said that if he wasn’t hit in the face by a flyer.

“Littering; that’s against-” he peered closer at the flyer. “Baking competition in one week’s time; all welcome. Sign up at the old hall before to enter.” The Warden narrowed his eyes and adjusted his hat. “Not letting me know about the annual baking competition; that’s against the rules.” Walker stormed off towards the old hall (often used for parties and festivities, all against the rules unless he was invited), determined to keep his title of ‘Best Baker’ for a fourth year running.

***

Ghost Writer sped through the Ghost Zone, Walker’s direction’s flickering through his head swiftly. Skulker’s island soon came into view, but by the looks of things the Ghost Zone’s ‘greatest hunter’ was currently out – probably good, considering he’d just uprooted several trees as he flew past.

He turned left as instructed, then carried on flying. Pretty soon the Fright Knight’s castle loomed into view, and Ghost Writer had to stop and take a second glance at his surroundings.

Well, he said that Technus’ door was near the Knight’s castle. Of course, Ghost Writer hadn’t expected the five-hundred or so purple doors floating around. He felt a wail of despair attempt to climb out of his throat, but all he allowed was something that sounded suspiciously like ‘wibble’.

After scanning the area (or gaping in shock at all of the doors) for a moment, he noticed what looked like a TV screen attached to one of the doors. He floated up to investigate.

Words were scrolling across the screen, proclaiming: I, Technus, Master of all things electrical and beeping am currently in the middle of delicate work. So don’t annoy me without a good reason, or I shall be forced to unleash my electronic might against you!

Ghost Writer just glared at the note in distaste. Electronic might my – he caught himself before he could mentally finish the sentence. He needed the egoistical ghosts’ help; he had to be polite.

He reached forwards and gripped the door handle while putting his ear to the door. He didn’t hear anything, so carefully opened the door and threw himself down onto the floor in case a rabid toaster leapt out and attacked him.

No toaster attacked him. A DVD player’s light, however, seemed to be glaring as well as it could at him. Ghost Writer glanced around, making sure the coast was clear, before standing up and brushing some dust off of his coat.

A whizzing sound sounded in a nearby room, followed shortly by a clang and a long stream of curses in a nasally voice.

He floated over to the room where the technology-obsessed ghost’s voice was coming from, and was greeted by an even more horrific sight than an empty jar of coffee. Yes, it was that bad.

It was pink. It had a lace hem. It had a stupidly cute kitten on the front. It was an apron, and Technus was wearing it.

Ghost Writer couldn’t help it. “What in the name of Pariah Dark is that … that thing?!” he yelled in horror.

Technus shrieked in horror – Ghost Writer shuddered from the wrongness of the situation – and dramatically dropped a bowl onto the floor.

“What are you doing here? Didn’t you see the sign on the door?” Technus yelped, snatching the bowl from the floor.

“Yes, I did, but-” he began, only to be cut off by another piercing shriek from the technology-obsessed spook.

“Then what are you doing in here?!” he hissed, clutching the bowl tightly.

Ghost Writer willed himself to stay calm. “I was just about to explain. First, allow me to apologise for disturbing you. Second, I am here on a matter of great importance.”

Technus went pale. “The baking contest hasn’t been cancelled, has it?” he asked fearfully. The writer resisted the urge to run around madly and pull his hair out in frustration.

“Not as far as I know. And it’s worse than that.”

“You mean-?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t believe it! There’s no more icing left for the cupcakes! I, Technus, master of all things-” Technus was cut off from his rant by a wooden spoon sailing past his head.

“No! My keyboard is broken, and you are the only one who can fix it! Please?” Well, being polite should make Technus forget that he’d just lobbed a spoon at his head.

Technus placed the bowl he’d been holding down, a thoughtful look on his face. He began to stir the mixture, frowning slightly as he did so. Ghost Writer was just about to leave when Technus looked up. “How did you break it?” Well, this is going to be slightly embarrassing.

“Well, I-”

“The truth please, Ghost Writer.”

“Ok. I got a story idea, I ran to write it with a mug of coffee in my hand and … well …”

“Let me guess; you tripped on a rug and it went flying everywhere? Hah! I, Technus, would not have done that!”

Ghost Writer glared. “Can you fix it, yes or no?” he growled.

Technus puffed himself up like a threatened pufferfish. “Of course I can! I am Technus, master of all things electrical and beeping! But it will have to wait until the baking competition is over; I have to find out how to make a Carrot Cake if I want to win that competition. I will beat Walker this year!” he finished dramatically.

There was a slight pause, then “But in the mean time, I’ve got an old computer that runs Portals 98 and printer you can use instead. It’s a bit slow, but it should do the trick.”

Ghost Writer allowed a weary smile onto his face. “Thanks. I think I’ve got a book on cakes somewhere in my library; you’re welcome to borrow it if you want.” Unless Walker stole it. But that would be going completely against his rules … but he is very competitive when it comes to cake baking.

Technus beamed. “I, Technus, think I will borrow this book of cakes and wipe the floor with Walker’s-!”

“Where’s that computer you mentioned then?” Ghost Writer said loudly while pushing Technus out of the kitchen (avoiding the horrible thing called an apron), quite effectively cutting Technus off.

***

Ghost Writer smiled happily. It had taken quite a while, but in that time his fried keyboard had been taken away, Technus had wired the computer up, and he’d been able to savour the silence in his home once the annoying ghost had gone. But he couldn’t help think he’d forgotten something … no, probably nothing important.

He pulled a chair up to the computer anyway and sat down. He stared at the screen, before a question wormed its way into his mind.

“Where’s the on button?” He knew he’d forgotten something.

Description
Ghost Writer hovered uncertainly front of the coffee shop, clutching another cup of coffee in his hands. He hated to admit it, but he had no idea where Technus actually ‘lived’. He resisted the urge to hit his head on the glass window behind him with some difficulty.

One problem after another … this never happened with any of the other things I wrote! But then again, this must mean that The Fright Before Christmas is going to be brilliant! He momentarily lost himself in the mental image of the poem finished at last, before snapping back to the harsh reality that, at this rate, he wasn’t going to finish it. He mumbled something about how luck just didn’t like him and gazed miserably at his reflection in the coffee’s surface.

“Looking at coffee while miserable. That’s against the rules.”

Ghost Writer resisted the urge to hit the speaker.

“Not acknowledging a warden when they’re talking to you. That’s against the rules.”

He gripped the Styrofoam cup tighter.

“Deliberately disregarding a senior officer’s warnings. That’s-“

“Let me guess? Against the rules!” Ghost Writer shouted, flinging his coffee straight at Walker. He must have been mad to give up his coffee.

Walker stared at his white suit, now complete with a lovely stain. He looked back up at Ghost Writer. “Throwing a drink onto a person’s freshly dry-cleaned clothing. That’s against the rules.”

Ghost Writer just stared. “No it’s not.”

Walker retrieved a now-soggy notebook from his pocket. He then fished out a pen and scribbled something, before shoving the notebook in Ghost Writer’s face. Ghost Writer read it out to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating, “’Rule number 893; no security personnel must wear a tutu to drill practice.’ How does that relate to me?”

Walker blinked before looking at the notebook. “I meant the other rule!”

“’Rule number I-don’t-know-because-I’ve-lost-count; Drinks and food must not be spilt on freshly dry-cleaned clothes.’ Well that makes more sense.” Ghost Writer heaved a silent sigh of relief at a semi-sane rule. After all, he needed the semi-sanity after his recent trials …

That snapped his mind back to his mission. “Walker, I realise I’m being rude, but where is Technus’ home?”

Walker stopped in the middle of writing something. “Keyboard broken?” A quick nod from Ghost Writer “Makes sense now. Go towards Skulker’s island, left just before there and keep going straight on. It should be one of the doors near to where the Fright Knight’s castle is.”

“Thank you!” Ghost Writer sped off into the green and black swirls of the Ghost Zone, Walker shouting after him “speeding is against the rules!” Well, he would have said that if he wasn’t hit in the face by a flyer.

“Littering; that’s against-” he peered closer at the flyer. “Baking competition in one week’s time; all welcome. Sign up at the old hall before to enter.” The Warden narrowed his eyes and adjusted his hat. “Not letting me know about the annual baking competition; that’s against the rules.” Walker stormed off towards the old hall (often used for parties and festivities, all against the rules unless he was invited), determined to keep his title of ‘Best Baker’ for a fourth year running.

***

Ghost Writer sped through the Ghost Zone, Walker’s direction’s flickering through his head swiftly. Skulker’s island soon came into view, but by the looks of things the Ghost Zone’s ‘greatest hunter’ was currently out – probably good, considering he’d just uprooted several trees as he flew past.

He turned left as instructed, then carried on flying. Pretty soon the Fright Knight’s castle loomed into view, and Ghost Writer had to stop and take a second glance at his surroundings.

Well, he said that Technus’ door was near the Knight’s castle. Of course, Ghost Writer hadn’t expected the five-hundred or so purple doors floating around. He felt a wail of despair attempt to climb out of his throat, but all he allowed was something that sounded suspiciously like ‘wibble’.

After scanning the area (or gaping in shock at all of the doors) for a moment, he noticed what looked like a TV screen attached to one of the doors. He floated up to investigate.

Words were scrolling across the screen, proclaiming: I, Technus, Master of all things electrical and beeping am currently in the middle of delicate work. So don’t annoy me without a good reason, or I shall be forced to unleash my electronic might against you!

Ghost Writer just glared at the note in distaste. Electronic might my – he caught himself before he could mentally finish the sentence. He needed the egoistical ghosts’ help; he had to be polite.

He reached forwards and gripped the door handle while putting his ear to the door. He didn’t hear anything, so carefully opened the door and threw himself down onto the floor in case a rabid toaster leapt out and attacked him.

No toaster attacked him. A DVD player’s light, however, seemed to be glaring as well as it could at him. Ghost Writer glanced around, making sure the coast was clear, before standing up and brushing some dust off of his coat.

A whizzing sound sounded in a nearby room, followed shortly by a clang and a long stream of curses in a nasally voice.

He floated over to the room where the technology-obsessed ghost’s voice was coming from, and was greeted by an even more horrific sight than an empty jar of coffee. Yes, it was that bad.

It was pink. It had a lace hem. It had a stupidly cute kitten on the front. It was an apron, and Technus was wearing it.

Ghost Writer couldn’t help it. “What in the name of Pariah Dark is that … that thing?!” he yelled in horror.

Technus shrieked in horror – Ghost Writer shuddered from the wrongness of the situation – and dramatically dropped a bowl onto the floor.

“What are you doing here? Didn’t you see the sign on the door?” Technus yelped, snatching the bowl from the floor.

“Yes, I did, but-” he began, only to be cut off by another piercing shriek from the technology-obsessed spook.

“Then what are you doing in here?!” he hissed, clutching the bowl tightly.

Ghost Writer willed himself to stay calm. “I was just about to explain. First, allow me to apologise for disturbing you. Second, I am here on a matter of great importance.”

Technus went pale. “The baking contest hasn’t been cancelled, has it?” he asked fearfully. The writer resisted the urge to run around madly and pull his hair out in frustration.

“Not as far as I know. And it’s worse than that.”

“You mean-?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t believe it! There’s no more icing left for the cupcakes! I, Technus, master of all things-” Technus was cut off from his rant by a wooden spoon sailing past his head.

“No! My keyboard is broken, and you are the only one who can fix it! Please?” Well, being polite should make Technus forget that he’d just lobbed a spoon at his head.

Technus placed the bowl he’d been holding down, a thoughtful look on his face. He began to stir the mixture, frowning slightly as he did so. Ghost Writer was just about to leave when Technus looked up. “How did you break it?” Well, this is going to be slightly embarrassing.

“Well, I-”

“The truth please, Ghost Writer.”

“Ok. I got a story idea, I ran to write it with a mug of coffee in my hand and … well …”

“Let me guess; you tripped on a rug and it went flying everywhere? Hah! I, Technus, would not have done that!”

Ghost Writer glared. “Can you fix it, yes or no?” he growled.

Technus puffed himself up like a threatened pufferfish. “Of course I can! I am Technus, master of all things electrical and beeping! But it will have to wait until the baking competition is over; I have to find out how to make a Carrot Cake if I want to win that competition. I will beat Walker this year!” he finished dramatically.

There was a slight pause, then “But in the mean time, I’ve got an old computer that runs Portals 98 and printer you can use instead. It’s a bit slow, but it should do the trick.”

Ghost Writer allowed a weary smile onto his face. “Thanks. I think I’ve got a book on cakes somewhere in my library; you’re welcome to borrow it if you want.” Unless Walker stole it. But that would be going completely against his rules … but he is very competitive when it comes to cake baking.

Technus beamed. “I, Technus, think I will borrow this book of cakes and wipe the floor with Walker’s-!”

“Where’s that computer you mentioned then?” Ghost Writer said loudly while pushing Technus out of the kitchen (avoiding the horrible thing called an apron), quite effectively cutting Technus off.

***

Ghost Writer smiled happily. It had taken quite a while, but in that time his fried keyboard had been taken away, Technus had wired the computer up, and he’d been able to savour the silence in his home once the annoying ghost had gone. But he couldn’t help think he’d forgotten something … no, probably nothing important.

He pulled a chair up to the computer anyway and sat down. He stared at the screen, before a question wormed its way into his mind.

“Where’s the on button?” He knew he’d forgotten something.