Smiling Ghosts

3

((Not this basement being inspired by my grandmother's basement-

[~~)Geroge(~~]

I jumped awake from my bed. I thought it was just some kind of strange dream. My heavy breathing seemed to settle. I put my hand on my chest and closed my eyes. I took one more deep breath and opened my eyes. My vision sunk into my brain. So... It was real.

How did I get on my bed? I looked back at the mirror, my burning curiosity had me throwing off my covers and rush across the room. The small streak I wiped was still there. I wiped it again. Then again, Again. Again. I wasn't sure of what I wanted, but a twinge of disappointment pierced my heart.

"Dream-?" Silence.

"Hello! Dream? Was that you in the mirror? Dreaaam!"

More screaming silence. I sighed once again and picked myself up from the floor. I covered the mirror with an extra blanket. I peeled the covers off the bed once again and scoured the house for a wash room. I threw the sheets in the washer and started the cycle.

I found the cleaning closet and started at the task. Years of dust I swept and mopped was disgusting. I took all blankets, pillows, sheets, and threw them in the washroom as well. I cleaned every nook and cranny I could find. Every bedroom was spotless and all of the mirrors were cleaned.

After nearly six hours of dirty work, I was finished. I stood back, being proud of myself. Now the basement. I checked the time on the grandfather clock. 3 pm. I have two hours, it'll be fine!

I grabbed the air fresheners, the mop, broom, and wall cleaning products. I had to use my weight and force to open the jammed door. I coughed as some dust filled the air. I used my phone as a flashlight. I skimmed the nearby walls for a light switch. I found one and flicked it on. Soon enough the room burst with life.

There were record discs lined across one wall with a jukebox. Patterned booths lined up, with hanging lights. A pool table in a isolated corner, with a neon bar strip hanging. I was blown away. Near the jukebox was space for a dance floor. I went over to the mini bar.

It had a bunch of old fashioned kitchen supplies, such as an old milk shake blender. I took out everything of the fridge, I threw out all of the old dishes and utensils. After sweeping, mopping, and cleaning the walls, the clock struck five.

All of the sudden, the televison turned on, the Jukebox's tunes filled the air. The neon lights all burned brighter. People were there all of a sudden, but none of them had faces. I squeezed through the crowd and ran into a woman talking to a group of.. 50s Greasers?

I was about two inches taller than the woman, her heavy mascara and bright eyes searched me up and down. "Who the hell are you?"

She terrified me. The way she held herself with confidence had my heart speeding with nervousness. "George Davidson." I whispered.

"I'm Minx. You look.. foreign. And your clothes are weird."

I looked down and rubbed my arm, "W-well."

"Hey! Easy on the man!" Is that.. President Schlatt? What the hell is going on? I squeezed my eyes shut and pinched myself. Unfortunately, I just couldn't wake up from this fever dream.

"He's just... different." He threw a pair of old clothes at me. He put his hands on my shoulders, "If you're going to be in my presence, you have to look.. normal."

Normal?! Nothing about this is normal. I looked down at myself, and there I was, wearing a black overcoat, with a grey fedora, and black trousers. I excused myself from them and trudged over to the bar. I put my head in my hands. I sighed. Taking off the stupid fedora, my hand ran through my hair.

All of the sudden, someone then tapped on my shoulder. I turned around and saw the exact same man that was in the mirror.

"You're- you're the guy that I saw earlier!"

He smiled. The only difference was that his hair was slicked back in a greaser style. He sported a green leather jacket, a white under shirt, leather bottoms, and black shoes. On his coat, it read, feral boys. He nodded, "Hello George Davidson."

He took my hand and led me to the dance floor. He spun me in a circle, then we went into a springy step dance. I didn't know how to dance. He was basically being the one in charge, leading really. The way we moved in sync made my heart swell. He was graceful with his hands on me. "You're not supposed to be in the basement after 5 pm George. You're a rule breaker."

I huffed, "Shut up. I was literally just trying to clean. You're all trespassing technically."

All of the sudden, a high pitched kettle noise escaped his lips, "You can't kick ghosts out."

"Ghosts don't dance! They- They don't play pool! Neither do they wear leather and kick back near the jukebox!"

Dream smirked and spun me once again, "George, this isn't a normal place."

I rolled my eyes and scoffed, "No kidding you idiot."

Once the song ended, he dipped me. "I'm more of a modern guy. These idiots.. well they're stuck in their own time. They refuse to adapt. We're all dead."

"How did you die?"

"George! You can't just ask a ghost how they died!"

Before I knew it, his lips landed on mine. A bell chimed. The lively atmosphere faded. The people left, and so did Dream. Or, I think it's Dream. All the lights had shut off and the basement seemed aloof. I turned on my phone.

4:04 am.

Nothing of last night's events were found. The 50s diner faded into a dark basement with couches, a large bookshelf, and wood flooring. The juke box and records stayed at least.