Ghosts One Shots

Nigel / Thomas : Ghostwriter (pt 1)

He came in quickly, barging into the room in a way that seemed both overdramatic and eloquent in the way only Thomas had.

Nigel had been mid-conversation with Geoff that may not have been particularly respectable.

"Oh. Back, are you?" Geoff asked.

"Well, obviously," his wife said, who was staying far across the room from Joan, who spoke next.

"We don't want to hear any of that awful nonsense you call art."

"Just be quiet, Joan," Geoff's annoyed wife said, "he's not going to shag you too. It wouldn't just be the plague he'd be getting."

Thomas sighed desperately, clutching at his bullet wound, "I'll not be held privy to your wretched attempts at being, quite frankly, very rude about my passion, but that's not why I'm here."

"So," Joan asked, "why are you here exactly?"

"If you must know, the others upstairs were being rather ignorant of my feelings. Somebody on the television had been reading out Lord Byron's work and it reminded me of my past. So, of course, I started talking about it, and Julian just-"

"Which one's that?" Geoff asked.

"The one with no trousers," his wife responded bitterly.

"If I could continue, please!" Thomas insisted. "Julian rolled his eyes and mentioned something distasteful, and my fair Allison agreed with him! Whatever am I to do when the people I care for are so awful, so blind to my feelings?"

"Can I take you hand, Mr Thorne?" Nigel asked.

"Er, I'm not sure... okay?"

Nigel took Thomas's hand in his. "I think what you need is some milk to calm you down, then we can talk about this."

Thomas held an expression of disapproval. "You know I cannot consume such – I am a ghost."

"Oh," Nigel said. "Well, skip the milk part. When people are annoying, or are ignoring you, I just remind myself that I am fabulous. Okay? You are fabulous."

"You're right... I am fabulous. I... am... fabulous." Thomas withdrew his hand, which Nigel considered mildly rude, and walked toward the wall, holding his hand up as if he could trace the lines. "I am... fabulous... Ravenous for... love. Hopeful for... revenge – for those I hate..." and the poet started to tear up, the emotion obvious in his voice, "for their revel to end."

Thomas ran back up to Nigel and grabbed both of his hands, dumbfounded by his sudden realisation. Thomas and Nigel laughed and Thomas spun them around together before going in close so each one's arms were just pressing into their own bodies.

"Thank you! Thank you and bless you, a thousand times, sir. Although it may be a little late for that."

Nigel nodded and murmured his agreement.

"I'm sorry," Thomas said, "I didn't catch your name"

"Nigel," Nigel told him.

"Nigel," Thomas repeated, breathing the word in and shaking his head, eyes wide and filled with excitement and realisation, lips held together tightly to hold in the emotion for once, and their hands still intertwined, "thank you. You truly are fabulous."

"Yeah," Nigel said, flustered.

Thomas gasped, drawing his hands away once again, his eyes darting across the room in another wave of realisation, "I could recite my verses to Allison, have her write them down... Thomas Thorne: Poet from beyond the grave, and still his work is truly thought-provoking in this modern world. To quote the great Miss Minogue: 'In my mind, a celebration'."

"Yes," Nigel nodded. "Good work sir."

"And good work and a glass of milk to you sir!"

And with that, the flamboyant ghost turned and exited like he was leaving stage.

The other plague ghosts started muttering.

"What?" Nigel asked.

"He spent all that time down here when he first died," John said, "yet he doesn't even remember your name."

"He only spent 12 years down here."

"That should be enough! And it's not fair on you. Or your wife. Maybe she passed on but we all saw how you stared at the painting of him."

"Well there's no need for that."

"At least he doesn't have syphilis," Geoff's wife started.

-----

"Yes, Thomas, very good," The captain said when Thomas recited the new poem he'd composed – he couldn't exactly write it.

"Well?" Thomas whined, "is that it?"

"They were some lines that were well thought out. I'm not sure 'gorgeous' fully rhymes with 'carcass' or 'bliss'. But it was rather touching, I suppose."

Thomas smiled. It was the best he would get from the captain.

"What inspired you?"

"Nigel in the basement."

"Oh, that old chap."

"You know him?"

"We are forced to stay in the same house. I have had a small number of conversations with the ghosts down there."

"Yes, well," Thomas continued, "he reassured me that I was fabulous. And he was right!"