You may feel alone but,

Loneliness is a team sport;

We all need teammates sometimes,

But tell us, the ball is in your court,

Because we are all shooting shots,

And hoping they won’t get blocked;

So tell us, the ball is in your court,

And we will all support.

We will all support.

Are you scared?

You should be.

There’s something behind you.

Big, hairy and scary.

I’ve got one too.

You can’t see mine, though,

Unless I show it to you,

But it’s there:

Black as tar pits,

And quick as hares,

It creeps up the stairs.

And it strangles away your voice,

And it steals away your choice,

And you can’t be who you want to be

Anymore. No.

Not until, suddenly,

You’re in tiny,

Little

Pieces,

Like

Me.

Then you’re free.

I smiled like a drunk fool,

She died laughing like a mule.

We got home from the party gone two,

And she said: 'How about you?'

I nodded: 'I love you.'

And she put nuggets in the oven for two.

In a garden of green,

There were two trees:

The left had idioms,

And the right had bees.

Wendy grabbed with her hands,

And pushed up with her knees.

And jumped up the left,

Which all worked a treat.

Until she reached the top,

And felt under the weather.

And she fell from her perch,

Like a leaden bird’s feather.

She hit the ground below,

And cried out, ‘Ouch! Ow! Hello?’

But no one heard her crying,

Or if they did they were too slow:

To add injury to injury,

She barked up the right tree…

Oh, no. Bees.

In a garden of green,

There were two trees:

The left had idioms,

And the right had bees.

Wendy grabbed with her hands,

And pushed up with her knees.

And jumped up the left,

Which all worked a treat.

Until she reached the top,

And felt under the weather.

And she fell from her perch,

Like a leaden bird’s feather.

She hit the ground below,

And cried out, ‘Ouch! Ow! Hello?’

But no one heard her crying,

Or if they did they were too slow:

To add injury to injury,

She barked up the right tree…

Oh, no. Bees.

You know the elves build knick-knacks,

And whatnots in their workshop.

You know the fat man takes his seat,

On an iron throne.

You know he flies with big sacks,

And off white rooftops he hops.

You know the fat man takes his leave,

Of the iron throne.

You know he slips down your chimney,

And leaves glittering gifts galore.

You know the fat man takes his seat,

On a soft fabric chair.

You know he eats all your cookies,

And drinks all the milk you have poured.

You know the fat man takes his nap,

On the soft fabric chair.

And you know he is gone by day break,

As you know he never stays too long.

But then one morning without warning,

You know it was your dad all along.

Firstly, ghosts are half as see-through as they are in the movies and twice as mischievous. Secondly, I've always said that walk-in freezers are dangerous.

Oh, and thirdly, yes, this is a 'bone-chilling ghost story' centered around making a pun out of this premise. Thank you for reading.