Story: 'The Shed And Spirit'

I was crawling through the undergrowth toward the shed of notorious repute. The shed lay at the bottom of a school headmaster's garden and had been seen exhibiting unusual behaviour on numerous occasions. I had been sent by the local bishop to examine the behaviour and probe the reasons. The headmaster looked nervously from his kitchen window, twitching the curtain from time to time.

Colours shifted and swirled on the periphery of the shed and finally I was close enough to peek in the window and see the truth of what lay inside: It was a Spectre. Spectres are not wholly dangerous or even violent unless provoked and there were tried and tested methods for dealing with them which I was always ready to use. Sneaking back to the kitchen I explained to the Headmaster how I would deal with his visitor.

"You'll WHAT?" He asked after the first telling.

"I shall use my Carrot."

"Ugh?" As Headmasters go, this one wasn't all that articulate.

"My carrot? My sacred carrot that was blessed by the Bishop this morning?" I waved my carrot at the man, oblivious for a few moments more as to the layman's ignorance on these matters. "The Invalidation Operatives always carry a Food Parcel for these missions. The Carrot's always coming in useful. Got a steamer?"

The man passed over the steamer in a confused state and I got to work, cutting and preparing. Finally a bowl of steamed carrot, covered in paprika, lay before me and I prepared myself for one of the more amusing Invalidation procedures. Slapping a cover over the concoction I left once more, openly went down to the shed, and finally knocked brazenly on the door. The Spectre opened the door in an agitated state and I lifted the cover from the bowl.

At this point it seems opportune to point out how Spectres are not unique in their irresistible passion for steamed root vegetables. Indeed, vegetables had lowered the mortality rate of Invalidators in the line of duty to ten percent since the steamer took hold in households across Britain. Banshees love parsnip with a touch of parsley even at the cost of their own existence and Grimeballs can seldom stay in their dank basement when red cabbage is being wafted about above them.

The Spectre's eyes widened and he looked at the carrots. Sweat formed on his half-translucent features and his claws tightened on the wood hammer he had been using, apparently on the chair being built in the shed corner. Finally it gave up all control and devoured the carrot, despite all the paprika that would end its time here and send it back to its own dimension in time and space. A blue aura grew, the Spectre faded, and then all was done. No-one had ever worked out where the Creatures went specifically, except that God doubtlessly treated him well, as He did all things.

I handed the wood hammer back to the Head Master as I left, handing him his donation slip should he feel generous.