Free Pleasing the Ghost by Sharon Creech Page A

with his paws.
    â€œGet ready, Bo. Here comes the ghost.”
    Whish! blew the wind. Whew! The curtains flew this way and that, knocking a book off my desk. Whisk! My socks lifted off the floor and danced in the air.
    Bo scooted around in a circle, trying to get his head under the covers.
    Whish! Whisk! The curtains flipped into the air and sank down again, wrapping their ends around the chair. Suddenly the wind calmed. In came a quiet stream of air and a wisp of blue smoke, which swirled and floated across the room.
    â€œHere it comes, Bo. We’re about to have a visitor.”
    The blue smoke twisted and twirled, floating down to the floor and forming itself into a pair of green boots.
    â€œIt’s here, Bo!”
    The smoke formed a sturdy pair of legs in blue trousers. Next appeared a purple sweater across a big chest and arms. The smoke wiggled and wobbled and formed into a head topped by a red cowboy hat.
    The ghost had arrived.

2
T HE G HOST

    I recognized him immediately. “Uncle Arvie! It’s you, isn’t it?”
    â€œRiggle!” said the ghost, brushing himself off and rushing to hug me. His hug felt like tickling cobwebs.
    It was Uncle Arvie, all right. That’s just the way Uncle Arvie talks—or used to talk, when he was alive. Most people couldn’t understand a word he said. Only his wife—Aunt Julia—and I could piece together what he was saying. But it wasn’t easy.
    Bo poked his nose out from under the blanket, sniffed the air, and barked. He tilted his head from side to side, staring at Uncle Arvie.
    â€œDon’t be scared, Bo. It’s Uncle Arvie!”
    â€œYip,” Bo squeaked.
    â€œElephant?” Uncle Arvie asked.
    â€œNo, it’s my dog.”
    â€œElephant!” Uncle Arvie insisted.
    This was not going to be an easy ghost to have around.
    When I was little, Uncle Arvie spoke just like everyone else, saying normal words at the normal time. But one day—when Uncle Arvie was still alive—he woke up speaking this way.
    Uncle Arvie had had a stroke, and words were twisted in his brain. He knew what he wanted to say, but the words that came out of his mouth were not the words he chose. Sometimes they weren’t even words at all—or at least not words that most people knew—like riggle and fraggle .
    â€œYou’re supposed to be in heaven now,” I said.
    â€œRailroad, yin.”
    â€œHeaven—up there.”
    Uncle Arvie waved his arms as if he were flying. “Railroad!”
    He strolled around my room, looking at things. He picked up the book that had fallen on the floor. “Pasta,” he said. “Wig pasta.” Next he examined the pictures on my bookshelf, picking up one of me and my mother. “Macaroni and Dinosaur!” he said.
    â€œIt’s my mother and me— Dennis ,” I said.
    â€œMacaroni and Dinosaur! Macaroni and Dinosaur!”
    Uncle Arvie examined a photograph of my father and kissed the picture. “Dinosaur’s pepperoni,” he said. Uncle Arvie pointed toward the door. “Pepperoni?”
    â€œMy father isn’t here.”
    â€œNod pepperoni?”
    â€œHe’s gone. He—”
    Uncle Arvie tilted his head just like Bo, waiting for me to finish.
    â€œHe’s in heaven,” I said.
    â€œNod!” Uncle Arvie put his hands over his mouth. “Nod railroad? Nod pepperoni railroad? Nod, nod.” He was very upset. My father and Uncle Arvie were brothers.
    â€œI was hoping maybe you’d seen him there—in heaven.”
    â€œNod, nod,” Uncle Arvie cried. “Nod, nod pepperoni.”
    I gave him a tissue. “Last year,” I said. “Right after you. He was very sick.”
    Uncle Arvie blew his nose.
    â€œWe miss him,” I said.
    Uncle Arvie held the picture to his chest.
    â€œWe miss you, too,” I said.
    Uncle Arvie put the picture back on the bookshelf and lifted another photograph. It