Mr. Shamus saw himself in the darkness, sweeping away the ashes bestowed upon him from Jazmine’s incinerating operations throughout the day. Wiping down the grease-stained countertops that staff served patients food on. Scrubbing the unwaxen tiles that clients walked all over with their muddy boots as if they had gone mud bogging just before grabbing a bite to wash away the forlornness of loving their loved ones.
Whistling away, he peeked into a trash can and peeled away from it as though he had seen boggling eyes peering up at him. But lo and behold, it was mashed up brains spewing juice and oozing slime.
“What manner of men are these that they are serving brains here? Are they cannibals?”
He spat into the trash can and continued chewing his bubblegum like a snobby bully mocking a little kid for his new toy.
“Well, a night’s work not gonna get done if I’m pit-pattering ’round here.”
Just as Mr. Shamus reached around the perimeter of the trash bag, a loud clanging of pots and ash pans sounded from the burning room.
“Oh good nonsense, what manner of evil has befallen me? I know those dishes were all put away neatly,” he said, heading that way only for more dishes to play an inharmonious melody, also known as a cacophony.
“I want to play a game with you,” a disembodied voice whispered from the midst.
Mr. Shamus stopped dead in his tracks, not knowing what was to come of this… voice that spoke to him from thin air.
“But, but I don’t even know who you are or why you’re here. What do you want with me?”
“I want to play a game with you,” the voice stated again, rather sharply.
“Or what? What are you going to do?”
More dishes fell to the floor, this time a big measuring cup that probably cost a few hundred dollars smashing into a bazillion shards glistening against the faint glow of fire from the incinerator.
The poor janitor threw up his hands in frustration. “What game do you want to play?” He raised a hand to his chin as if thinking of a clever response, but all he had was, “And what is your name?”
“Kingsley, for from the dark meadows I came, and I am your lucky number three.”
The newly named spirit coughed as if he had an major announcement to make, and then continued.
“I chose you, Shamus, because you have the spirit of a ginger and the aroma of a moldy garlic, and I believe you can set things right here.”
“But, but how? I’m just the ginger janitor. And what do you mean I smell like moldy garlic?” Mr. Shamus retorted.
Kingsley laughed at the foolish question and continued. “We are going to play a game where we go into the office and wreak havoc on Ahimoth and his forbidden reign in this kingdom.”
Mr. Shamus couldn’t speak any longer to the ghastly ghost. He stood petrified as if he were a deer being blinded by light in the night.
“What’s wrong? Afraid you’ll lose your job?” Once again, Kingsley cackled as if he just told the funniest joke in the realm. “Or is it because you just have no idea who Ahimoth is? Man, do you have a lot to learn. Either way, you’ll lose much, much more if you don’t play along.“
Reluctantly, Mr. Shamus walked closer to the pile of dishes, and contradicting his very nature as the morgue’s custodian, he did a 180-degree turn and headed out toward the office.
“So, ready to begin our reign of terror on Mr. Karl, or shall we call him Ahimoth?“
The concierge, albeit being a fair-skinned ginger, managed to pale as the mention of those names and breathed in and breathed out… and breathed in… and breathed out…
And breathed out…
And breathed out…
In the twinkling of an eye, the man was exhaling normally again, but Kingsley was no longer in the room.
“Oh, it feels soooo good to be in a body again.”
He glanced at the precious jewels on Karl’s desk. Then at the Keurig on top of the filing cabinet. Then at all the sports mugs on his other desk.
“Ahimoth, you’re toast.“
North Country Morgue 
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