The Funny Ghost
Bartholomew wasn't a scary ghost. In fact, he was quite a cheerful apparition, a translucent swirl of lavender and lime green. His home, a grand old house perched on a hill overlooking a sea that shimmered like melted gold, was considered "haunted," but not by him. The house itself had a whimsical personality, its walls painted in stripes of bubblegum pink and electric blue, its staircases winding like liquorice sticks, and its chandeliers dripping with crystals that sparkled in every imaginable hue.
Bartholomew floated through the kaleidoscopic hallways, his laughter echoing like wind chimes in the breeze. Today, the dining room table was set for a tea party with plates stacked high with rainbow-coloured cakes and teacups that glowed with an inner light. The furniture often rearranged itself, and Bartholomew would sometimes find a polka-dotted armchair floating near the ceiling, just for fun.
He drifted into the library, where the books had titles like "The Day the Moon Turned Purple" and "Adventures in a Teapot." The pages within shimmered with illustrations that danced and changed as you looked at them. Bartholomew loved to "read" by simply absorbing the vibrant stories that emanated from the books.
Sometimes, visitors would tiptoe nervously through the house, expecting cobwebs and creaking doors. Instead, they found rooms that pulsed with soft, otherworldly light and heard Bartholomew's gentle humming, a melody that sounded like tinkling bells. They would often leave confused, whispering about the "strangely cheerful" haunted house.
Bartholomew didn't mind. He enjoyed his colourful, quirky home and the occasional bewildered human. He was simply a friendly ghost in a house that dreamt in vibrant hues, floating through its rooms with a happy sigh, a splash of lavender against a wall of sunshine yellow.
