Oscar the apprehensive a.., p.1
Oscar, the Apprehensive Apparition, page 1
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Copyright
Chapter 1 | A Close Encounter
Chapter 2 | It Came on the Wind
Chapter 3 | From the Mist
Chapter 4 | Beneath the Earth
apprehensive: fearful
apparition: ghost
Oscar, the Fearful Ghost
written and illustrated by
H.R. Sinclair
For My Daughter,
my inspiration and biggest fan and everyone who loves a ghost story!
Oscar, the Apprehensive Apparition
Copyright © 2022 All rights reserved.
No portion of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronically or mechanically, including photocopying and information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author.
First Edition
Thanks to C. Lee McKenzie, Mason Canyon, Matt Cirigliano, Zoe Fasolo, and Lani Frank
Special thanks to Susan Bolster
Very special thanks to Ivy Shorts and her eagle eyes!
Written and illustrated by H.R. Sinclair
Cover art by H.R. Sinclair
Edited by Charlie Knight
iamhrsinclair.com
It was a cold night. It was a still night. It was a night when the moon hung low in the sky, and the stars were barely visible. It was the kind of night when one expects the unexpected, a night when bats
flood the sky and wolves howl. A night when people stay home.
Oscar should have felt fine going out into the dark. Most ghosts adore it but not Oscar. He feared all the things that went bump in the night, so he tried very hard to avoid it. When he received a mysterious note saying an important package waited for him at the old cemetery, he most certainly did not want to go.
He blew the note into the air where it hovered before him. A torn corner and smudged letters made it difficult to read.
The signature all but gone. The only letter left was a y. Oscar scratched his head and pondered over who sent him the note. Aunt May? No, he hadn’t heard from her in years. Cousin Marty? No, Marty was out of town. Who? Who sent him this note?
Oscar wondered about the package. What could it be? No matter how hard he thought, he couldn’t come up with an idea.
He had to go. Someone had sent him something. And it’s rude not to pick it up at once. Still, he floated back and forth and forth and back for an hour before gathering the courage to leave the abandoned cottage he called home.
He puffed up his sheet, whirled the note into his back pocket and passed through the door. He headed down the courtyard path toward the back gate. Oh, Oscar did hate to go out. After all, who knew what was out there—out in the dark, waiting, just waiting for him to come along?
What if it’s a beast with rows and rows of sharp teeth? Or long, curved claws? Or slimy, stinky skin and a warty nose that dripped black snot? One thing was certain: it would eat him.
Moving down the path, he tried to make himself small and unnoticeable. Maybe if he kept very quiet and stayed very careful, no one and no thing would notice him.
But big and noisy might scare everything away. No, no, Oscar did not want to draw attention to himself. He decided to stay quiet.
Something plummeted from the branches above him. Oscar gasped and froze.
He twisted to rush back to the cottage. A voice stopped him.
“Sorry! I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
Just what a monster would say, he thought. Oscar shivered, crinkling his sheet.
“I was merely coming down to fix my web,” said the voice.
“A web to trap me,” Oscar mumbled.
“Oh my, no. I’m a garden spider taking care of my nightly chores.”
Oscar turned and saw a lovely chocolate brown spider with pale yellow stripes. “Oh, you didn’t scare me…much,” he replied. “I was just on my way to the old cemetery to pick up a package.”
“It’s a nice night for it. My name is Zelda. What’s yours?”
“I’m Oscar. I live in the cottage.”
“Well, hello, Oscar. Nice to meet you. I’m out here every night repairing my web. It’s strong, but sometimes a tree branch falls or something hurls over the wall, tearing it down.” Zelda smiled. “I don’t mind. I enjoy rebuilding my web.”
“It’s very pretty. It looks so delicate.” Oscar picked up a piece of the broken web —not an easy thing to do when you’re a ghost. His hand used to pass through everything or he’d crushed it. He practiced for two weeks until he got it right.
The sticky web stuck to his hand. He tried to pull it off, only to have it stick to his other hand. He attempted to fling it off. That didn’t work either. So he balled it up, stuffed it into his front pocket, and pulled his hand out little by little, leaving the sticky ball behind.
Zelda’s eight eyes lit up. “I love the night. It’s so beautiful, so alive. The crickets chirp. The fireflies flicker on and off while they twirl and glide over the water. It’s simply magical. You must come out and watch it with me.”
It did sound beautiful. Oscar bit his lip. “Okay. I’ll meet you here tomorrow night.”
He shouldn’t dawdle any longer. If he didn’t go soon, he’d lose his nerve and go home. Oscar eyed the path ahead. It stretched into blackness. A cold breeze rustled the bushes behind him, compelling him onward.
Oscar passed through the gate and gazed down the long, narrow road. Tall, thick trees with hundreds of branches and leaves lined both sides of the street. Certain that horrible, hideous creatures hid behind the trees, Oscar traveled down the dead center of the road.
He glanced nervously toward the trees as he made his way. Leaves stirred. Strong wind swirled dust and bits of bark everywhere. A white monstrosity zigzagged across the sky, screeching and shrieking. The thing landed with a loud thump mere inches from him.
Dropping to the ground, Oscar spread flat as paper. He waited, his eyes closed tight, and counted.
One. I hope it doesn’t eat me.
Two. I knew this was a bad idea.
Three.
Four.
Five. Perhaps it’s gone.
Six.
Seven.
Eight. Maybe it’s nothing.
Nine.
Nine and a half.
And with a shutter, ten.
Razor-sharp talons clawed the ground. Oscar gulped. A ball of feathers, a beak, and two large orange eyes stared at him. The beak opened.
This is it.
“Err, excuse me mate,” it said. “I seem to be a little lost. Got turned around, so to speak. I’m not a very good navigator. I get my east and west mixed up, you know. I’m looking for—” The creature leaned in. “Say, are you alright?”
Oscar stood and shook himself. What he imagined as a ghost-eating monster was, in fact, a harmless, rather amusing owl. Oscar blushed and his sheet turned cotton candy pink. “You startled me, but I’m alright now.”
“Oh, terribly sorry there, mate. Got caught up in a headwind, you see. I’m not very good at flying when there’s a wind about. I get all twisted and shoved around,” confessed the owl. “I’m Skeeter by the way. On my way to see my cousin, Scooter. What’s your name?”
“I’m Oscar.”
“I knew an Oscar once. Or was it Oliver?” Skeeter tilted his head. “He wasn’t a ghost though, ghoul maybe.”
“I’m on my way to the cemetery to pick up a package.” Oscar patted the note in his pocket only to discover it missing.
He shoved his fingers into his pocket. “My note!” Oscar spun around and searched the ground. “It’s gone!”
Skeeter waved his wing around. “Pardon, but is that it up there? Up in the branches?”
“Yes, that’s it. The wind must have blown it out of my pocket. I don’t know how I’ll get it. I can’t float that high. I can only levitate a foot off the ground.”
“Not to worry, mate. The winds have died down. I’ll get it for you lickety-split.”
Sure enough, Skeeter flew up, gently grasped the note in his beak, and gave it to Oscar.
“Thank you so much.” Oscar held the note to his chest and took a deep breath before carefully putting it back into his pocket.
“Oh, you’re quite welcome,” Skeeter said. “Do you by chance know which way the Old Water Mill is? I lost my way when that nasty, rotten wind knocked me off my path.”
Oscar pointed Skeeter in the correct direction and watched as the owl soared into the sky and vanished.
Oscar continued on his way until he reached an old wooden sign that read ‘Biletooth Bog.’ The sign pointed to an overgrown trail that led into a forest. A forest that exhaled a foul stench and echoed anguished, disturbing sounds.
Oscar wasn’t happy. The only way to the old cemetery snaked through nefarious territory.
He moaned and started up the trail. Cockleburs and foxtails covered the dirt path. Countless trees obscured the moon and darkness reigned.
As Oscar floated deeper into the forest, it lit up. Large glowing mushrooms sprouted along a fallen tree. The eerie green stems blossomed into gilled caps the size of Oscar’s face. Bugs as bright as light bulbs zipped by, leaving yellow streaks to fade away long after they’d gone. Oscar liked the bugs. They wouldn’t eat him.
Around the corner lay Biletooth Bog. A putrid odor seeped up from the ground. Thick fog crawled over the water. Cattails with long stems and brown rod-shaped
High-pitched clicks sounded and wailing groans bellowed. Some creature—or creatures—lived here. Oscar shuttered. The mist rippled as if something moved beneath it. The sounds stopped. There was absolute silence.
Fog puffed up and shot toward Oscar. He turned to run, but something moved within the mist behind him. He turned again. Another something. He kept turning, trying to find a way out.
Oscar yelped.
“Hey, careful,” a voice croaked, “you almost squashed me.”
Looking around, Oscar didn’t see anyone. “Wh-Who are you?” he asked. “Where are you?”
“My name is Darwin, and I’m right here. Look down.”
Oscar squinted. The fog rolled back, revealing a large, lumpy frog glaring at him.
“I didn’t see you down there.”
“Be more careful,” scolded the frog.
“Yes, you’re right. I’m sorry. I’ve never heard frogs croak so loudly or so oddly before. It startled me.”
“It’s okay,” the frog’s tone softened. “One of our youngsters has wandered off. She’s lost. We were calling out to her.”
“I can help. What’s her name?”
“Her name is Bubbles. She’s quite small and green with a red dot over her left eye. We need all the help we can get. Thank you.”
With that, all the frogs began croaking again. It didn’t seem scary this time.
“Bubbles?” Oscar called out. “Bubbles, are you there?” He searched behind trees, inside cracked logs, and around lily pads. But no Bubbles.
“Time to think like a froglet,” Oscar said.
Youths of all kind are curious. They like exploration. When Oscar was young, he lived in the old cemetery and loved to explore. He investigated the mausoleums and the crypts. He loved following the old creek, pretending he was a prospector hunting for gold.
Remembering his adventures inspired him to be more courageous in the future.
Oscar scrunched up his face and looked around. He spied a pile of leaves. That would be a perfect place to play. He gently blew the leaves. They stirred and whirled into the air. Not a trace of Bubbles.
A twisted vine led far into the woods. He traveled along the vine path, over rocks and under logs, around trees and through bushes. He followed it to the end. Still no sign of Bubbles.
He eyed the pitcher plants. Creepy and odd yet beautiful, the plants held his gaze.
He looked through the leaves and around the flowers. Oscar peeked inside one. Peering out at him was a small green frog with a red dot over her left eye.
“Hello there. You must be Bubbles. I’m Oscar. Are you having fun?”
Bubbles lowered her head and smiled. “Yes. Well, I was having fun until I slipped into one of these flowers. I just wanted to see what it looked like on the inside, and then whoosh, down I went. I’ve hopped and hopped, but I can’t hop out.”
Oscar tried to help Bubbles, but his hand didn’t fit into the flower. Smiling, he took the ball of spider web out of his pocket and gently unwound some of it. He dropped the balled end into the flower. Bubbles hopped on, and Oscar pulled her out.
Bubbles jumped up and down, cheering, “Hooray! Hooray for Oscar!”
Together, they found Darwin and the other frogs. Everyone rejoiced at seeing Bubbles. With a chorus of thank yous, Oscar continued on his way.
Leaving the woods brought him to an ivy-covered wall that bordered the cemetery. The cemetery itself had been overtaken by weeds years ago. Many of the original inhabitants had moved out. Nameless wraithlike things had moved in. Or so he’d heard.
Oscar dreaded what might lie behind the rusted gates. Once again, he thought about racing home.
“I can do this,” he whispered.
Tingling with anticipation, Oscar passed rows of gravestones. Some with carvings of cherubs and flowers while others featured skeletons with halos. The names on the gravestones had worn away with time, leaving no clue about the tenants. Oscar floated by one covered with fuzzy green moss, sending the woody-earthy scent upward.
A row of mausoleums crept out of the darkness. Oscar glided over to the one on the end. Lichen sprouted over the stone structure. The gated doors clung to the building by a single hinge. On the roof stood a statue of an angel with one broken wing.
Oscar was headed in the right direction.
Past the mausoleums the night grew darker. Though Oscar knew dark was dark and didn’t get any darker.
He looked ahead and spotted the sycamore tree. Shelf mushrooms covered the thick trunk. Leaves clung to the branches, refusing to let the wind take them away. During the day, the tree held brilliant reds and golds, but the night claimed those colors, leaving only shades of gray.
Oscar floated to the tree and turned right. He didn’t see any gravestones. Grumbling, he slowly scanned the area. This time, he noticed thin objects sticking out of the ground.
“Those must be the gravestones.”
Oscar sucked in his cheeks. What if a huge purple monster with boils and fangs and bulging red eyes waited for him?
Courage.
Slowly, he inched forward. He made it to the first gravestone. No monster. So far, so good.
He moved to the second gravestone. No monster. Things looked up.
On to the third gravestone, no monster! He’d made it!
At the base of the third headstone sat a small brown box with his name printed on it.
As Oscar bent to pick up the package, the earth around it rippled. Dirt flew in all directions. Oscar swooshed back.
A grayish-red head popped up. “Hiya, Oscar.”
Ah, yes, of course, Nicky, the nightcrawler! Nicky, the nicest worm around and Oscar’s former neighbor.
“Nicky! Hello.”
“You got my message.” Nicky shook off some dirt.
Oscar nodded and smiled, then picked up the box. It felt light. He carefully opened one end and peeked inside. Lots of bubble wrap. He carefully took out the bubble-wrapped object and even more carefully undid the wrapping to save for later. Popping bubble wrap bubbles was serious business.
In his hand, he held a miniature skeleton that glowed. Oscar’s smile widened.
“Happy Birthday! Happy Birthday! Hooray!” shouted Nicky.
Fellow ghosts popped through the trees. Worms wiggled out of the ground. Rats scurried about, bats flapped overhead, and raccoons scampered in. They all cheered and sang, “Happy Birthday.” Streamers flew, confetti fluttered, and balloons floated down.
“You forgot, didn’t you?” Nicky wormed toward Oscar.
“I did. I can’t believe you remembered.”
His friends had chipped in and bought him a skeleton projection clock. It stood five inches tall with movable arms and legs. Oscar pushed down on the skull, and the bottom jaw dropped open. A red beam of light shot out. On the gravestone in bright red numbers, the time read 12:02.
Oscar admired his new clock. “Thank you, everyone. This is the best gift ever. I know the perfect spot for it. I will treasure it always.”
Everyone shared old stories. Some made Oscar blush. Some made him cackle. The worms sang songs and swayed side to side.
The rats tried to build a rat pyramid. Tony, a rather large rat, giggled and wiggled until the pyramid crumbled. They laughed and tried to build it again.
Oscar loved the party and the great adventure that led him to it. Along the way, he made new friends and discovered he’s braver than he thought. Oscar smiled as he began his journey home.
H. R. Sinclair, Oscar, the Apprehensive Apparition
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