By Shamboogie “Spiritshuffler,” Spiritual Correspondent — The Wayfarer’s Gazette
Bartholomew Grimblebottom disputes the allegations of his own demise. Shamboogie investigates.
The Ghost Who Refused to Die
Greetings, travelers, seekers of truth, and those who have accidentally wandered into this column while looking for the tavern advertisements.
Shamboogie here, reporting from the mysterious realm between the living and the dead. Or possibly the space behind the tavern where someone keeps dumping enchanted furniture. The spirits have been unclear on that particular detail.
Our first investigation began when a group of adventurers approached me with a most unusual complaint.
They had encountered a ghost.
Now, encountering a ghost is hardly unusual. The realm is full of restless spirits, haunted ruins, and adventurers who insist on exploring places clearly marked DO NOT ENTER.
What made this particular ghost unusual was his unwavering insistence that he was not, in fact, dead.
“I am perfectly alive!” the apparition declared, floating three feet above the ground.
Naturally, I asked him to explain the floating.
“Bad knees,” he replied.
An Investigation of Questionable Spiritual Significance
The adventurers explained that they had first encountered the apparition deep within an abandoned crypt.
According to their account, the ghost had been standing beside an ancient stone coffin, loudly complaining about the accommodations.
“Drafty rooms, terrible lighting, and absolutely no room service! I shall be speaking to the management!”
The party’s warrior attempted to explain that the crypt was a burial chamber.
“Nonsense!” the ghost replied. “It’s clearly an underground inn. Admittedly, the beds are rather uncomfortable.”
The cleric offered to perform a ritual to help the spirit find peace.
“I don’t need peace! I need a refund!”
Naturally, I decided to consult the spirits.
Closing my enormous golden eyes, I entered a deep trance and reached beyond the veil.
“Spirits of the unseen realm,” I called, “tell me the truth about this troubled soul!”
Immediately, seven voices answered.
“He’s dead!”
“He’s not dead!”
“He owes me twelve silver!”
“WHO MOVED MY CAULDRON?”
“Ask him about the incident with the turnips!”
One spirit began singing an ancient funeral hymn. Another complained that the first was singing it in the wrong key.
After several minutes of this, I emerged from my trance with a profound revelation.
The spirits were absolutely useless.
Still, I had learned one important thing.
Someone, somewhere, was missing a cauldron.
The Truth Comes to Light (Unfortunately)
Determined to solve the mystery, I returned to the crypt with the adventurers.
The ghost greeted us immediately.
“Oh, wonderful! More guests! Have you come to speak with management about the breakfast?”
I explained that we had returned to determine the circumstances of his unfortunate passing.
“Passing? I haven’t passed anything! Except perhaps a kidney stone some years ago.”
Before I could respond, the party’s rogue discovered an ancient inscription carved into the ghost’s coffin.
HERE LIES BARTHOLOMEW GRIMBLEBOTTOM
BELOVED INNKEEPER, TERRIBLE COOK
MAY HE FINALLY REST IN PEACE
The ghost stared at the inscription.
“Grimblebottom? That’s my name!”
He floated closer.
“Innkeeper? Why, yes! I owned the finest establishment in the kingdom!”
He paused.
“Terrible cook? THAT IS SLANDER!”
At that moment, the spirits erupted into another argument.
“TOLD YOU HE WAS DEAD!”
“HE STILL OWES ME TWELVE SILVER!”
“THE TURNIPS! ASK ABOUT THE TURNIPS!”
Suddenly, Bartholomew’s expression changed.
“Wait a moment. I remember now! There was a banquet. A mysterious stew. A rather unfortunate incident involving seventeen turnips…”
He looked down at his transparent hands.
“Oh.”
For the first time in several centuries, Bartholomew Grimblebottom appeared to understand his situation.
Then he straightened his spectral waistcoat.
“Well, if I’m dead, I suppose that explains the lack of customers.”
Shamboogie’s Final Verdict
After careful investigation, extensive spiritual consultation, and several completely unnecessary arguments about root vegetables, I have reached the following conclusions:
- Bartholomew Grimblebottom is, beyond reasonable doubt, deceased.
- His former inn is now a crypt.
- The spirits remain spectacularly unhelpful.
- Nobody should ever eat a stew containing seventeen turnips.
As for Bartholomew, he has decided to remain in the crypt and reopen his establishment under a new name:
The Restless Spirit Inn — Rooms Available for an Eternity!
He has already requested that The Wayfarer’s Gazette run an advertisement.
Nynkies is negotiating the rates.
And somewhere beyond the veil, a spirit is still shouting about a missing cauldron.
Until next time, travelers, remember:
The spirits have spoken. Unfortunately, they were all talking at once.
— Shamboogie “Spiritshuffler”
Spiritual Correspondent, The Wayfarer’s Gazette
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