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The Tiny Christmas Ghost

There’s a tiny Christmas ghost hiding inside the cookie jar you brought home from Goodwill. You clean the jar with dish soap, then pile sweet sandbakkels and krumkakers inside. You think everything’s fine. The tiny Christmas ghost sits in the empty places between cookies. He scrapes his butt across the sugar and takes tiny bites.

No one notices except Uncle Sven, who has made a habit of noticing such things, but no one listens to Uncle Sven.

At night the tiny Christmas ghost has the run of the kitchen. He rattles the glasses, but only a tiny bit. He tries to slam the cupboard doors, but his arms are too tiny. Papa Daan hears a faint “boo” during his late night bathroom run, but mistakes it for his own fart. Papa Daan farts a lot.

The tiny Christmas ghost would almost be cute, if he didn’t dip his dirty toes in the cocoa from time to time. If he didn’t eat all the pine needles and cough up pine dust all over the house. If he wasn’t a sadist.

A lot of ghosts are sadists.

People don’t tell you that.

Nonsadist ghosts are more likely to get bored of the current state of human existence, preferring to ascend to the next plane of consciousness where everyone is a toadstool.

(Don’t ask me what’s in the plane of consciousness after that one. We don’t have time.)


The tiny Christmas ghost pukes spook goo in the brun saus and interferes with the Netflix, so our favorite show never loads. If you look closely, you can almost see the tiny Christmas ghost sitting above the television, with a smug expression smeared across his tiny face. I’ll never know what happened to Jim Hopper.

And Mamma Farah, I know there’s a lot on your plate right now. Literally and figuratively. There’s lutefisk, pinnekjøtt, yams, and all the wonderful gifts you still have to buy. But we need to do something about the tiny Christmas ghost. He nibbled a hole in every wool sock. Right at the heel.

What kind of maniac nibbles a hole in every wool sock? In winter, nonetheless.

He also said some tiny upsetting things I won’t repeat about the neighbor. I think the tiny Christmas ghost might be a racist.

This isn’t like when I had the invisible friend. The worst thing Creepy Anja ever did was switch Godmar’s black eyebrow pencil for a green one. That was hilarious.

The tiny Christmas ghost is like nothing I’ve ever manifested and thus must be exorcised from our home. Otherwise I fear he’ll do something truly tiny and fearsome.

Please Mamma Farah. We have to burn the cookie jar. I know I’m not allowed to play with matches anymore, so that’s why I’m asking for your help. If we burn the cookie jar, the tiny Christmas ghost will certainly burn with it.

And there will be no more skips in the Christmas records or tiny, sticky hands grazing your cheek while you sleep.

But before we do, might as well give all the sweet sandbakkels and krumkakers to me.

Wouldn’t want those to go to waste.

Bye, bye, tiny Christmas ghost!

Thanks for reading! I’m on twitter and for some reason I have a newsletter.

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Engaged in inadvisable wordsmitheries and other creative acts.

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