Ghost Dad

[Herbert Fudge]

Herbert didn’t quite know how he felt about being dead.

This was, he supposed, due in part to the fact that he had lingered, rather than properly passing. How did one mourn a ghost? Host a funeral for a ghost? Run a resort as a ghost? Such issues had consumed the Fudge family in the fortnight since his death, though it was only after Holliday was returned safely home that they could truly be embraced.

There was, however, a small perk in that moving from location to location was much easier. He had already vexed Holliday repeatedly by simply appearing where she was to startle her, and found it brought him a devilish sort of pleasure. With a grin, he stuck his head through his daughters’ closed bedroom door, and yelled boo, only to find that Holliday was not even present—though Irene was sat at her desk.

@'Irene Fudge'

The following 1 user Likes Herbert Fudge's post:1 user Likes Herbert Fudge's post
   Elinor Caldiera

[Irene Fudge]

Irene, to her shame, had spent the first week of his death avoiding her father. She had gone to the hospital to see Holliday and once assured that her sister was alright, she had gone home and cried herself full sore at the news that her father was gone –except that he wasn’t – he was still there, stull running the hotel, still doing everything that her father had always done – nothing had changed, other than the fact that he seemed to be rather enjoying the fact that the physical constraints of the hotel no longer applied to him.

It had been an odd adjustment, despite growing up in a magical household, where the reality of ghosts was an accepted truth of life, it was still odd to know that one’s own father was a ghost – technically dead, with everything that entailed, and all the terrifying finality of the grave, and the end of his mortal life, but somehow there wasn’t a need to be sad about it. She had hated it immensely until Somerby had spoken with her at length about the whole mess, and she was now assured that it wasn’t entirely a bad thing. After all, all children must lose their Papa’s eventually – hers would now never leave, and without him they might have lost Holliday too, and that would have been too much for Irene to bear she was sure. So all in all, it was not much of a situation to be sad about.

Still – her father’s sense of humour and his new ‘abilities’ were not exactly a harmonious match, more than once squeels had echoed around the house, as he had snuck up on someone, and today, as he stuck his head through the door, Irene found herself letting out a cry of her own in surprise at the sudden appearance in the door. ’Father!’ she let out in a sing song voice, and threw on the small pillows that adorned the chair by her desk at the place in the door where his head was situated, it hit the wood and slid to the floor with a dull thud.

”you are worse than the Bloody Baron!” she exclaimed, and closed the small notebook which functioned as her journal and placed it aside to finish later. ”Will you never grow tired of that?”


@'Odira Potter'

  

[Herbert Fudge]

“The Bloody Baron is a surly old chap who hadn’t a sense of humour when he was alive,” Herbert retorted, “and has not improved in death! And with centuries ahead of me, I suppose it is possible that I will, indeed, grow tired of it, but I doubt very happen that this will happen soon.”

As he teased the girl, he floated towards her, his crushed legs dangling limply beneath him. Could ghostly bits dangle? Perhaps he ought to interact with more spirits in his day-to-day…death.

  

[Irene Fudge]

She giggled at her fathers assessment of the bloody baron, as a slytherin she well very familiar with the grumpy house ghost, who took as much pleasure from floating around looking intimidating as Sir Nicholas did from showing off his botched beheading and recounting the story to anyone who would listen. Perhaps she would have something to talk with the Baron about now that her own father was among the dear and nearly departed.

The only ‘distressing’ part of having a ghost for father was having to see his legs on a regular basis, but his comment about centuries a head of him, was a cause for thought. ’Papa?’ Irene asked, her brow furrowed and her little face serious as she considered the gravity of time, space and their place in the universe. ’Will you miss us if we don’t become ghosts too? Will you stay with the family, like with Somerby’s family since they will be your heirs, or will you stay with the hotel?’ she asked, they were vast questions, that looked beyond a wizard or witches natural life – so potentially hundreds of years before the last of Herbert fudges own children would cease to live natural lives. ’I wonder if there is a way we could all become ghosts, then we wouldn’t have to leave each other. ’

  

[Herbert Fudge]

Irene’s question rather dampened his mirth. It was one he had been dutifully ignoring ever since Holliday’s return home, one he had dreaded hearing since he realized the change in his condition. Herbert Fudge had expected to die of old age, not live on as an eternal shadow on the walls of the resort that he had built. Now faced with a hundred lifetimes of existence, that option had decidedly been taken from him.

He hesitated a moment before answering, “I hadn’t thought that far ahead.” His tone lacked his earlier joy, though was not altogether solemn. “If nothing else, this ordeal has taught me—and you, I hope—that things can change rapidly and unexpectedly.”