Aesop's Fabled Jokes #1 The Two Ghostwriters

Call me nobody. After all, in the beginning of our lives aren’t we all nobody, just waiting to be given a name after the doctor hits us? And from this we learn our first lesson, that life will be rough from the day we are born, until the day of our death. Seeing how this is the beginning of a story, it only makes sense for me to start out as a nobody. However, for the sake of the reader, (that’s you), my name is Tom Klingenfuss. I’m a man doing all he can to make a name for himself as a writer. This story begins shortly after I released my first e-book on Amazon, Jokes Better Left Unsaid (So I Wrote Them Down). In the pages that follow, I will pen the tale of an encounter I had with a ghost while I slept (don't make it weird). Without further ado, this is the story of a ghostwriter.

I’m not sure what the date was. I’m certain that it was a Friday night in October though. As I can recall, I went to bed at about 10:30 PM, which really isn’t that late for me, and I fell asleep within under an hour.

At some point I started to dream, which is normal, but my dream didn’t seem normal. My dreams are typically all over the place. They’re hard to describe. It’s probably easier if I just tell you about one of them.

It started out with me in line at a gas station to pay for some snacks. A man came inside the gas station with a gun to rob the place, and everyone ran out of the gas station with the robber hot on our heels. It seemed odd that he was chasing us, given the fact that he was supposed to be robbing the gas station, but to each his own. It was extremely dark outside while we started to run up a hill. It wasn’t a grass hill, it was a street hill, like in San Francisco. Anyway, I looked behind me and that robber turned into the wicked witch of the west, from that one movie. I felt kind of silly running from the wicked witch of the west, so I stopped and turned around to face her. When the witch got close enough, I doused her with water. I don’t know where I had gotten the water, but after the water made contact, the witch didn’t melt. Instead, she transformed into one of those glowing plastic Santa Clauses! You know, the Santa Clauses that people decorate their lawns with during December? Then I woke up with my alarm clock.

That’s how my dreams usually play out. With that being said, the dream I had that October night was different. It started with me sitting up in my bed and seeing a ghost sitting on my piano bench, while playing Super Smash Bros. Ultimate on my television. I suppose I should’ve been shocked or scared at seeing a ghost, but I was more amazed at his skill level on Super Smash. I’d never seen anyone play as Diddy Kong with such authority. Diddy gracefully danced across the screen while taking on a team of level 9 computers. This ghost was incredible! The match ended with Diddy Kong methodically knocking out Jigglypuff.

“That was amazing!” I exclaimed. The ghost turned around to face me. I didn’t recognize his face, but there seemed to be an abundance of wisdom in his eyes.

“Thank you, Tom Klingenfuss! People rarely play with Diddy Kong. He has low power I’ll admit, but I’ve always been fond of small animals.”

“I believe you’re right Mr. Ghost.”

“What makes thou think I’m a ghost?” said he.

“Two reasons,” I said, “First off, both you and your clothing are ghoulishly white. Secondly, no mortal alive is that good with Diddy Kong on Super Smash.”

“Hmm. Aren’t you wondering how I know that thou name is Tom Klingenfuss?”

“Not really. I mean, it’s my dream so naturally you would know my name,” said I. “However, what’s your name Mr. Ghost?”

“My name is Aesop. Perhaps you’ve heard of me? I’m a storyteller of some renown.”

“Of course, I’ve heard of you! I’m actually a big fan yours. The Mice in Council is probably my favorite fable. It’s one thing to propose,” then Aesop cut me off.

“Another to execute,” Aesop finished my sentence.

“It’s a real honor, Mr. Sop!”

“Aesop is fine.”

“It’s a real honor Aesop, but what brings you here tonight?”

“I’m actually a fan of your work,” said he. “I find Jokes Better Left Unsaid (So I Wrote Them Down) to be exceptionally funny.”

“That means a lot, especially coming from you Aesop.”

“How dost thou like mine?”

“Well, I think that Aesop’s Fables is great; that’s why I said I’m a big fan.”

“But what about my jokes?” said Aesop.

“What jokes?” I asked.

“The jokes I told. Surely someone hath written them down. You know, jokes like The Cocky Rooster and The Hare’s Favorite Day?”

“Aesop, I have no earthly idea of what you’re talking about,” I said to the ghost.

“Alas,” Aesop said with a great sigh, “I was afraid that my jokes weren’t passed down through the ages. If a great joke writer like you hasn’t heard tell of them, then my fears hath been confirmed. I thank thee for your time, Tom Klingenfuss. Once you lay down in your bed, I shall leave anon.” Aesop seemed very sad. I couldn’t let his ghostly-self leave with his spirit so low.

“Wait,” I said as I jumped out of my bed, “maybe I could help.”

“How could thou possibly help me, Tom Klingenfuss?” asked Aesop.

“Well, perhaps you could tell me your jokes and I can publish them for you,” I said as the wheels started to turn in my mind, “I can see it now, ‘Aesop’s Fabled Jokes.’ How does that sound Aesop?”

“It sounds absolutely brilliant,” said Aesop, “but I fear that I cannot accept such a grand gesture of charity.”

“How about we work out a deal then? A deal that we can both benefit from.”

“What kind of deal dost thou have in mind?” asked Aesop, with a glint of hope in his translucent eye.

“Aesop, you’ve been dead for quite a while now, right?”

“Thou speaketh the truth Tom Kingenfuss.”

“Would I be correct in guessing that you’ve met a great deal of other dead people throughout your time as a specter?”

“Yes. I’ve met people that you might have actually heard of; William Shakespeare, Isaac Newton, Andy Kaufman and many more notables from history,” Aesop answered.

“This is what we’ll do Aesop. You can tell me stories about encounters you’ve had with other ghosts, and I’ll publish those stories on a new satirical website I’m working on. And at the end of each story, I will also publish one of the jokes that you wrote. We’ll both get something out of that exchange. I’ll get a story for my website, and you’ll get one of your jokes published for all to read. What do you say?” I said as I watched Aesop closely. After a couple of moments, a ghoulish grin grew upon his face.

“That doesn’t sound like charity at all. Tom Klingenfuss, I agree to thy terms and offer my hand to thee as a token of partnership,” Aesop said as he and I shook hands, which surprised us both. It turns out that while I’m sleeping, the dream version of myself can make physical contact with ghosts. “Shall we begin young ghostwriter?” Aesop asked with a clever smirk.

“Yes,” I said, “What can you tell me about Helen of Troy?”

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Story by Tom Klingenfuss