Ghastly: Mrs. Devlin says hello.

Me (stunned): Don’t bring her up…

Ghastly: She’s delightful. We had tea.

Me: So you were visiting hell? I mean, that’s where she went, right? Please tell me she’s in hell.

Ghastly: She made a big impression on you, didn’t she?

Me: She punished me every chance she got and her eyes were always bright and shiny when she did it. She thought of me as prey.

Ghastly: You weren’t the brightest crayon in her class or the most cooperative student.

Me: I was a kid! I don’t even remember how we got off on the wrong foot – or cloven hoof, rather.

Ghastly: You were in high school, hardly an innocent child. You purposely hurt her feelings, too. Remember when she asked you to write a page about why it’s important to pay attention in class?

Me: Yeah – ha ha! I wrote a page about how boring she was… And how stupid her class was… She was shocked! Remember the look on her face?

Ghastly: It was nothing compared to the look on yours when she told you, “Bring this back to me tomorrow with your parents’ signatures on it.”

Me: Oh, yeah, that sucked.

Ghastly: She knew you’d forge their names.

Me: No she did not.

Ghastly: She’d been teaching a long time. You don’t really think your puny teenaged mind challenged her?

Me: That was cunning. I should’ve known it was a set-up the second she ratted me out. I don’t think I sat comfortably the rest of the quarter.

Ghastly: She asked me if you’d finished reading, “A Farewell to Arms” yet?

Me: Oh, God, that whole Hemmingway thing drove me up a wall. She went on and on about Hemmingway like he was one of the Saints. I can still hear her, “Hemmingway, like all the great writers, challenged the reader to connect every little detail. You don’t read Hemmingway. You study Hemmingway.” All I said was, “If it’s that hard to understand maybe it ain’t good writing.” She acted like I’d just said, “God does not exists.” She sent me to the office and I had to sit there with all the future-criminals.

Ghastly: I hate to interrupt this trip down poor-little-me lane, but I’m about to make a point.

Me: It was like jail, you know, the other kids were all, “What are you in for?” And I was like, “Uh, I don’t like Hemmingway. I think he sucks.”

Ghastly: As I was saying, I showed Mrs. Devlin a few chapters of your latest masterpiece and -.

Me: I don’t want to hear it. I’m no Hemmingway and I’m not trying to be one. She’s not going to enjoy a horror story like Sinister or anything else I write. So why should I care?

Ghastly: She said, ‘Not bad.’

Me: She did not.

Ghastly: I know it’s my job to rip you to pieces, but the Halloween candy was excellent so I’m throwing you a bone.

Me: Tell her thanks.

Ghastly: Now Mr. Otlo, on the other hand…