‘A ghost wearing a helmet,’ I said watching the eerie figure of a skeleton dancing up and down in front of me. ‘I thought you guys had a thick skull, I never knew ghost wore helmets.’

‘If I’d only worn one when I was alive, I wouldn’t be a ghost now,’ said the strange figure glaring at me.

‘Aha,’ I said, ‘therein lies a horror story.’

‘Not a horror story,’ said the ghost breaking into tears, ‘but a sad one.’

‘It must be sad to make you cry,’ I said as I watched ghostly drops, fall from the helmeted skull.

‘Even you would cry to see my two little children starving and my wife struggling to make both ends meet. If only I had worn a helmet!’

‘You are wearing one now.’ I said.

‘Now when it is too late,’ said the ghost touching his fibre glass helmet, ‘but once upon a time it could have saved my life.’

‘Were you a football player,’ I asked, ‘or a cricketer who got hit by a bouncer?’

‘Do I look like a cricketer?’ asked the ghost angrily.

‘I can’t make out,’ I said, ‘all skeletons look alike.’

‘I was a small business man,’ said the ghost, ‘who was just beginning to do well. I was a hard worker.’

‘Then what happened?’ I asked.

‘I invested in a two-wheeler,’ he continued, ‘I bought myself a scooter.’

‘A rags to riches story,’ I said.

‘A riches to dust story is more like it,’ cried the ghost, ‘I used to go about all over on that scooter, it was our family car.’

‘And who gave you the helmet,’ I asked looking at the contraption on his head.

‘My wife,’ wept the ghost, ‘she went and bought it, because she said she loved my head and wanted it intact.’

‘A good woman,’ I said.

‘Who I laughed at,’ said the ghost, ‘because I never once wore the helmet.’

‘Blockhead,’ I said.

‘Yes,’ said the ghost, ‘though when I had the accident it was more mincemeat!’

‘How is it you’re wearing the helmet now?’ I asked.

‘She threw it into the funeral pyre,’ whispered the ghost weeping. ‘If I had worn it before, I would be alive today!’

‘What a sad story,’ I said.

‘Tell those people on their scooters and on their new sleek motorbikes to save their heads and wear a helmet!’ wept the ghost, his tears falling like raindrops on the ground.

‘I’ll do that,’ I said, ‘I’ll do that right away.’

‘It’s no use wearing a helmet after you’re dead,’ said the tearful figure slowly fading away, ‘it can’t even protect you from your guilt..!’

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