Ong had been dying for a piss for a whole 45 minutes. He had passed a Subway, on the way to his next appointment, but the manager had informed him that a mop had fallen on the other side of the toilet door and thus it could not be opened until the manager got back from a sandwich show in Streatham. He would have to go at the clients house.
When Ong arrived at the property he was immediately drawn to the big regal looking man immortalised in statue, on the quad. He hobbled over to it (He wasn't a cripple, he just still needed to pee). The plaque read "The ancestral home of Sir David Winterbottom.". Ong chuckled as it was all new-build properties now. An old man was gardening in a shirt and tie.
"Are you heading over to the old McCready place?" he enquired
"Yes, as a matter of fact I am. Why do you know the legend of the hauntings there, per chance?" Ongooshk asked.
"Fuck no!" snapped the man "Tell that bitch if she steals my takeaway leaflets out of my porch again, I'll petrol bomb the cunt!"
Ong knew he was a long way from the hustle and bustle of the big city now.
Ong made it to the door without any more scintillating discourse with the locals. He slammed the door-knocker onto the polished oak door. There was a doormat that said "You again?". Ong was being out psychiced by a piece of rough carpeting. A stout women came to the door wearing washing up gloves.
"Mrs McCready, I presume?" quizzed Ong
"Aye, I wars jas worshing sam plates foo tea!" she said stabbing Ongoosk in the face with a collapsed and filed down Kestrel can.
"May ah take yo jake-et an fez, ya wee bawbag." She asked.
"That wouldn't be wise..." Ong replied in his heavy Chinese accent "I need them to see."
They wandered into the frontroom.
"This is a fine collection of antique porcelain wrestling statues you have, Mrs McCready" Ong remarked picking up and eyeing a Victorian Nikolai Volkoff with precise eyes.
"Ah inherooted dem fai mi granda." she said stood beside him looking at all of the collection as she often did.
"Oh, now this one. This one is in such great condition. But it's a Mattel, you see?" Ong groaned.
"Eh da will be righ?!" Mrs M said "Da was woon ah gor fai a boot sale on Skye."
"Ah, the Island of Skye. I know it well. Smashing place for Junkyard Dogs. I bought a jade one, handcrafted not far from my native village the other year." Said Ong Reflectively.
"Maybe we should go to the room, where you first encountered the spirit." said Ong.
"Aye, Righ dis way, noo..." replied Mrs M gesturing into the kitchen.
"Ah was in hurr, Maykun stoo, when-"
"I'm sorry" interjected Ong "This is extremely racist and hard to read, could you possibly speak normally?"
"Certainly" said Mrs McCready clearing her throat "Like this, right?"
"Fantastic!"
"Ok, well, I was in the kitchen making stew when I heard a voice in the attic." She said as Ong took notes on a Macbook Pro that he had plugged into the socket which he had removed the toaster plug from.
"What were these voices saying?" Ong asked never once looking up from the screen.
"Well, they were talking about what appeared to be some sort of game but I couldn'-Are you watching porn?!" She gasped.
"No..." Ong a bed of sweat running down his face and onto his Fu Manchu moustache.
"Then why do you have headphones on then?" She asked suspiciously.
Ong looked up from the screen and one sentence left his pursed mouth.
"You've got ghosts, Mate."
They climbed the last step into the attic, there they found all of the boxes emptied onto the floor.
"Is it always like this." asked Ong adjusting his Horn-rimmed glasses.
"No, only since I heard the voices." she said.
"I see and when do they usually start?" Ong asked checking his BBM to see if Sandra had got the picture of him shirtless he had sent while getting dressed at the Travel Inn at the services that very morning. She hadn't replied.
"They start anytime of the day, but they stop when it rains..." she added.
"Madre del Christos!" gasped Ong "I think I know what this spirit may be!"
"See?" said Ong pointing at the laptop screen "She says she's just there to sell cookies, but this guy doesn't care he just wants to have sex with her!...This bit is boring though." he skipped approximately 7 minutes into the WMV file.
"Anyway, the ghost up there is definitely a very old-fashioned ghost and the game he may have been describing could have been 'Crickball'." said Ong bringing up the Wikipedia page.
"What's that?" she said, her eyes transfixed on the 11 inch shaft entering and exiting that co-ed.
"Well, no one really knows" replied Ong "Some people claim to understand it; but they are mostly cultists and the dregs of society."
"One thing is for sure though...We have to defeat this spirit at Crickball to banish him to the spirit realm."
They set up the goalposts and they each kicked dirt onto their bases.
"Now. When we initiate the game, there is no going back" said Ong sternly, his regulation Crickball body armour glistening under the sole lightbulb in the mildew smelling attic. He flipped the coin.
It landed on Jumangi.
This meant that Mrs McCready was going to shoot the ball first. She did so with a massive swing of the racket. The ghost returned it into her zone and scored 3 points. It was now Ongs freekick and he managed to score the conversion to double it making the score 6-3.
It was a tightly contested game for 99 days, and it all rested on this final day.
"I'm tired and I don't think my heart can take much more multi-ball" she cried gasping for breath. She took off her Strum Technologies INC body armour and let it fall to the ground.
"I guess it's down to me" though Ong defiantly.
He swung the racket at the ball and managed to get it through the hoop activating the power-up
Click
The wheel went round
Click
And round
Click
It stopped
On 'Win'.
The ghost burst into flames and bounced from wall to wall and out of the skylight (which had no glass in because it had been installed by a cowboy builder, some years prior.). The fireball flew into the middle of the cul-de-sac and struck the statue.
Leaving just the plaque that read "DaveW".
THE END