One morning I woke to find myself slightly

One morning I woke to find myself slightly elevated. The Turtle of the Baskervilles had somehow found itself under me, flipped. As I rested on its belly, it whispered the 18th word

of a sonnet I'd sent the Duchess of Wigham prior to death.It was a nonsense word so I knew the Turtle of the Baskervilles whose plastron I now rested on was privy to her correspond

ence. All this, of course, was secondary to the urgency of alighting from the overturned Turtle of the Baskervilles' belly before it decided to take a crap. "Holmes!" I cried out,

, clutching at him. He plopped through my fingers. A faint scent of his aftershave wafted up from the pile of turtle feces. "I know you're still in there!" I squished his remains

through my Play-Doh Fun Factory extruder tool until the ghost of the turtle screamed for mercy. "How dare you defile my mortal body by squishing it into a star shape?" it moaned.

At this point, the turtle's (angry) ghost was flying right toward me. I couldn't let the thing touch me or I would surely die, so I dodged it, and threw a ball of Play-Doh at it.

It was that brilliant blue colour playdoh and it the ghost looked blinded just long for me to steer it out to sea. We stood at the shore and waved. "Bye-bye, ghost! ", we said.

The ghost waved back at us as it drifted off into the morning mist and suddenly it was standing next to us watching itself disappear in the mist. "I can't leave the haunted", the g

host said, "Too much inertia, too lazy. When I was alive, I couldn't get things done if not for my wife's nagging. Now I can only drift about." So much for the fabled haunted house