“I love that picture frame,” Wendy complimented the party’s host, Clifford.
“Do you want it?” Clifford said a little too quickly. Wendy shook her head no.
“You sure? It’s really old and quite an accent,” Clifford was stopped by a wailing sound from the picture.
“A hehehe, you folks have any sarsaparilla?” A ghostly voice called out from what seemed to be the frame.
“What was that? And what’s sarsaparilla?” Wendy asked.
“No body knows, this will pass in just a moment,” Clifford rubbed thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose.
“What about some beans? Can’t have a hootenanny without beans!” The voice said.
“Is the frame haunted?” Wendy asked.
“By the ghost of a gold miner who was more interested in food and fun than minerals it seems. He shows up and demands a drink no one can replicate and beans. Always beans. You don’t hold corporeal form, Jedidiah! You can’t eat or drink!” Clifford shouted at the picture frame. This was a conversation quite common, Wendy noted.
Clifford stared at the frame waiting for the ghost to reply.
Wendy watched and waited. The other party guests did not seem to notice, or perhaps they had encountered the scene before. As she watched the oddity unfold, something nagged at her. Her eyebrows titled downward, annoyance growing exponentially.
“Did you try to pawn off a haunted picture frame on me? And one haunted by an obnoxious ghost?” Wendy asked. “That’s rude.” She stepped away and hoped the buffet was not cursed.