Editor’s note: I’m thrilled to introduce our new humor columnist, Gustav Phling. I’ve known Gustav for many years and have always enjoyed their unique brand of humor. When they mentioned wanting to write again, I jumped at the chance to feature their work here — on the condition that they keep it loosely within the realm of our subject matter. As the world grows increasingly stressful, I believe levity will be an important resource; my hope is that Gustav’s occasional columns, which we’re calling “The Phling Files,” will be a rich vein for it. Please enjoy this inaugural entry, and if you have an idea or story to share, our submissions are always open.

Christmas is a magical time of year. The season brings people of all kinds together, even living and dead. Until last night, I thought only the rich were haunted by Christmas spirits. All I’m rich in is cockroaches, yet Christmas Eve brought so many ghosts through my bedroom that you’d think my name was Bezos.

Never one to let a good surreality go unutilized, I armed myself with a notepad and pen and, like Santa, made a list and ranking of the specters.

The Ghost of Christmas Past, Present and Future All at Once

How ever these spirits were getting themselves into my bedroom went wrong for these three. Did they all try to squeeze into the same teleporter pod and get stuck together like “The Fly,” or maybe three-headed monstrosities are in vogue on the other side this Christmas? I know their usual shtick is each one tries to scare you straight one after the other, but all at once freaked me out plenty.

If they came the usual way, it wouldn’t even be a big deal. What? The Ghost of Christmas Past shows me that time my mom forgot to pick me up after the church holiday recital, and I had to live in the basement for two weeks surviving on communion wafers? Whatever. And what’s that Ghost of Right Now? People don’t like me? Of course they don’t — I don’t even like me.

But this Christmas chimera was far more effective at scaring me straight. The only issue is that I don’t know what the message was supposed to be. It howled for five minutes and kept pointing at my wallet on the nightstand. Naturally, I panicked and threw it at the thing, which disappeared with it.

In hindsight, it might have just been robbing me. 3/10 ghost.

Joe Camel

For those of you of a certain generation, you’ll know that Joe Camel was awesome — like the Spuds Mackenzie of cancer. Joe hailed from a time when marketers were transparently amoral. They didn’t pretend to care about you. They wanted to sell a product, and if the best way to do that was via the coolest cartoon camel to ever exist, then by golly they did it. School children be damned!

I remember as a kid, they tried teaching us once about advertising by clipping “harmful” ads out of magazines in school. I clipped one of Joe Camel and his pals around a craps table and thought, “That’s what I wanted to be when I grow up, a cool smoking camel.”

Do you think they have to go to work in the Joe Camel universe? I like to think they don’t. I like to think they hang around all day, smoke a few packs, and just enjoy life.

I tried to ask Joe if that was true, but his response was drowned out by a coughing fit. I’m sure he was trying to tell me that all my vices were just and would do me no harm. 8/10 ghost.

The Ridgeway Ghost

Wisconsin is said to have more spirits per square mile than any other state. I can vouch for at least three — Jack, Jim, and Johnnie are all in my kitchen cupboard right now. One Badger state specter stands out from the rest, the Ridgeway Ghost. He was also standing in my bedroom last night.

Historically speaking, the Ridgeway Ghost is one of those trickster spirits the kids love. Sometimes it would chase folks down the road. Other times, it would float around as an eerie light in a pasture. One story has it turning a poker game into a poltergeist game, sending playing cards flying about the room before disappearing with all the money. My kind of ghost.

You can imagine that my expectation was to be on the receiving end of some of these tricks. Would the ghost set my hair on fire? Turn my fingers into snakes? Expose my browser history?

But no, this spirit was in low spirits. “It’s been a tough year,” he said, “I’m not feeling real, you know, spooky.” There’s nothing worse than a depressed ghost at Christmas, so I’m letting the guy haunt my couch until things turn around for him. Maybe that was his trick all along? 5/10 ghost, he’s doing his best.

Every Single Snowman From the Neighborhood

Look, I’m a flawed man. I’ve done things I’m not proud of — like driving my truck through snowmen. But in my defense, how was I supposed to know they all had souls? “Frosty” makes it seem like it’s a magic hat that brings them to life. Turns out it’s more like “Toy Story” rules. They’ve always been alive. My bad.

So, one would assume this was a pretty straightforward haunting of hubris and snowmicide, easily solved by the usual: I genuflect in front of the snowmen, promise I’ve learned my lesson, and swear to stop driving my 2012 Chevy Silverado through people’s yards — bing-bang-boom, curse broken. Not this time. No, these snow folk were livid

I spent three hours outside building new bodies for these jerks. It’s going to be in the 40s next week — they’re all going to melt! They didn’t care, though. They whipped me with their branch arms and threatened to do something untoward with their carrot noses if I didn’t keep making snowmen. Now my whole yard’s full of them, and I think my fingers are frostbit, but at least they’re gone. 0/10 ghost.

Wild Turkey

After all that, I was beat. Dawn was breaking, I’d barely slept and just wanted to get a few winks in before Christmas Day began in full. On my way to bed, though, I stumbled over the final spirit of the night, an empty bottle of bourbon.

Was this entire evening one drunken hallucination? It would explain the headache and why I’d fallen down so much building those snowmen. Maybe, like many trying to survive the holidays, the only thing haunting me this Christmas Eve was alcohol poisoning.

Yes, as the sun crested over the snowy hilltops of my quiet community, blistering my bloodshot eyes, I knew my night of terror was nothing more than a series of hallucinations. There were no lessons to be learned or mistakes to atone for. Aspirin and coffee would fix up my ailments.

Then I went downstairs and found the Ridgeway Ghost watching “It’s a Wonderful Life.” Shucks.

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Gustav Phling, real name unknown, is a professional absurdist with a Ph. D in Discordian Theory. He lectures on surrealism at Soapbox University.