That’s not to say he was cruel or annoying, like those ghosts who wait until you’re just about to fall asleep before starting to stomp around in the attic. Or the ones who like to stay just at the edge of your vision, then run away when you turn to focus. Those ghosts are just mean.
No, Whisky was just not very good at being a ghost.
He tried his best, but it never quite worked out. He would make areas of the house inexplicably cold, but forgot that it was summer so his hauntees were actually quite appreciative of it. He made ominous noises but more often than not this just brought on a coughing fit and he had to excuse himself. He would hide in cupboards in preparation of a quick fright, but the anticipation would start him giggling and he would have to go lie down a while.
Whisky came to the conclusion that perhaps he didn’t look that scary, so perhaps he should try being a poltergeist instead and throw things around. This didn’t work out.
As it happened, this wasn’t the biggest blow to his confidence.
Deciding that being a traditional house-ghost wasn’t working out, Whisky attempted a change in career. He had always had an interest in performing, so he considered a possible start as an actor. Now, Whisky had never formally acted, but he had once pretended to be a bed sheet for several hours. He was especially proud of that, for it had been so convincing he got thrown into a washing machine for cleaning. The subsequent dizziness lasted only a few days.
Sadly, it wasn’t enough.
Convincing himself that they were looking for more experienced actors, Whisky kept searching. To his delight, he was offered to join a travelling spiritualist as part of his act.
It was around this time Whisky learnt he would get terrible stage fright.
After being fired Whisky decided that, perhaps, he should stick to what he knew best: haunting.
There were issues: what to haunt? The idea of being part of a ghost-ship appealed to Whisky, but he suffered terrible sea-sickness. He tried to join a ghost army re-enactment group, but deep down he knew that no-one cared for them as much as they did a real ghost army. He tried to play haunting music in the streets of cities, but failed when he realised he didn’t know how to play any instruments.
For a brief time Whisky haunted a graveyard that wasn’t claimed by any other ghost. His joy at being part of such a traditional haunting location gave way when he realised he wasn’t very keen on being at such a spooky location, and at any rate the skeletons were always causing a racket.
He left the graveyard and the skeletons, and went into the wilderness. He hoped to find some hikers or campers to scare. Perhaps he would become a local urban legend - a strange piece of folklore spoken in whispers to scare children and visitors.
Instead he just got lost.
In the end, Whisky took up residence at a castle. Not a particularly well-known castle, for all of them (especially the ones that got visitors) already had a resident ghost and, well, they weren’t keen to give up such a nice job. Instead Whisky found a quiet, out-of-the-way ruin, usually unknown and rarely visited by anyone.
It wasn’t a glamorous role, and it was unlikely it would lead to him become a part of local folklore, but it was a job he could do. It didn’t have any skeletons, and he could run to some (mostly intact) room if the weather got particularly bad.
And if any wanderer, any explorer, any person wanting to visit should come by then, well, Whisky was very confident in his abilities to make ominous sounds, to be seen out of the corner of his visitor’s eye, to find a hiding place from which to jump out with his best, most frightening cry of “boo!”
And then he decide not to do any of that, and instead run away and hope that the visitor would go away. Because Whisky wasn’t very good at being a ghost.