Walter the dead genius

Walter was Amy's best friend in the whole world. After she met him, when her parents moved to the town of Walcott, they became inseparable-she loved how brainy he was and he loved how vulnerable she was. But nobody else could see Walter. Not even her parents. They thought Walter was an imaginary friend but Amy knew different. He wasn't imaginary at all. He was a ghost. But not the scary kind of ghost. Walter was a friendly genius.
"Class hush now," said Miss Parmeter, Amy's primary teacher. "Today we're discussing the Victorian era. Now who can tell me why it's called the Victorian era?"
As Amy twiddled with her pencil and chewed on her bottom lip, searching her brain for an answer, Walter whispered the answer into her ear.
In an instant she launched her hand into the air and waved it frantically.
"Yes, Amy," Miss Parmeter drawled.
"Because that was when Queen Victoria reigned, from 1837 to 1901," Amy stated, proudly.
"Yes, correct, again."
The rest of the class groaned.

Amy was dazzled by how brainy Walter was and so grateful she came to know him. If it wasn't for him she was sure she would fail everyone of her classes. When she asked him how he came to be so bright Walter shrugged it off as though he wished he wasn't blessed with such a great memory for facts and figures. He didn't care much for education but his brain was like a giant sponge. It sucked up information involuntarily.
"No, I 'ad a different passion when I was alive, really," he said to her one evening. He glided across her room, sat down at her desk and re-tied the laces to his polished ankle boots. Amy was fascinated by the outfit he wore. There was no way a boy nowadays would get away with wearing a sailor suit without being ribbed for it on a daily basis.
"What was that?" Amy asked.
"I woz like a Magpie. I loved shiny fings," he said. "I collected 'em and stashed 'em away, as savin's like, for da future. But dat's why I died. "
"What do you mean?"
"I was caught, robbin' a jewellery shop. I fell on broken glass I smashed from da back door when da coppers were after me. Went an' bled ta death didn't I."
"That was unfortunate," Amy said sorrowfully.
"Yeah well I deserved it I s'pose."
"So where did you stash your loot then?" Amy asked trying to sound curious but not so curious that she would want to steal it herself.
Walter sighed. "I can't remember. Been so long now I forget. But I know it's round 'ere somewhere. Dat's why I can't leave. Not until I've found it."
"You'll just have to start a new collection, Walter," she said as she snuggled down into her duvet.

As the weeks passed Amy continued to baffle the teachers with her astuteness even at subjects that hadn't been taught. Amy was a little concerned at their suspicion but she was having too much fun to quit. So day after day Walter accompanied her to school and hovered by her desk, feeding her answers. The teachers spoke to her parents, during parents evening, about Amy's prodigious abilities but her mother had things on her mind that were infinitely more important to her.
"Amy, have you seen your grandmother's watch?" her mother asked of her one Sunday morning. "I thought I left it on my dresser. You haven't been into our bedroom have you? Playing dress-up again?"
Amy shook her head. "No. I don't even know what it looks like."
Her mother frowned. "That is the strangest thing. I've noticed recently a lot of things that seem to be disappearing. I've lost a pair of pearl earrings, a gold necklace and even the miniature carriage clock in the lounge has gone. Are you sure you've not being moving things about the house, Amy? I promise I won't be mad if you own up to it now."
Amy again shook her head, this time with earnest. "I promise, mum. I haven't," she said and dashed up the stairs to her room.
"Walter, Walter," she whispered, searching round her room for the rogue genius.
She looked in her wardrobe, under her bed and in her toy cupboard and just when she gave up searching him he appeared out of thin air and hovered above her bed-his legs and arms crossed, like a genie.
"There you are," she gasped. "You're in big trouble. Have you been stealing stuff from our house?"
Walter sailed round the room. "I might have," he said.
"Well you mustn't. Mum's suspicious. She thinks I've taken them."
Walter stopped and looked at her. His eyes flashed with greedy delight. "Really," he said. "So I can steal and nobody would know it's me? Fascinating," he added and twirled round the room. "Do you know what this means? I could steal everything I ever wanted."
"Walter you can't. It's wrong."
"It was your idea," he said.
But Walter didn't stop. Week after week more and more of Amy's parents belongings went missing. Some turned up in the strangest of places. The carriage clock in the lounge turned up in the cupboard under the stairs, behind a box of old vinyl records, and a bronze statue of a horse was found in the garden shed. Amy's parents were so disturbed by the events that one night her mother made a phone call that Amy overheard.
"Father Collingwood," said her mother. "I wonder if you could come over to the house one day. We seem to be having some...problems...of a supernatural nature," she said hesitantly. "Thursday at five would be great. We'll be pleased to see you."
Amy had no idea what was going to happen. When she challenged her mother about it she got no response.
"It's nothing for you to worry about, Amy. You're too young to understand," she said as she poured a coffee and sat down at the kitchen table with the newspaper.
"Mum, I'm nine not five," Amy snorted.
"You've not reached double figures yet, Amy, so certain things are off the table for discussion."
All week Amy pondered what was going to happen. Why did mum want Father Collingwood to come by. Were they going to pray for the missing items to materialise?
When Thursday came there was a knock at the door. It was Father Collingwood dressed in black and wearing his familiar white dog collar. He had a brown carpet bag in one hand and a red leather bible in the other.
"Come inside," Amy's mother said and looked at Amy. "I think you should go upstairs to your room. I'm sure you have homework to do."
"But mum," Amy pleaded. Her mother was resolute and pointed toward the stairs.
Amy stomped down the hall as her mother led the priest into the lounge but when the door clicked shut Amy crept back up to it and pressed an ear against it.
"So I believe you have some spirit problems," she heard Father Collingwood say.
"You could say that," said her mother
Amy listened as her mother recounted all the strange happenings in the house.
"I think a minor exorcism could take care of that. To banish all ghosts to their heavenly realm."
The word 'banish' rang in Amy's head like a loud gong.
"No, you can't. You can't kill Walter. He's my friend," Amy cried as she burst through the door.
"Amy Walter isn't a ghost," her mother said impatiently.
"He is. He's the one taking all your stuff. He just likes it," she said. She watched on as the priest pull out a long black cassock and an embroiled red stole from his bag. "Oh please don't kill him. Without him I'll never pass another test."
"Oh don't be so melodramatic, Amy," said her mum and ushered Amy out of the room.
"Mum please," Amy wailed but her pleas fell on deaf ears.
Desperate Amy ran upstairs calling for Walter with every step.
"Where are you? Where are you?"
"I'm down 'ere," Walter said.
Amy peered down at him. He was sat with his legs crossed leaning against her bedside table, flicking through her diary.
She snatched it from him. "You've no time to be nosey, Walter. Do you know what you've done? Do you know who's down there?"
"Course I do," he said. "I'm not stupid, unlike you."
"That's not fair. I tried to warn you. I tried to tell you not to take things that weren't yours and now look what's happened. That priest is going to banish you and I'll never see you again."
"Are you more bovered 'bout not seeing me again or more bovered dat I'll never give you another answer at school?"
Amy wrestled with the question. She knew the real reason and so did Walter.
"Look Amy," he said. "You're not stupid. You never were. You just need to fink your smart and you will be. It's as simple as dat."
"It's not just that though," whimpered Amy. "You're my friend. My only friend."
"You'll make new friends," he said casually. "And real ones."
"Why are you acting like this? How can you be so...so cool about being...killed."
"I'm already dead, Amy, so dis, I s'pose, will be like a 'oliday or somefink," he said and leaned closer towards. "But seein' as I'm about ta depart dis world I'll leave you wiv one fing. I do know where I stashed me booty."
Amy stared at him as his form gradually started to fade. Her eyes glassed over with tears that threatened to burst their banks. She tilted her head back trying to stop them from flowing, knowing that if they did she wouldn't be able to stop them.
"Dig up your garden and you'll find it. It's yours," was the last word he said to her and with a pop and a flash he disappeared. For good.