The views at Scenic Writer’s Shack are so often nothing short of travel magazine-worthy, but today the view from the 3rd place podium is even better.

Komiko Noir’s story ‘THE GRAND SLAM GHOST’ haunted its way into 3rd Place in the Scenic Writer’s Shack 2026 Humorous Short Story Contest! 🥉

Its style of paranormal activity was way more ‘‘haha’‘ than ‘aaaaah,’ and you’ve likely never seen a ghost with such a killer overhead smash.

While most ghosts merely rattle chains, this one really knew how to raise a racket, while putting it’s own unique spin on the genre.

Before any more unfortunate tennis puns get served up, its time now to read on and enjoy author Komiko Noir‘s –

It was a moonless night when Finn, an aspiring paranormal vlogger, decided to spend a few hours in the notoriously eerie Blackwood Cemetery. His mission: capture definitive proof of the spectral presence rumored to haunt the oldest section. Equipped with a night-vision camera and an over-reliance on caffeine, Finn was ready.

As he crept past crumbling gravestones, a faint, rhythmic thwack–thwack echoed through the misty air. His heart pounded. This wasn’t the usual creak of branches or hoot of an owl. This sounded… deliberate. He slowly turned his camera towards the sound, creeping closer to a particularly weathered mausoleum.

There, in the faint glow of his camera’s IR light, stood a translucent figure. It was wearing what looked like vintage tennis whites, complete with a sweatband, and was vigorously swinging an antique wooden tennis racquet at an invisible ball. The ghost was panting, muttering to itself.

“Forehand… too weak!” it groaned, a wispy sigh escaping its ethereal form. “Net fault again! Oh, Harold, you’re losing your touch even in the afterlife!“

Finn nearly dropped his camera. It was a wrong end of the telescope moment, he realized, shaking his head. This wasn’t a menacing spirit, but a spectral athlete obsessed with perfecting his serve, even centuries after his last match.

Suddenly, the ghost spotted Finn. Its translucent eyes widened. “Oh, finally! A living soul! Care for a quick set? My partner, Reginald, quit after I double-faulted at match point back in 1892. Been looking for a decent opponent ever since!”

Finn, a recreational player at best, gulped. Being challenged to a tennis match by a Victorian ghost in the middle of a graveyard was not in his vlogging script. He politely declined, citing an urgent ‘appointment with a very living alarm clock.‘ As he scurried away, he could still hear the ghost’s disappointed thwack-thwack, forever doomed to serve aces to an empty court.