by Eve Langlais
“Stupid.”
The ghostly echo froze me.
“Hello?”
It took a second before it repeated. “Hello.”
Definitely not an echo.
“Darryl, that better not be you.” The man was obviously trying to scare me. First his story about his house being haunted then pulling this childish prank.
“Darryl.” The voice sang the name. “Darryl. Darryl. Darryl.”
What if he hadn’t lied and his house truly did have poltergeists? I’d never asked if they could hurt people.
My breathing came quicker. “Who is that? What do you want?”
“Who. Who. Who.”
The word came from everywhere, left, then right, and finally in front of me on a ghostly waft of air.
“Stop it.”
“Make me.” The cold breath of the words hit my nape, and I was out of the chair like a shot.
“Stay away.” I stumbled amidst the furniture, banging and scraping.
Even through the noise I made, I heard it singing and giggling, “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.”
“I’m not a witch.” I hollered the words. A witch wouldn’t be scared. She’d have a spell to fight the nasty voice and light the wretched basement.
“The only thing worse than a witch is a liar.” The frozen syllables blew into my face, and my teeth chattered.
“Who are you? What do you want? Show yourself, coward.” I shook like a leaf in a storm on the inside, and yet my voice never once faltered. I sounded strong. Confident.
The voice mocked me. “Are you afraid of the dark?”
“No.” A lie but I wouldn’t admit to being weak. “So you can stop this, right now. Whatever joke you’re playing with Darryl, it’s over.”
“It will never be over because if you fail then there is always the child.”
3
The words chilled me to the bone. “Leave Winnie out of this,” I yelled. “You hear me? Leave Winnie alone!”
“Who are you talking to?” Darryl’s voice echoed around the basement, and I blinked.
I opened and shut my eyes again just to make sure. The lights were on. I appeared alone. Darryl had paused halfway down the stairs, Herbie at his heels.
“There was…” I opened my mouth to spout the crazy, to tell him about the taunting voice in the dark, except, with the light on, I could see pretty much the entire basement again. Lots of junk and furniture and no one else. Could someone be hiding down here? Yes. Was it likely?
I already knew the answer and had a feeling this was going to be another one of my episodes. Like the one where I was convinced I had a walk-in closet, yet one day it disappeared and I suddenly had a reading nook and a wardrobe. Or the dishes that kept changing in my cupboard.
Trish said it was magic. I said brain tumor. Had to be. I wondered how long I had to live. Not long enough to outlive my embarrassment of acting nuts in front of Darryl, I’d wager.
“Let me guess,” he said. “The damned lights went out on you.”
“Yes. How did you know?”
“Been having some problems lately. I think mice have chewed some of the wires. I keep meaning to get an electrician in.”
“You really should,” I agreed. “It didn’t help you shut the door.”
“It must have been a draft, either way, I am sorry. I know it can get freaky down here when it’s dark,” Darryl confessed.
It oddly made me feel better. “You should keep a flashlight around just in case.”
“I should have ignored the doorbell and stayed with you.”
The right thing to say, and I had no reply. Didn’t know how to act either. How could I be so awkward at my age?
“I should get back to the shop.” I did my best to look casual walking to the stairs. I was proud of the fact I didn’t run.
“Speaking of the shop, what do you think of the stuff? Think we can sell it?”
I cast a quick glance over my shoulder. There was a temptation to tell him no. What if the antiques in his basement were haunted and he brought that voice to my store?
A businesswoman didn’t turn down a good deal. Besides, ghosts weren’t real.
“I think you’ve got a lot of nice treasures.”
“So you’ll take some of it?”
“I’ll take pretty much all of it, just not all at once. When you get a chance, let’s start with a few of the tables and chairs, along with some of those boxes. If they sell, then you can keep bringing in stuff.”
“Sounds like a plan.” He rubbed his hands. “I’ll load the truck up in the morning and bring it to the store.”
“Perfect. I’ll catalogue them, and then we can figure out prices.”
“Maybe over dinner.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, looking nervous.
The sudden invite caught me unaware. “Um, yeah, sure.” In my forties with the suaveness of a dumbstruck teen.
Then it occurred to me, would we eat at the diner where the whole town would gawk at us? Okay, maybe not everyone, but enough people for the gossip chain to go nuts.
“Friday night?”
I almost said yes, and then I remembered. “I can’t on Friday. I’m supposed to have girls’ night at my place.”
Most guys wouldn’t have resisted the temptation to say something dirty like, “Sounds like my kind of party,” or “Can I join?”
Darryl wasn’t one of those guys. “Maybe we can do something a different night then?”
“Saturday?” I eagerly offered.
He grimaced. “I wish I could, but I’m expected somewhere already. I’m sure we’ll figure something out.”
And that quickly, my chance at a date evaporated into the maybe-soon zone. Was it wrong that the horny middle-aged me almost suggested changing girls’ night? I clamped my lips tight and petted the dog, who rolled his big head and eyed me with brown eyes that almost had a rusty feel to them.
Exiting his house into the fresh air, I quickly forget the childish terror of the dark. My overactive imagination really needed to calm down or soon I’d not be able to separate my false perception from reality.
“Here.” He handed me the helmet.
I’d forgotten we’d come here on his bike, which meant I had the agony and pleasure of holding on to Darryl for the ride back. He dropped me on the sidewalk in front of my shop, and as I handed him back the lovely head covering, I said, “Thanks.”
“My pleasure.” A slow lazy drawl.
“I’ll see you soon?” Did that query emerge too desperate?
“First thing tomorrow I’ll be here with the first load of stuff.”
“Okay.”
He didn’t lean close to attempt another kiss. I wanted to kick myself for being such a dweeb. Could a middle-aged woman be a dweeb, or was there a different word for us?
A true pathetic sap, I stood on the sidewalk watching as he rode off. Then sighed. Back to work. I had just enough time to finish stripping and cleaning the shop’s windows before it was time to head over to the diner and take over from Marjorie.
When I entered the diner, she stood behind the counter, looking as bouffant eighties as ever with her hair teased into an impressive mane. Marjorie saw me and smiled.
“Thanks again, Naomi, for saying yes to helping out.”
“As if I could stand in the way of love.” Trish and Marjorie were good for each other. I’ll admit, at first it took getting used to. Two women in my life that turned out to not be as I expected, in that they liked girls, not boys. Their preference didn’t change who they were as people. They were both still cool and my best friends.
And my best friends wanted a night out together.
“Get out of here and get gussied up,” I said, shooing her from behind the counter.
“Do you think I need to fix much?” Her hand went to her hair.
“What? No. You look great. Awesome. I meant put on a dress or something comfortable and…” My foot kept hitting me in the mouth.
Marjorie beame
d. “She does like it when I wear my gray sweater dress. Says it shows off my curves.”
“Then you should put it on. Get. Go. Shoo.” I sent my smiling friend out the door and proceeded to fill in her shift. The dinner rush went by in a blur, and by seven o’clock, I was done.
“Good job,” Orville said. A man of few words, he was big, burly, and bald, with a thick pelt on his jaw. More crept out in springy curls from the vee on his shirt. His forearms were thick like the rest of him and covered in tribal art tattoos.
“They seemed to really like that new dish you added.” Spinach and cheese stuffed chicken served with loaded cauliflower gratin.
“Do you?”
“Delicious enough I’m bringing some home.” I patted the bag with the container inside.
It brought a rare smile to Orville’s lips. “I’m testing out a sugar-free and crust-free cheesecake tomorrow.”
“Can’t wait.”
Orville insisted on walking me to my car, which I’ll admit I was fine with. I had an innate fear of the dark. It began in my college days when girls were warned to always go around in groups. It only got exacerbated as I got older when social media and the news gloried in showing how vulnerable my sex could be. Never mind the fact I’d never been attacked. I remained convinced it would happen if I didn’t take precautions.
Orville didn’t say much—make that anything—as we walked down the sidewalk to my shop. Only when we came abreast did he rumble, “Needs a name.”
I glanced at the blank marquee. “I know. I just haven’t quite figured it out yet.”
“Hmm.” He had no suggestion.
We headed down the alley to my parked car. Orville waited while I got out my key and then stood with his hands in his jacket pockets while I got in and started it. I rolled down my window. “Let me give you a ride to your car.”
He shook his head and, without a word, lumbered off. Such a strange man, and yet oddly attractive in spite of his reticent personality. Maybe even more given I considered every word he uttered and smile that tilted his lips a hard-earned gift. It made me wonder, briefly mind you, if he took that much time in bed.
At yet another quiver in my nether regions, I really wondered if it was time I did as that woman’s magazine suggested and masturbate on a regular schedule.
Or as Winnie had suggested just last week, “Why don’t you get a vibrator?”
I’d almost choked. I also ran from the room. I just wasn’t ready to discuss masturbation with my daughter. In my day, we didn’t talk about it, and I was kind of discomfited by how open everyone was these days.
What happened to the mystery of the act? To the privacy around it?
Then again, with today’s more liberal views, I now knew that Martin sucked as a lover. I’d gotten much better at figuring out what I liked.
Under the covers.
In the dark.
The road home proved eerie this late in the year. The sun had already set, making everything shadowy, turning the familiar into something else. My headlights illuminated the road, the trees flanking it, and the occasional glint of eyes from wild animals watching.
Nothing dangerous, not in these parts anymore. Maybe the occasional bear, but they didn’t usually attack people.
What I did need to watch out for was trees!
I had only a moment to react to the trunk that came crashing down. I slammed on the brake, and yet it wasn’t enough to stop me in time. The tree smashed down onto the hood of my car hard enough my air bags deployed and punched me in the face.
4
Dead. I had to be dead. My ears were ringing. I couldn’t see. Couldn’t breathe.
It lasted seconds—an eternity. Then I heaved in some air, a big gasping gulp, and managed to tilt my face sideways. Ouch. That didn’t feel good. I kind of didn’t want to test the rest of me. I couldn’t feel anything.
What if I was broken? Paralyzed or worse? Maybe my lower body had been severed and I hadn’t noticed yet!
Panic had me huffing for air. It appeared thin, as if I’d run out. Would I suffocate before I bled out? The irrational panic was real, which meant I had to push against it.
Calm down.
Calm the fuck down.
The addition of the swear word had me taking in deep breaths. I took better stock of my surroundings, from the throbbing in my head, which had already eased, to the ticking of metal as it cooled.
Next, I wiggled my toes good and hard. Not paralyzed. I shifted against the weight pushing on me. The deployed air bag had probably saved my life. I dug fingers into the balloon. Beyond the panicked sound of my breath, I could hear the horn going off. A never-ending cacophony that barely made it past the roaring white noise in my head.
What the heck had just happened? Trees did not randomly fall. Not without wind at least.
I shoved at the airbag and flailed against the door until I could open it. Cool night air funneled in, and I took a ragged breath. Spilling out of my car, I took a few stumbling steps before I whirled to look at the damage.
The tree had completely crushed the front of my car. I doubted a mechanic could resurrect my motor. It was a miracle I’d survived. If I’d headed down that road half a second earlier or not braked in time…
I’d have died.
Instead, I lived. By some miracle, I wasn’t even injured.
I should buy a lottery ticket.
Approaching my car—oddly enough the lights still worked and illuminated the gloom—I could smell gas. I’d just quickly grab my purse and jacket and then call for help. Get someone to come pick me up.
What if no one could come?
Worst-case scenario, I’d go on foot. How many miles to the house? Hopefully I wouldn’t have to find out. I needed my phone, which of course was still in the car. I’d been charging it via the cigarette lighter.
The airbag made it impossible to see, so I grabbed a sharp stick and jabbed to no avail. The material was tougher than it looked. I wiggled my arm and part of my upper body past the air bag, reaching between the seats for my phone and found my purse instead. I grasped the worn leather strap and yanked.
Of course, it got caught. As my fingers blindly worked to free it, the smell of gasoline intensified to the point I was blinking my eyes and feeling lightheaded. My purse yanked free, and I couldn’t help but utter a triumphant, “Aha!”
A second rummage past the air bag and I found my phone and held it aloft. My smile turning to a frown as I saw the power indicating it was down to its last five percent. I’d not thought to charge it all day, and the short car ride hadn’t done much to help it.
Oops.
Surely, I’d have enough juice for one call. But who? I scrolled through my contacts. Marjorie and Trish were on a date, as was Winnie. It seemed presumptuous to make Darryl come all the way out here. As my next-door neighbor, Jace technically counted as the closest, but I hated asking him for anything, and I didn’t actually have his phone number, nor did he seem like the type to be listed.
Still, just in case, I spent two percent of my battery trying to locate a number for him. Failed. I had three percent left and a crushed car that wouldn’t go anywhere without a—
“Tow truck!” I’d call for a tow and have the driver drop me off at the house.
I rang the first number that came up on my search. It rang once. Twice. After the third, it went to voicemail, and before I could leave a message, my phone died.
I glared at it. Seriously? “Fuck off!” The potty language spilled from me. The only thing truly strong enough to commemorate the moment.
Some days, I hated technology. Stupid stuff never worked when you needed it.
A gust of cold wind caressed me with icy fingers. It rustled the branches of the trees. Whispered to me. Enjoy the walk.
Ugh.
Not how I wanted to end my day. I should grab my jacket because it would be chilly. The pungent aroma of gas had gone past the point of strong smelling to downright nauseating. Could a person die from breathi
ng in too many fumes? Or would I just get high? I definitely wouldn’t be lighting any matches.
I tucked my face inside my shirt and ran to the passenger side to grab my jacket. Opening the door, I saw the airbag hadn’t deployed on that side and would have been an easier choice to snare my phone.
My jacket lay in plain sight. As I grabbed it, I heard a noise. The crunch of something stepping on leaves in the woods.
Whirling with my coat clutched in front of me, because it made such a good shield, I stared blindly. The headlights made it impossible for me to penetrate the gloom—meanwhile I was highlighted like a stripper on stage.
Probably a raccoon or a forest animal. Nothing to worry about. Unless it was a killer zombie beaver. I was pretty sure I’d seen them using the downed tree trick in a horror movie I’d watched a few years ago. Great big teeth, gnawing wood to a pulp and then shoving the tree over to trap victims for them to devour.
Not the best thing to remember in the woods, at night.
“Go away,” I said in a tremulous voice. Not scary at all and yet I’d been taught most animals would avoid humans. Scurry away.
Unless it was a cougar. Cougars ate people.
The big bucks with their tined horns would gore.
And moose tossed humans around like ragdolls.
Why couldn’t I imagine the woodland animals as cute and fuzzy and gentle?
Holding my breath, I listened. Nothing moved or made crunchy noises. The wind licked past my cheeks, coldly chuckling.
A shiver racked me. I needed to stop standing around. I’d freeze to death if I didn’t get somewhere warm. And at this point, that meant my house. How far from here was it?
I turned from the forest to give my car one last look. I slammed the passenger door shut for no reason other than it seemed sloppy to leave it open. In the window’s reflection, I didn’t see much other than a fireball arcing toward me.
As I turned to gape—because that’s what my dumb ass does in emergency situations—I had time to think, That’s it. I’m dead. The newspaper blurb would read: Fried Like a Chicken but Smelled Like Bacon.