SHADOW TALES
SHIRLEY DAMSGAARD
TABLE OF CONTENTS
A CHANCE ENCOUNTER
ECHOES
BEYOND THE GRAVE
A TIME OF PROMISE
LITTLE BOY LOST
THE SPIRIT OF THE PRAIRIE
THE GIFT
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
A Chance Encounter
Big drops of rain plopped on the sidewalk and ran in a steady stream into the gutters. Cars driving by splashed cold, dirty water back onto the sidewalk. Twice, Jane’s legs and thighs had been soaked. No one stopped, no one noticed, no one cared. What was she doing—walking from place to place in her sodden jeans, looking for work on a day like this? With her bedraggled appearance no one would hire her, but she had no choice. The five dollars and spare change she had in her pocket wouldn't feed her kids for one day, let alone the rest of the week. She had to find work.
A pink neon sign flashing ahead caught her attention. Maybe she could go inside long enough to dry off, then after the rain stopped, she could continue her job search. Flinging the door open, Jane stumbled inside.
The interior was even gloomier than outside and it took Jane’s eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light. The blue haze of countless cigarettes hung in the air and on the far wall of the room, shelves containing bottles of booze and glasses of all sizes reached toward the dark ceiling. Great...she’d wandered into a bar. Turning to leave, she stopped when a hand touched her arm.
A woman stood behind her holding a tray. She looked Jane up and down, taking in her wet clothes and straggling hair. “I suppose you’re looking for a job,” she said with a shake of her head.
Jane’s heart gave a quick thump. "Job? You’re hiring?"
The woman rolled her eyes. "I suppose you could say that.” She jerked her head toward the long bar stretching across the far wall. “Talk to Jim. He owns this joint."
Jane looked at the man sitting alone with his back leaning against the bar. Even with the poor lighting she saw gold rings glinting on every finger while he tapped ashes from the end of his cigarette. His shirt was unbuttoned half-way down his chest exposing a thick mat of dark hair. Gold sparkled there, too. A chain the size of a dog collar stretched around his beefy neck and lay nestled on his chest.
Her legs shaking, Jane wound her way across the room to the bar until she stood in front of him.
Jim took a long drag on his cigarette and let his eyes wander down her body. Finally his attention returned to her face.
"You here about the job?"
Shifting nervously, she cleared her throat. “Umm...yeah. Jane Morgan," she said and held out her hand.
Ignoring it, he stubbed out his cigarette. "It pays 4 bucks an hour, plus tips,” he said, brushing specks of ash off his lap. “If you're good, the tips are good. Some of the girls make 100 bucks a night."
Her eyes widened. A hundred dollars a night, five hundred a week. Oh my god. Five hundred dollars. Enough for rent and food. Maybe some left over to buy new clothes for the kids. Her heart raced at the thought, and she felt hope rise.
He pulled another cigarette from the pack and lit up. Exhaling slowly, he let the smoke drift in curls around his face. "Well, are you interested or not?"
"Yeah, sure," she replied quickly.
"Unbutton your coat."
Jane frowned. "What?"
He paused while he blew a stream of smoke toward the ceiling. "I said unbutton your coat. And take it off."
Still thinking about the five hundred dollars, she didn’t question his request. Her cold fingers struggled to undo the big buttons. Finished, she shrugged out of the coat and held it tightly at her waist.
He gave her a speculative look. "Not bad. Good face and with the right amount of make-up," he said while his eyes wandered down toward her chest. "Is that all you or you got a little extra in there?"
"Huh?" Jane pulled her crumpled coat higher.
"Your tits. Are they real or padded? Hard to tell these days." He blew out another stream of smoke and gave his cigarette a quick tap. "Look, sister, for this job they'd better be yours. I don't have no flat-chested dancers. And they'd better be firm, too. I have my standards."
The hope she’d felt only a second ago began to slide away. "Hey, what kind of job is this?"
"Strippin'. And if you're good enough, pole dancin'. Takes more than just a good body to work the pole,” he said with a quick nod. “Gotta look like you enjoy it, otherwise the guys know you're fakin' it and they don't get into it. The more they get into it, the more they drink. And the more they drink, the more money I make." He paused, taking a deep drag from the cigarette, and exhaled the smoke slowly. "Gotta do it like Edie. Guys would be three deep, watchin' her dance."
"Who’s Edie?"
“Just the best stripper in town.” He puffed out his chest and poked it proudly with a stubby finger. “And I discovered her. She was nothin’ but a small town girl, just like the rest of ‘em. I helped make her and now—” He cut himself off while his mouth twisted into a bitter grin. “Never mind. You interested or not?" He stubbed out his cigarette.
Jane chewed her bottom lip. Stripping naked in front of strangers? No way. If anyone back home ever found out...
He said a hundred dollars a night. She clutched her coat tighter as a picture of their crummy apartment flashed through her mind. The garbage left on the stoop—the rats in the hallway—the group of teens hanging out on the street corners until all hours of the night. It was no life for her kids, but she needed money to start a new one.
She could earn five hundred dollars a week. She didn't know anyone in this town. How would anyone back home learn about her “new” job? If it would get her kids out of the hellhole they were living in...she wouldn't have to do it long, not at five hundred a week. They could find a nicer apartment. Once she had a nest egg, she could find a better job.
With a quick nod, she made her decision. "Okay. What do I do?"
"Stay here, and I'll go get the papers." Jim eased himself off the barstool. "Candy is up next. She's pretty good. Not as good as Edie, but watch her. Maybe you'll learn somethin'." He turned back to the bar. "Hey, Mabel, get—what did you say your name was?"
"Jane," she replied, placing her coat on the bar.
"Get Jane a cup of coffee." He turned back to Jane. "It'll warm you up. Don't want you shakin' when you show me what you got."
Oh god—was she going to have to give a demonstration before he'd hire her?
"Here's your coffee," Mabel said, setting the cup in front of her. "Don't worry, honey, it's not as bad as you think. You get used to it. Some of the girls even enjoy it." She shook her head. "Edie sure did."
Suddenly, the ba-boom, ba-boom of music thundered from the speakers making any conversation with Mabel impossible. Jane turned to look at the stage.
Colored lights flashed to the rhythm of the music. She could feel the heavy thud of the bass deep in her chest. What appeared to be a young woman stepped onto the stage and the sound dropped a few decibels. The woman wore a white sequined bra with fringe that went to her knees and high boots with five-inch heels. As her body swayed to the music, a sequined G-string flashed beneath the fringe. She grabbed the pole and leaned back, her long red hair spilling almost to the floor.
A man sat alone at the edge the stage. Spying him, the woman moved around the pole until she was directly in front of him. She turned to face the man. Reaching behind her, she grasped the pole with one hand. While she slowly rubbed her back up and down, she trailed her other hand over her face, down her neck, and over the mounds of flesh oozing out of the tight bra. The man swallowed once, twice. He picked up his glass and knocked back his drink in one gulp.
"Wonder she doesn't break her neck, doing that in t
hose heels, huh?"
Jane turned to see who spoke to her. Another woman stood to her left. She was dressed in a blue satin robe with silver "E" stitched in silk over her right breast. Her blond hair was piled high on the top of her head.
"Hi," she said, holding out her hand. "I'm Edie."
Ah, the best stripper in town. Maybe she could give her a few tips. Jane forced herself to smile as she took the woman's hand. It was cool and felt small and frail in Jane's grasp.
"Hi, I'm Jane."
Edie leaned up against the bar. Her robe gaped, showing impressive cleavage. "So, here for the job?"
"Yeah, I guess."
Edie eyed her up and down then let out a low laugh. "I'm sorry, sweetie, but you don't look the type."
"Maybe not,” Jane said, swirling the coffee around in the cup, “but I don't have much choice. No one else is hiring."
"Need a job that bad, do you?"
"Only if I want to feed my kids."
"No man?"
"No, I threw him out about two months ago." Jane shook her head. "We're better off without him. Ever since he lost his job, he started drinking more and—" She clamped her mouth shut, remembering the night she’d spent cowering in the corner.
Edie gave her a knowing look. "Started beating on you, did he?"
Looking down, she didn’t answer Edie’s question. She’d been so alone—no friends, no family. She hadn’t told anyone about the abuse. There was no one to tell.
She glanced back at Edie and saw kindness and understanding in the woman’s eyes. All of a sudden, the misery and desperation she’d felt ever since leaving her home-town came rushing to the surface. Tears gathered and she took an angry swipe at them while the words struggled passed her lips. "I don’t care if he did blame me. I don’t care if he was sorry. I couldn't let him slap me around."
Edie patted her hand. "That took guts."
"Well, I didn't have much choice. I had to protect my kids." Jane shook her head. "It wasn't supposed to be this way."
"How was it supposed to be?" Edie asked gently.
"You know, happily ever after and all that. We were high school sweethearts, got married right after graduation, and had three kids. And we were doing okay back home.” Jane swallowed the lump in her throat. “We had jobs, a house...things were good. At least I thought they were good. Dick didn’t. He decided he was wasting his life living in a small town. Thought he could do better in the city."
"But he didn't?"
"No, it was okay at first. Then he started hanging out with guys from work, drinking every night, not coming home. That's when he lost his job."
"And started beating on you?"
Jane nodded and blew out a shaky breath. "I wasn't going to put up with it. I may not be much, but I deserve better than that."
"I'd say. And you deserve better than working in a place like this,” she said, letting her gaze wander around the dingy bar before returning it to Jane. “Any woman who's got spine enough to get rid of a drunk has got spine enough to make a go of it somewhere other than here."
"Like where?"
"You said things were good back home. Why not there?”
A look of uncertainty crossed Jane’s face. “I don’t know...” she said, her voice tapering away. “It’s a small town...if I suddenly show up without Dick everyone will want to know why. I’d have to answer all those questions.”
“So?” Edie said with a toss of her head. “Questions don’t hurt, do they?”
Jane hesitated. “No...no, I don’t suppose they do.”
“You got family back there?"
Jane gave a quick nod.
"Wouldn't they take you in until you got back on your feet?"
"Yeah...my mom hated it when we moved. She’d like nothing better than to see us come back.” Her eyes filled with tears again. “But I’d be running home like a whipped dog."
"Oh, sweetie, you're not a whipped dog. You'd have been one if you'd stayed with a man who didn't treat you right.” Edie motioned toward the stage. “Or you’ll turn into one if you wind up working in a place like this. It'll suck the life right out of you. Look at Candy."
Candy was still working the pole, only now the fringed bra was gone. All she wore was a G-string. Three men now sat in front, and empty glasses littered the edge of the stage. Dollar bills lay beside the glasses. She sauntered toward them, her breasts jiggling like Jell-O. She bent down close, close enough for them to touch her. One man reached out but before he made contact, Candy snatched the dollar bills and danced away while stuffing the bills in her G-string.
"What about her?" Jane asked, glancing back at Edie. “She doesn’t look like she minds working here.”
“Humph,” Edie snorted. "Candy’s good at pretending, but if you look real close you’ll see."
Jane turned her attention back to the stage. She didn’t understand the point Edie was trying to make. Candy was a pretty girl, even under all that make-up, with a great body. And from the way that body was gyrating, she looked like she enjoyed parading around the stage. She wore a big smile as she danced back and forth across the stage. Then suddenly, as if Candy felt Jane’s stare, her eyes met Jane’s from across the room. Her smile faded, and she missed a beat.
Edie was right. The eyes looking into Jane’s were cold. Bored. Lifeless. As if they’d seen too much.
Candy recovered quickly, jerking her attention away and plastering a smile back on her face. With one last glance over her bare shoulder she strutted over to the next group of men.
Jane turned and faced Edie. She was struck by the difference. There was nothing flat about Edie. Edie had a sparkle, a glow about her. Her entire face shone with intensity—with life.
"See, Candy is the one who's whipped. She gave up. She settled for less, and now she's dead inside. Is that what you want?"
"No."
"Then pack up your kids and go back where you belong,” Edie smiled gently. “Fight to make your life better."
"But how?” she asked, her voice sounding as hopeless as she felt. “I don't have any money."
"Still got your wedding ring?"
"Yeah. But it's not worth much."
"It'll be worth a bus ticket. Go over to the pawnshop on 42nd Street. Tell them Edie sent you,” she said with a wink. “They'll give you enough to get you and your kids back home."
"But what about you? You work here. Jim said you were the best, and I don't think I've ever met anyone as full of life as you. You're not dead."
Edie laughed and gave her a quick hug. "Don't worry about me, sweetie. I learned my lesson the hard way.” Her face grew serious. “Just remember, the dead ones aren't always in the cemetery. There are a lot of them walking around, just thinking they're alive."
Jane looked back at Candy. The music stopped, and with it, Candy’s façade dropped. Her shoulders slumped, and with weary steps, she walked over, picked up the fringed bra, and slowly left the stage. When Jane turned around, Edie was gone.
Jim came around the corner of the bar. In his hand, he held several sheets of paper.
He handed them to Jane. "Here, fill these out, then go back-stage. Candy will help you pick out a costume, and you can show me what you got. And you'd better make it good, honey, if you want the job. Like I said, I got my standards."
Jane shoved the papers back at Jim. "No thanks. Edie convinced me I don't belong here. I'm going home."
Jim's face suddenly lost all its color, and his mouth dropped open. His eyes widened. "Are you nuts? You couldn't have talked to Edie,” he hissed. “Her ex beat her to death over a year ago.”
“But...but,” Jane stammered. “I was just talk—”
He cut her off. “Get out!” he exclaimed. “I don’t need any crazies around here.”
Jane slid off the bar stool, grabbed her coat, and hurried toward the door. And as she did, she heard Jim's voice over the music.
"You know, Mabel, she’s the third one I’ve lost this month."
Echoes
; “On the morning of February 8, 1862, Letty Madsen rose at her usual time.” I directed everyone’s attention to the painting hanging above the first floor landing. “After eating breakfast, she returned to her room to write letters. She was later found lying on the balcony in terrible pain. The housekeeper sent for the doctor and Letty’s husband. The doctor assumed she had the fever, so he used leeches and bled her. Finally, three days later, after great suffering, Letty died. She was eighteen years old. Any questions?”
They were bored. Two boys in the back were busy poking each other, another had his finger up his nose, and the girls were sharing secrets. They could have cared less what happened to a woman one hundred and forty-eight years ago. Nor did they care that the Madsen Mansion was a fine example of Gothic Revival architecture. They were more interested in stopping at McDonald’s when the tour concluded.
“What killed her?” a child in the back suddenly asked.
I looked at the boy who asked the question. A spark of interest, maybe this kid didn’t like McDonald’s.
“She died of poisoning,” I replied.
The shuffling, poking, and whispering stopped.
“What kind of poison?” another child asked.
Of course, they would want to know that. Eleven-year-olds are such a bloodthirsty lot. McDonald’s was momentarily forgotten.
“Arsenic. Some women in the 1800’s used small quantities of it daily. They thought it improved their looks.”
“That’s pretty dumb,” scoffed the boy in the red shirt.
“Yes, it was. Eventually it killed her.”
“What happened to the captain?” The little girl in the front asked.
“The captain and Letty had only been married a few months. He was so sad when she died that he sold the bank he owned and became a virtual hermit, living alone until his death forty years later, at the age of eighty.
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