The girlfriend had changed; now she was the beast. She rose from the very earth, spawned from deep down below to torment my waking hours. “I need money for…” She would say it every day, every hour. This was a constant reminder that I didn’t have a bestseller, or an agent, or a grievance for a clever plot.
She was testing me, and every day I reminded her that authors are sexy, and she told me that I didn’t have one book out, so I was a no one. And I was a no one, but I would be a someone once my book was out. Then I would have it all. In the meantime I just had to put up with the constant chaffing, and the girlfriend’s harping about how I didn’t even have page one.
Truth to tell, I didn’t even have an idea on how to start.
She came home with another guy last night. She brought him into my house. Into. My. House.
He was a banker and his name was Clive, or Bruce, or something you would call a banker. The guy reeked of money and cheap cologne. And they sat on my couch and giggled behind my back while the words were just about to hop out of my tormented soul and onto the screen. I was right on the edge of the Eureka moment and they ruined it.
So I was a writer with a cheating scoundrel of a woman who mocked me cruelly, I had no idea what to write, and I had a rage turning and turning deep in my tortured writer’s soul. It was like a venom coursing through my veins, prickling my skin, searing behind my eyes to turn the whole world a bloody kind of red. I saw them hanging from the ceiling, torn to shreds by wild horses, chased by unholy creatures of the night in a graveyard full of empty graves. Only, none of that was real, and I knew well the difference between fantasy and the real world. In the end, I waited in the kitchen for the moment they left. I stood there in quiet, impotent rage, clutching a knife. In my torrid anger, I thought about plunging it into their flesh. I thought about dancing in a waterfall of their blood. I thought about justice for the wounds received.
When I heard them go out, I went out to the living room to find their note: “Borrowed your credit card—be back tomorrow, or whatevs.”
And I laughed. Strange, huh?
I laughed the night away in their company, for they were right there before me, with my muse, in a play of my own fantastic creation. They danced, in a sweet forbidden lover’s embrace. My muse stomped his goat hooves on the floor to the spicy Latin beat, while the couple danced amid the flames. Their skin was melting, their limbs aflame, and the muse licked at them with his forked tongue, rent them bloody with his curved horns. And the whole world was a pleasant, warm color red.
I hadn’t slept; neither had she. In the morning she was waiting for me to wake. That took a while, and I’m sure I was looking as rough as I felt. Her impatience played clearly on her face. “It’s not going to work,” she told me, a sickly sneer on her ugly face. “You misled me into thinking you were a movie director, or something. I want my things and I’m moving in with Clive.” Maybe she said Bruce, not sure on that.
“I put your things out back,” I told her.
She had the nerve to be annoyed because she had nice things and by sticking them outside I could have ruined everything.
“I’ve got nice stuff,” she snapped. “I have an iPhone, a Gucci purse, a bottle of perfume that costs more than you make in a month. Those are nice things, I have nice things, and what do you have?”
When we were out back I told her, with a fearful grin, “I have a shovel.”
So, I have an idea for my book now.
TEDDY BRINKER AND Tommy Huff were the best of friends. They were also as different as night and day. Teddy was stocky with huge brown eyes and chocolate brown hair. Tommy, on the other hand, was slender and a blond with sky blue eyes. At twelve, they felt too old for traditional trick-or-treating. This year they planned to capture a ghost. They had a five-dollar bet as to whether or not ghosts really existed.
For weeks they had planned how they were going to do this. The decision was to camp in a tent in Teddy’s backyard and sneak to the cemetery after the trick-or-treaters were all inside. Since Tommy was going to have to take his younger brother and sister out to collect candy, the boys were going in camouflage with their faces blackened. They had been stocking up on flashlights and batteries, both had cameras, and on Friday night they’d have munchies. The plan was perfect.
It rained all day Thursday, the boys were bummed as they really wanted to be able to sleep out. The tent was to go up after school tomorrow.
“Rain finally quit,” Teddy said as they walked home from school.
Tommy shrugged. “I guess.”
“We’ll see ghosts, I know we will,” Teddy assured him.
“No such thing as ghosts,” Tommy retorted.
“Betcha five dollars we see some.”
“You’re on.”
The boys raced each other home. The plan was to put all their supplies together tonight so they wouldn’t waste time tomorrow.
Friday dawned with the sun shining brightly. The boys could hardly wait for school to be out so they could get to the good stuff. Heading for Teddy’s after school they talked about the night.
“First we have to take my brother and sister out,” Tommy was saying. “So, we might as well put on our camouflage and pretend we are still young enough to enjoy it. Then, my mom will have food for us when we get back. After we eat, we’ll go to your house, check in and go to the tent.”
“That’s the plan,” Teddy agreed. “Once my folks do a final check on us and turn out the lights, we’ll head for the cemetery. I’m glad we scoped it out ahead of time and found the way in by the creek.”
“Yeah, me, too.”
“This is going to be so much fun.”
At Teddy’s they set up the tent and put all their supplies inside. Then they put on their camouflage and painted each other’s faces. Mrs. Brinker took their pictures. The boys were impatient and took off for Tommy’s as soon as she was done.
Tommy’s brother and sister were waiting for them. “Hurry up, Tommy. We’re going to miss the good stuff,” his brother yelled.
They trudged from house to house in their neighborhood hollering “trick or treat” at each door they came to. Tommy found himself having more fun than he thought he would. Teddy didn’t say much but he was collecting candy with the rest of them.
When they were done they headed to the park for donuts and cider. There they were able to get candy from shopkeepers in town. After they finished, they went back to Tommy’s for supper of barbeque beef and what his mom called “witches’ brew,” hot Dr Pepper. They cleaned their plates and put them in the dishwasher, grabbed their loot and headed to Teddy’s.
At Teddy’s, Tommy made his call home to let his mom know he was there safely. Then the boys took their loot and headed to the tent. They set up the battery lantern, rolled out their sleeping bags and dumped out their goodies. After swapping each other for the ones they liked best they ate a bit and some of the chips and jerky Teddy had provided. They also had a cooler of pop that Teddy had managed to sneak out of the house.
Mr. Brinker came out about ten to check on them. “I’ll leave the back door unlocked in case you two decide to come inside.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Teddy said. Then when they heard the back door shut, “Turn out the lights and we’ll watch for them to go to sleep.”
With the lights out the boys laid on their sleeping bags watching the Brinkers turn out the lights and head to bed. When the last light went out Teddy said, “Thirty minutes and we’re good to go.”
Tommy loaded his pockets with candy, grabbed his flashlight, and his camera. He was ready when Teddy said, “Now.”
They slipped into the darkness, out of the yard and followed a path to the back of the cemetery. Earlier in the week they had scoped out the best way in. Once inside they stealthily moved to the biggest stone they could find. The plan was falling into place. One boy seated on either side of the tombstone. They put their cameras on their laps and settled in to wait. They each had candy and soda.
Tommy jumped w
hen he heard Teddy pop the top on his can of soda. It sounded loud in the dark. “Did you hear that?”
“It’s my soda,” Teddy sounded exasperated. He knew Tommy didn’t believe in ghosts and hadn’t wanted to come.
They settled in again. The next sound either of them heard was candy wrappers. Finally they settled down and only the sounds of the night were heard. The hooting of an owl, the wings of bats and night birds. Fog rose from the river and surrounded the cemetery. Tommy was sure all they were going to get out of this was pneumonia. He was cold and damp just sitting there.
Then Teddy screamed. Tommy shot up with his camera ready. He started clicking the button. The flash went off and a huge white form floated away. “Did you get it?” Teddy wanted to know.
“I’ll check,” Tommy answered checking the photo on his digital camera. “All I can see is a white sheet with dark eye holes.”
“Let me see,” Teddy said reaching for the camera. He glanced down. It looked fake. “This is just a sheet.” He gave Tommy back the camera and sat back down. Tommy sat on his side of the tombstone and studied the picture on his camera.
Something flew above his head close enough to create a breeze, Tommy looked up. He grabbed his camera and took another picture.
“What are you doing?” Teddy asked, standing to yell at his friend. He was stunned as something white floated above Tommy’s head. Tommy continued taking pictures. The vision appeared to be hovering. Teddy reached toward it and his hand went right through it. “Run, Tommy!” he shouted as he grabbed his stuff and began running.
He stopped at the fence to see if Tommy was behind him. He still saw the flash from the camera. Then it stopped. Tommy slowly made his way to Teddy.
“Let’s go see what I got,” he said.
They made their way quickly back to the tent where they sat down to look at the photos Tommy had taken. “It’s not a ghost,” Tommy said in awe. “It was an angel watching over us. There are no ghosts, pay up.”
Teddy gave Tommy the five dollars they had bet and leaned back on his sleeping bag to think about what just happened.
Mr. Brinker found them still dressed and sound asleep the next morning. He smiled. The hologram had worked; his ghost hunters thought they’d seen a ghost. Things could go back to normal. He went in to call Mr. Huff.
The boys slept on not suspecting their fathers had tricked them.
In Memory of John Brinkerhuff
“WILL YOU BE coming down to the TV lounge, Miss Pinkerton?” Sister Martha picked up the tray of dinner that had hardly been touched. “Are you feeling all right?”
Elizabeth just nodded.
“You sure now?” Sister Martha’s soft Irish accent was full of concern. “Shall I take your blood pressure? You might be needing one of your pills. You didn’t eat.”
Elizabeth looked up with a tired smile. “No. Thank you, Sister, but I’m just not hungry. Gets like that when one is old. Don’t do enough to get hungry. I’ll be fine, thanks.”
“Well, you ring the bell if you need someone and doctor is here tomorrow. We’ll have her take a quick look at you. Night, night, Miss Pinkerton. God bless.”
Sister Martha hurried out with the tray in her hands, leaving Elizabeth staring at the pretty but boring wallpaper of her room. The TV lounge was tempting. There would be company downstairs but the effort of getting up seemed too much. She found the newspaper where she had dropped it by the side of her armchair. Turning to the schedules she realized it was Halloween and mostly there would be horror movies on the television. She had no need of those. She’d seen enough horror in her life. Living through the war had been horror enough for anyone. Her finger twiddled the tiny diamond ring on her left hand. Yes, horror enough. She’d sit here and read.
There was a light tap at the door.
Had Sister Martha come back after all, to take her blood pressure? She was very good that way, very caring.
“Come in.”
The door opened to admit a young man, very young indeed, in the old Royal Air Force uniform, his forage cap at a jaunty angle on the side of his head before he whipped it off respectfully.
“Hello, Betty.” The barely-grown moustache was soft against her cheek as he bent to kiss it.
“Jack!”
Elizabeth’s hand touched briefly on the wings, brand new and shiny that he’d only just received. A finger traced the Pilot Officer’s stripe above his cuff that she had sewn on herself. There was no mistaking it, this was her Jack. In confusion she went to smooth her tattered nightgown over her knees, only to find that she was wearing that dress he loved so much, the blue cotton print with the tiny pink flowers, the baby pink cardigan that went so well with it.
His hand caressed her hair and to her surprise it was springy, curly and abundant again, not thin and weak as it had been ten minutes ago.
“You came back,” she whispered.
“Of course I came back, Betty. Promised you I would. Sorry it’s taken me so long.”
He did that familiar gesture of hitching the knees of his pants up before hunkering down so that his face was on a level with hers. She could smell the pomade in his hair and the faint whiff of the leather flying jacket, the old one he had inherited from a friend because he didn’t want a brand new one.
“I missed you so much,” she blurted out, tears that she had held back for decades finally spilling over her eyelids.
“I know, sweetheart, and I watched you breaking your heart and it broke mine too but it’s all fine now.” His arms around her were warm and she leaned into his chest, suddenly young and sprightly again. “I don’t have to go away again.”
“Is it time, Jack?”
“Yes, Betty. It’s finally time.” He kissed her as he would never have dared back then. Her dad would have punched his nose for him if he’d known, engaged or not...but this was now and not back then. Holding hands, they walked to the window and then through it and out across the clouds. The sisters would find Miss Pinkerton dead in her chair the next morning and perhaps wonder, as they prayed for her soul, why she was smiling so contentedly.
In creeps the night
On soft silent feet, like a cat
On swift velvet wings, like a bat
To kiss corpses and bleed moonlight.
TOIL AND TROUBLE. That’s what Halloween meant for Hazel Abbott.
Especially this year. The employees hadn’t shown up. The delivery van hadn’t been fueled. And the orders hadn’t been prepped.
Had to hustle to make the thirteen floral deliveries before the citywide trick-or-treat parade began at five. Arrived at the final stop fifteen minutes before four. A potted black orchid for a patient at the Briarwood Asylum.
Desperation hung over the ancient brick building like a pregnant storm cloud. The flag hung impotently from its rusty pole. Place stank of piss and misery. Something rotten about it. More than just the stench.
A grizzled security guard buzzed her past the pair of smirking jack-o-lanterns stationed at the front door and into a jarringly colorful reception room presided over by orange crepe streamers, yellow scarecrow garlands, and black bat banners.
She gave the desk clerk the patient name and waited for directions. Swore under her breath the order she’d written up was for the ground floor but the tag said otherwise.
The longer the desk clerk searched through patient charts, the more doubt gnawed on her consciousness. A centipede scurried across the counter and she smashed it with the heel of her hand. Hated bugs.
Guard went back to his post.
Clerk went into his supervisor’s office.
She went to the emergency exit plan taped beside the elevator.
Figured out the location herself and headed there without waiting for assistance or permission. Stomach growled on the way. Strange because she’d wolfed down a turkey sandwich an hour ago.
Stepped onto the third floor and was greeted by the fragrance of fresh feces. Almost lost her lunch. Grabbed the railing along the wall to steady her
self.
Couple cleansing breaths and she hurried down the hallway. Paused long enough to squash a cockroach scurrying about in the shadows. Room was at the end of the hall. Door closed. Knob locked. Shit. Shit. Shit. Wanted out of here in a hurry.
Could leave the orchid in the hall and call it good. Perk of being a business owner was the freedom to bend the rules as necessary. And at the moment, nothing was more necessary than getting out of this nuthouse. Pronto.
Leaned against the wall, took a couple more cleansing breaths, pictured herself walking back to the van, nice and safe. The intestinal cramping eased up some. Mind cleared up too. Weird. Hadn’t felt foggy beforehand. Just nauseated.
Don’t go.
Tried the door again and this time the knob gave. Inside, the room was dark, the shades pulled and the light off. It was quiet and blessedly fresh smelling.
Got down to business and spoke the name on the order form. “Itzak Gravelle?”
Not the name she remembered jotting down on the tag. Strange name. Thick on her tongue. Slick on her lips.
Don’t scream.
Closed her eyes against the agitation. Opened them to see a man in front of her, close enough his breath ruffled the orchid petals.
Tall. Lean. Dark. Yet pale. Ghostly almost. As if transparent. Or a projection.
Whole thing was probably a joke. Take a black flower to the psych ward on Halloween. Good one. Ha ha ha.
Don’t move.
Screw that. Assuming this freak was Gravelle, she was going to give him the orchid and get the hell out of this shithole.
In Creeps The Night Page 9