Short Story Sunday: Lucky Me

“I took the bus from Los Angeles to Sacramento. At the station I saw an old chum of my brother’s from High School. He said he’d give me a ride, but then he got fresh. I wasn’t going to, you know, I have cash to pay for gas. I’m not… so he dumped me here. I figured if I walked…”

“Get in. You’ll be safe. I promise,” he said. It had just started to rain. “I have a house by the lake. You can stay the night. Where are you going?”

“Reno,” she told him. “I have a teaching job waiting for me. It starts in two weeks.”

He found out she’d left a short abusive marriage. Out of the fire into the frying pan. She was too trusting of people, all bright eyed and perky, even after being left on the side of the road by a creepy pervert.

“I’m Val,” he said holding out his hand.

“Eve,” she said. “Your hand is colder than mine. You’re freezing.”

He smiled. She felt safe for the first time in a long time.

“Val. I like that. Is it short for Valentino?”

“Valentine.”

“I like that better,” said Eve.

They drove for another half hour to a large cabin by the edge of a lake. Cabin was an understatement, this was a 3,000 square foot luxury home.

“Go change,” Val told her. “I have something to show you.”

She went into one of the bedrooms, feeling as if she’d been there before.

When Eve returned, in drawstring pajama pants and a comfy sweatshirt, she found Val sitting on the couch in the main living area with his laptop on the coffee table in front of him. A glass of red wine was in his hand.

“I feel better. Thanks for picking me up again,” said Eve, as she sat down next to Val.

“It’s what I do Eve. Did anyone else pick you up this week?”

“A couple from San Francisco picked me up on Thursday. I had them drop me off in Truckee. Oh and last Saturday a trucker picked me up. He was hauling a load of furniture to Salt Lake City. I went all the way to Reno with him. Nice guy. He told me about his wedding plans. What did you want to tell me?”

Val turned to the laptop. “Your body was found last week by some Cal Trans workers getting the road ready for winter. They found your suitcase. There were also two other young women, both killed and dumped within a couple weeks of you. Both disappeared from the Sacramento Gray Hound station in October of 1987.”

“What about Tom?”

“Tom Turner was arrested last night. He wallet was found under the body of one of the other women. He’d also kept souvenirs. Your purse and heart shaped locket were found in his house.”

“Wow. I didn’t know about the others. Oh Val. Thank God it is over. What happened to the other two women?”

“They didn’t stay,” Val said turning back to the computer. “After the bodies were found reports came in of a hitchhiker in a red leather jacket, with long blonde hair. She’d been seen on the highway for the past thirty years.”

“You know, I don’t remember when I go out at night. Not until they drop me off.”

“I know Eve. It’s ok.”

“I’m glad they arrested the sick bastard.”

“So am I. If you’d told me his name earlier I would have taken care of him myself.”

“I didn’t remember it until now. Val, do you think I’ll go out again?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you think I’ll move on? I guess see the light?”

“I can’t answer that, but you know you can stay here as long as you want.”

“I saw some other ghosts out tonight. They’re so lost.”

“Donner Party folks?”

“How’d you know.”

“They’re always out there.”

“What if you go away? Will I have to wonder around with them?”

“I won’t go away. I’ll always be here for you Eve.”

“Lucky me being picked up by a Vampire.”

Val smiled. “Lucky you.”

 

 

Short Story Sunday: The Hunter

Short Story Sunday is a series of short stories that I write on Sunday. I’d say 90% of the stories are written on the Sunday morning I post them. Today I didn’t have time (or the brain function) so I’m rerunning one of my favorites. This is the first story in the Austin and Elizabeth series. Maybe it will be a book one day. So have fun. Happy reading.

~ Juliette

 

The Hunter

“We pumped quite a bit of blood out of your stomach. We’re not sure where it came from.”

She heard the words but was the noise in her head was still loud…

“Your heart had stopped beating. You weren’t breathing. You were cold.”

A hospital bed. She was in a bed hooked up to equipment. Her throat hurt.

“We still can’t get your body temperature up to normal and your heart beat is extremely slow.”

She’d been found in a room of an abandoned house wearing nothing but a black silk cocktail dress and black high-heeled sandals. The nails on her hands and feet were painted silver. Aside from that there was no jewelry, no purse, no identification. The man she’d been with had received minor injuries and would be in soon to see her. He said he was her boyfriend. Panic started to set in but she didn’t show it.

“Do you remember anything?”

“Not a lot.” She lied. She had remembered almost everything, despite the headache. The man called Austin had wanted to show her a house he was remodeling. He specialized in renovating Victorians and older historic homes. It was charming. It was haunted. “Is Austin alright?”

“He had a few stitches in his forehead, but yes, he is doing fine.”

“We left the club where we met. I mean, it wasn’t a hook up, we’d been seeing each other for a while. We’re friends. He told me about his work restoring old homes. I own some property I was thinking of having restored…He took me to a house he owns. It’s old, nobody lives there. A Queen Ann style Victorian. Beautiful. He showed me around and we ended up in an upstairs room.” She didn’t tell him of the phantoms and the screams that nearly burst her ear drums. She paused, and glanced at the needle in her arm. “Alright, we did fool around some. But we both started to feel really sick. He passed out first. I tried to wake him. I think we were drugged at the bar. Is he ok?”

“I’m fine sweetheart.” In the door stood a man with a bandage on his forehead. His brown eyes met her blue with almost a spark of both passion and hate. He smiled at the doctor.

“She’s a vampire and I’m a vampire hunter. I had no idea the house was haunted when I took her there. Sorry, it’s along running joke between us. Isn’t it Elizabeth?”

Her eyes met his again. A hunter hunting the huntress. “Is that all I am to you?”

He sat next on the edge of the bed and took her cold hand. “You need to warm up dear or they’ll never let you out of here. I know, it takes a lot of effort to keep your heart beating for those machines. You don’t want them thinking you’re dead.”

To think she was starting to fall in love with this man.

“I thought you were going to kill me last night but you saved my life. Why’d you do that Elizabeth?

Doctor Davis spoke up. “What is going on here?”

Austin smiled and spoke in a quiet calming voice. “I’m sorry for the confusion. We have our own language. We had a fight. She wasn’t going to kill me. Just an expression. She was angry. You know, I’m a typical guy. I did typical stupid guy stuff. We went to the house and like she said, we were both feeling sick. Then someone came in and mugged us. She saved me. I don’t know how, but she defended me. It was too dark to tell what was going on. We had a tumultuous relationship but we’re not violent, just a little dramatic.”

“He’d never touch me.” Elizabeth looked back at Austin. “The ones who attacked us… I had no idea. I’ve never experienced anything like that.”

“I thought you’d know.”

“I don’t.”

“Huh. Interesting.”

They both talked to the police about what had happened. Their story was the same. They’d gone to a house he owned, it was unoccupied, they were attacked. They both had traces of an airborne toxin in their systems.

Elizabeth was released into Austin’s care. She’d told him she’d call a taxi but he insisted on bringing her home.

On the way he talked. She sat still, feeling sick, trying to regain her energy. The morning sun burned her eyes even through the fog.

“So my building, the house we were in last night is haunted. Those were ghosts.”

Elizabeth glanced over at him, then looked away. “Yes, they were ghosts. I know someone who can get rid of them for you. He’s good and his prices are reasonable.”

“You know Elizabeth, I’ve found at least a dozen of your kind, vampires, in the basements of abandoned old buildings I’ve purchased for restoration. They weren’t like you. They were like rats.”

“I’m not like them. I don’t live in the shadows or in a crypt. I don’t sleep in a coffin. Most of us aren’t like your rats. We live normal lives.”

“When were you born?”

“1834. I’ve been a vampire since 1853. How did you know?”

He gave her a mean smile. “Call it a 6th sense. My grandfather hunted vampires. It’s in my blood, no pun intended.”

They arrived at her house. He was impressed. A beautiful craftsman style, maybe 2,500 square feet, nice old neighborhood. Inside the woodwork was beautiful. Her decorating was a combination of period and modern. Nice.

“You can go,” she told him.

“Show me around. This place is great.”

“I’m the original owner. 1905.”

As she showed him around Austin noticed a diploma in her office. “You didn’t tell me you were an attorney. Go figure.”

“I told you I consulted for the Justice Department. There is no shame in what I do.”

The house was impressive as was the vampire who lived in it. “Was that my blood they pumped out of your stomach?”

“Most of it. Don’t worry, you won’t turn into a Vampire. I just took maybe a pint.”

Austin noticed a mirror on the wall. He took Elizabeth by the shoulders and turned her around to face it. He could see his own reflection but hers was just a dim shadow.

“Look at my eyes, in the mirror. Look at my eyes,” she told him.

Their eyes locked in the glass. Her image became clear. He laughed. It wasn’t the sarcastic bitter laugh she’d heard all morning. This was joy.

“Elizabeth, will you be alright if I leave you?”

“You aren’t going to kill me?”

“Not today.”

“Then when? When will you be back to cut out my heart and cut off my head.”

“Do you want to go out sometime on a real date?”

“You’re scaring me Austin.”

“I know. I’ll pick you up tomorrow around 8:00. It should be dark by then. Wear something nice.”

She watched through the window as he drove away. Her heart had stopped beating. She wasn’t breathing. In the refrigerator was a bottle of blood. She was starving. Her head was light but that was because of him.

Austin drove away with a smile on his face. What a rush. He wasn’t sure what tomorrow would bring. Either he’d kill her or he’d marry her. That is, if she didn’t kill him first.

~ End

Short Story Sunday: A Mysterious Stranger on a Hot Dry Day

Standing on the hill among the wind swept oaks blanked with mist from the lake she imagined herself in a billowing skirt, hair blowing in the wind, romance in the air. She was in a Gothic novel. She was transported to another time, another place, another life…

“Rex,” she called out to the old dog of unknown breed. The large black dog continued to sniff the dry grass. “God damn it Rex. You’re going to get fox tails up your nose.”

Leash in her hand she made her way down to the dog. The billowing skirts and romance was gone  as the middle aged woman in crop pants and a baggy tee shirt grabbed her dog by the collar and gently nudged him out of the weeds.

She pulled her should length hair back with an elastic tie to keep the sweat off of her neck. What a beautiful day for a walk despite the heat.

Woman and dog made their way up the hill. They stopped above the lake and watched down on the rowing teams below.

A sudden cold breeze felt so good. Cold turned to ice and she turned around to see him standing there.

“Kristen, dear lady.”

The man wore clothes of the 1850’s. His hat was in his hand, his hair ruffled by the breeze. A smile was on his handsome and distinguished face.

Rex perked up and wagged his tail.

“Uh, hi. Do I know you?” Kristen felt the chill again and thought of running, but knew she’d slip on the steep rocky trail.

The man smiled. “Not yet. Or at least not in flesh and blood.”

“Who are you? What are you doing here?”

“We will meet again soon. Until then…” and he kissed her.

“Wait. Are you a ghost?”

“Look at the boats,” he said.

She turned to look at the lake and the air turned hot again. He’d vanished.

Leaning against a tree she caught her breath. Glancing at her own hand on the rough bark she  noticed the chipped pink fingernail polish and blue veins. The sun caught her wedding ring making the gold sparkle and shine bright.

“If I lived back in his time I’d probably be dead by now,” she told Rex. “So would you.”

As she walked home her heart pounded, almost in a panic. Then excitement. Was he a ghost? Was he in a time warp of some kind? Was he real? Would he come back?

She didn’t know and maybe never would. Then again, maybe he would.

 

Tangled Tales

 

 

Short Story Sunday: Sunsets and Ginger Ale

I’m delighted and honored today to feature a story from my friend and fellow WPaD author Jade M. Phillips. Enjoy! 

 

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Sunsets and Ginger Ale

“What do you miss most about life, June?”

I turned to look at Harold, his face an exact replica of how I’d always remembered him: kind, loyal, trusting. I played with the hem of my dress in thought.

“I’m not sure. That was so long ago. I hardly remember what it was like to be alive. But I guess I’d have to say the sunsets.”

Harold nodded.

“I remember sitting on the veranda and watching the sun sink below the mountains. How the clouds would turn into soft vermillion and rose-petal pink and the air would become still. I miss the calm and the purity of that moment. I guess I’d have to say sunsets is what I miss most about life.”

I turned again to my husband. He was perched on his favorite stuffed chair in our living room staring out into the darkness. His wrinkled hand laid lax on the arm rest.

“Why is it that we cannot see the sun anymore Harold? Like we only exist in perpetual darkness? It is as if we just cease to exist during the daylight hours. I find myself sitting in this same spot as though I’d always been here. But I know that cannot be. I know that day turns to night and night to day. Why do you think that is Harold?”

“I don’t know June. Probably because we are dead.”

“Mmm,” I mused.

I tried my hardest to think of how it used to be. I knew that there was more than the omnipresent blackness. I knew that we used to have a life, children, and friends. I knew that I used to cook and clean and do other common household duties. But the harder I strained to recall those details, the harder it was to remember. I sighed and looked to my love. “You?”

“What?” Harold asked.

“What do you miss about life?”

“Ginger ale,” he answered without hesitation.

I snorted. “Ginger ale?”

“Yes,” he replied. “I miss the first sip of a cold Ginger ale over ice. The way the bubbles would tingle my tongue and the fizz would make my eyes water.”

“Yes. That was lovely,” I agreed. “I miss that too.”

“Harold?”

“Yes, my love.”

“Would you mind turning on the light? I get so sick of the darkness sometimes.”

Harold weighed my request and stretched his neck. “You know I cannot always do it. But I can try.”

“Please?” I asked.

“Of course.”

I watched Harold’s face. I could tell he was concentrating very hard, his eyes burning straight into the brass lamp that sat on the side table. The light flickered but did not fully turn on. Harold dropped his head.

“I’m too tired tonight honey,” he said as he glanced my way. I knew he could see the disappointment in my face.

“Why don’t you give it a try, June?”

I flinched. Wow. I’d never thought of that. I just always assumed that I could not turn it on. I wondered why that was.

“Okay,” I agreed. “But… how?”

Harold crossed one leg over the other and adjusted himself in the seat next to mine. “I suppose it has something to do with energy,” he replied. “Just try to direct yourself into the light. Focus all of your thoughts, memories, everything straight into the lamp. That’s what I do.”

“Oh. Okay.”

I leaned forward a bit and locked my eyes on the lamp. I took everything that was in my mind and imagined all of my thoughts, dreams and memories combining into a white ball. It took all I had to keep them there together. I strained to focus, my body tense. Once I felt confident enough I gave one, hard, mental shove and sent that ball to the lamp. To my wonderment the light flickered on and stayed that way.

“Righto!” Harold exclaimed. “Great job! See. I knew you could do it my June bug.”

I giggled with excitement and gazed around the room, enjoying my accomplishment.

“Harold?” I asked, my nose wrinkled in confusion.

“Yes, my love.”

“Where did my mother’s chaise lounge go? I don’t see it anywhere.”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“And that piano? It has moved places. It used to be against that wall over there.” I pointed across the room.

I could feel myself getting upset. I loved that chaise longue. My mother would turn in her grave if she knew it had gone missing. And the piano. It looked much better where it had originally been.

“Probably the living,” Harold guessed.

I leaned back in my chair and rested my head against the back. “I suppose.”

“Honey!”

Harold and I froze at the deep male voice that echoed down the hall.

“That darned lamp has turned itself on again.”

A tall man entered the room in a long grey robe. Harold and I exchanged glances as the man leaned over and clicked off the light.

“We’ve got to get rid of that thing,” he mumbled as he exited the room, leaving us in pitch black again.

Harold leaned over his chair and grabbed my hand, sensing my sadness.

“It’s okay. You can try again tomorrow night.”

“I suppose,” I sighed. “I suppose.”

***

“What do you miss most about living, June?”

Harold was sitting in his same favorite chair that he always sat. His eyes wide in thought.

“Gosh, I’m not sure, Harold. That was so long ago, I hardly remember a thing. But I guess I’d have to say sunsets. I miss the way the sky would turn to different shades of orange and golden yellow. The way the pastel clouds would dust the tops of the mountains. That’s what I miss most.”

Harold humphed in agreement.

“Harold, why is it that we cannot see those sunsets anymore? Why have we been in darkness for so long?”

“Probably because we are dead my June bug.”

“Yes,” I nodded. “I guess that would be it.”

I tried to recall anything other than the darkness and Harold and sunsets, but it was like a long forgotten memory that I could not grasp. I sighed and let it go.

“What do you miss most about being alive, Harold?”

“Ginger ale,” he replied.

“Ginger ale?”

“Yes. I miss how the bubbles burn my tongue with the first sip and the fizz that goes down my throat. Delicious.”

“Yes. Ginger ale was nice,” I agreed.

“Harold?”

“Yes?”

“Could you open the window? It gets so stuffy in here sometimes.”

Harold adjusted himself in his seat and uncrossed his legs. “I can try. But you know it does not always work.”

“Thank you, darling.”

I watched Harold concentrate his eyes across the room to the window. His face was strained and focused. The wooden window panes creaked but it did not budge. Harold collapsed against the back of his chair. “I’m sorry June. I’m too tired tonight. Why don’t you give it a try?”

“Really?” I looked at Harold in surprise. I’d never thought of doing it myself. I guess I’d always just assumed that I wouldn’t be able to. “But… how?” I queried.

Harold shrugged. “I just focus myself, everything that is in my mind and soul and I direct it at the window.”

“Okay…” I wriggled my toes and leaned forward, directing my eyes to the window. I pulled every thought and memory from my mind, all of my emotions and dreams and pushed them together. I mentally shoved them towards the window, hard. To my astonishment, the panes creaked and the glass slid open just a few inches.

“Good one, June! I knew you could do it!” Harold smiled.

I leaned back, pleased, and watched the curtains ruffle in the breeze coming through the now opened window.

I sighed. “That’s better.”

“Yes,” Harold agreed. “Very nice.”

“Honey?”

Harold and I froze at the male voice that rang down the hall. “Did you open the window?”

“No!” A female voice replied from what sounded to be upstairs.

A tall man in a robe trudged through the room and closed the window. “If I wasn’t mistaken, I’d think we weren’t alone in this house,” he muttered and then left the room in haste.

I huffed my annoyance, but Harold reached over and squeezed my hand.

“It’s okay, my love,” he soothed. “We’ll try again tomorrow night.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “We will.”

***

“Harold?”

“Yes, darling.”

“What do you miss most about life?” I asked my lovely husband.

“Ginger ale,” he replied without missing a beat.

“Ginger ale?” I asked.

Harold was staring out into space, a concerned look upon his face.

“What is it Harold? Are you alright?”

“Yes, my love. It’s just… I heard the living talking the other night.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. They want us to leave.”

“Now why would they want to do that?” I scoffed. “This is our house!”

“Probably because we are dead.”

“Oh yes. I must’ve forgotten.”

“They said they will be sending in a priest.”

“A priest?”

“To exorcise us.”

“Now what in the world does that mean?”

“From my understanding it means that the priest will set us free.”

“Oh,” I mused. “But where will we go Harold? This is our home. The only place I’ve ever known.”

Harold sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know, June. I don’t know.”

“What will they do with all of our things? Our furniture?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Don’t you think we should’ve been acknowledged in this decision? They can’t just kick us out. Why wouldn’t they ask us first?”

“Probably because we are dead,” Harold replied dryly.

“Yes. I suppose.”

“When do you think it will happen?”

Harold shrugged again.

Just then the tall man entered the room and Harold and I froze. But he was not wearing his grey robe as usual. He was dressed in a sweater and slacks. A man in a black robe followed closely behind him.

“The priest,” I whispered in horror. Harold nodded.

“This is the room,” the tall man said, gesturing around to all four walls.

“Yes, I can sense it,” the priest said. “Now if you and the misses will please leave me with the house, I will make sure everything is right before the time you get back.”

“Thank you.” The tall man left.

“Harold, what is going on?”

“I believe this would be our exorcism,” Harold said.

The priest opened a fat book that he had been holding in his hand. The bible, I assumed.

He withdrew a folded piece of paper, cleared his throat, and began speaking.

“In the name of Jesus Christ by His blood, I declare His dominion over all base entities. I humbly request that you appoint sacred angels to keep me from any tactics of the adversary created to oppose this petition for release.”

At the priest’s words, I began to feel numb, my transparent body tingling and buzzing.

“Harold,” I rasped. “I don’t like this.”

I watched the holy man pace the floor. He now held a small vial and sprinkled the wet contents about the room.

I looked to my love for reassurance. The place where my heart would’ve been thumped wildly with panic. “Harold. Where will we go? Will we be together always? I don’t know what I would do without you.”

But Harold could not reply before the priest began again.

“I ask you to order all those demons and diabolical angels appointed in opposition to me to vacate the premise.”

“But Harold. We are not demons, nor diabolical.”

Harold locked eyes with mine.

“No June. No we are not.”

I studied my husband’s kind face. He looked tired. So very tired. But he smiled at me reassuringly. Just like Harold. He was always calm and soothing in the face of the unknown.

I gasped as the priest raised his voice to a higher pitch, his words ringing out through the room loudly. “Dear God, I request that you erect a prohibition to all loitering spirits to end their duties and be banished.”

I looked down at my hand on the arm rest of my chair. And where it used to be pure white, I could see the quilting of the chair through it. I was fading. And Harold was fading.

“Harold. I cannot lose you,” I moaned, feeling my words drawl more slowly than usual from my mouth.

The priest was preaching and flinging his hands up in the air excitedly. It made me all the more nervous.

“Harold. Hold my hand. Please. I’m scared.”

Harold reached over and grasped my hand in his cold one. It was not like holding hands with the living, but more of a dim sensation, an unseen connection between the two of us. We sat there, holding each other, watching the priest pace and shout as though being at a movie theatre unable to control the actors on the film. I whimpered helplessly.

“I’m here, my love,” Harold cooed. “It’s going to be alright.”

My mind became foggy and I could hardly remember my own name as the priest continued his ritual.

“Jesus Christ, I beg you to banish them where they cannot vex me. I submit to all of the plans you have in this spiritual warfare I am surrounded by.”

“Harold!” I cried out. I could feel my husband fading from my side, my heart breaking to pieces and floating away with him. If I had been alive enough to form tears, they would’ve been pouring down my face.

Harold’s voice echoed out from far away. It was as if he was at the end of a long dark tunnel. “It’s alright June bug. I love you. Always.”

“Through Jesus Christ I pray, who was crucified for us so that we may have an opportunity to live. Amen.”

Darkness again. Always darkness.

I closed my eyes and was blinded by the bright lights behind my lids. My body felt soft and light and calm. Nonexistent. I was floating. I drifted into the pastel clouds dusting the mountain. I became golden yellow and rose-petal pink. I became vermillion. I became the sunset.

And I supposed, just for a moment, that Harold was out there somewhere sipping happily at his cold, fizzy Ginger ale, the bubbles tickling his tongue.

 

___________________________

For more of Jade’s work visit her blog at jademphillips.com

Jade is the author of the wonderful Mer series. Check it out (CLICK HERE.)

 

q9er

 ~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman

Dark Politics – A Short Story

A short story I wrote for this political season…

 

Dark Politics

by Juliette Kings aka Vampire Maman

 

 I’d dined with The Prime Minister of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, alone. It had been a private affair with only the two of us. I’d acquired signatures, state secrets, just the right amount of English blood, and enough charm to last me a while. He came away from it feeling quite satisfied with himself, though a little pale.

Heading to my private quarters I was stopped cold in my tracks. There he was, at the end of the hall.

“Well, this is random.” I said to the familiar apparition.

“I have been waiting for you madam.”

“I never imagined you’d stoop so low as to be a ghost.”

He smiled. “I never imagined you’d stoop so low as to be president.”

I smiled back. “The first woman president. I bet you never thought you’d see that in your lifetime.”

“I’m dead my dear. Remember?” He laughed in a cold manner that made my breath turn to a cloud before my face. “I loved you.” He whispered.

“You used me.”

“You used me as well Madam.”

“So I did. But times have changed Mr. President.”

The ghost smiled and came close. “You amaze me Madam.  Never has there been a president so popular or successful. The economy is good. Unemployment is below 2%. We’re not in a war and our schools working. How do you manage it?”

I shrugged. “I love the American people. I love my country.”

The ghost laughed. “You don’t have to campaign with me dear.”

I had to smile. At one time we’d been so close. “Why did it take so long for you to show yourself?” I asked.

“The White House isn’t my usual haunt. If I’d known you’d be wearing that dress I would have come back sooner.”

“I’m not even wearing a corset.”

“Or a bustle. That is one reason I never gave women the vote, you do know that. Damned bustles looked so silly. Who could take a creature who wears one of those things seriously?”

A song blasted from my hand. The ghost looked startled. “My daughter just texted me.” I held up my phone. She was just down the hall but I’d promised I’d check in before I went to bed.

“How is she doing since…I’m so sorry.”

“She’s doing ok. Some days are hard, especially holidays and special events.” My husband had passed away during my first term of an unexpected illness. I would never admit it out loud but grief, combined with my dedication to the job, shot my ratings in the polls up to 97.4%.

I looked fondly upon my ghostly friend, a great man who was rarely remembered. One of the many forgotten 19th century presidents.  Just so many men with beards. What a shame.

“I wish I could hold you.” I said, remembering a time long ago when that was possible.

“I should have asked you turn me when you had a chance.” He said, standing so close I could feel him but not touch him.

Passing my hand through his heart I told him the truth. “You made a good president but you would have been a horrible vampire sir.”

“I suppose you’re right. Good night my dear”, he said with a gentle smile. “Be careful.”

I smiled. “I will, my darling. I will.”

 

Halloween Musings and Coffee with the Ghost

This morning I was sitting out on my deck with my coffee and a book. It was 2 am so it was pretty quiet. Aside from one of my cats and a few glowing raccoon eyes in the field behind my house there wasn’t much going on in the way of company.

We’d all had successful hunts on Friday so the wee hours of Saturday was a time of rest. It was going to be a very busy weekend – the weekend before Halloween – so I took a break with just my coffee, my cat and me.

I was buried in the latest Nelson DeMille book, The Panther, when I heard a slight throat clearing. I looked up to find the ghost leaning on the deck rail.

“You know”, he said with his usual slight smile, “from tonight until Halloween people are going to be dressed us like us.”

“What in jeans and sweat shirts? Or in your case a black suit and messy hair?” I said.

“Like Vampires and Ghosts.” The ghost gave me a long impatient look while I sipped my coffee and stretched.

“I’m doing Día de los Muertos, Day of the Dead makeup. Two parties tonight.”

“You were a witch last night.” The ghost looked at me in disgust.

“Yes, and a very successful witch at that. I sucked more blood than any Vampire there.”

“I think I would have made a good Vampire.”

“Why is that?” I asked.

“I’m pretty good at being dead.”

“That you are, even if you are one of the most annoying creatures I’ve ever met, dead or alive.” I told the ghost and gave him a smile with a little fang in it.

“I’m charming, but you’re too cold blooded to realize it.” He smiled back with a little hate added. I could tell.

“Happy Halloween Juliette.”

“Happy Halloween…what is your name?”

“Nigel.”

“Happy Halloween Nigel.”

And as always he vanished into the night. Nigel. Who would have thought?

~ Juliette

More on the ghost and other things that piss me off.

More on coffee and blood…