A Doll’s HouseA Short Story

Sam Whittaker

A Doll’s House

A Short Story

Published by Sam Whittaker

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 Sam Whittaker

Discover other titles by Sam Whittaker at Smashwords.com:

A Ghost of Fire – https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/87940

A Ghost of Water – https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/214130

Healer - https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/260673

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Excerpt from A Ghost of Fire © 2011 Sam Whittaker

Front Cover Photo: © Liseykina | Dreamstime.com

 

A Doll’s House

The road hummed beneath as Mike accelerated the little old Ford Escort along interstate 90 halfway between Bellevue and Ellensburg. The surrounding landscape was all but invisible under cover of night. Mike checked the time display on the car radio and saw that it was a quarter after 4 AM. He couldn’t believe he had let them talk him into going to the stupid concert but it was hard to resist Sarah when she cranked up her feminine charms, making doe eyes and pouting her lips like a 1950s movie starlet.

Sarah was napping in the passenger seat and her useless brother Frank tapped away on his laptop in the backseat. Mike threw a glance at Frank through the review mirror. Thin white chords trailed from his ears and disappeared into the throat of his hoodie as faint sounds escaped past the ear buds lodged in his head, which bobbed in accordance with the rhythm and beat of some other obscure band only ten other people on earth had ever heard of. His face glowed from the light of the screen as he blogged about the night’s musical experience. Mike rolled his eyes and returned his attention to the road. He thought calling what had happened at the concert “music” might be stretching the definition of the word.

He made a mental note to tell Sarah not to invite him along on another one of these adventures that she and her brother were so fond of making. He suspected it would hurt his relationship with her, but after tonight that that didn’t seem like such a bad prospect as it had when she was hanging on his neck and he was being enchanted by the smell of her perfume.

They hit something on the road though Mike hadn’t seen anything irregular lying out there. The impact jolted everything inside the car and Sarah was startled awake with a yelp while Frank cursed as his laptop tumbled off his knees and onto his feet.

Mike felt the car begin to lose control and removed his foot from the accelerator and began to turn the wheel in the direction the car began to veer. A moment later control was reasserted but that provided little comfort as the telltale sound of a flat tire made itself known. He directed the car to the shoulder and parked it, leaving the engine running as he focused on calming down.

After his heartbeat had slowed to a manageable pace, Mike said, “Is everybody okay?”Sarah nodded but said nothing. Frank, irritated and plucking his laptop off his toes, said

“Yeah, I just hope my computer’s alright. Why don’t you keep it on the road, man?”“You and your computer are free to walk to Seattle and back next time of you like,” Mike

replied, heat creeping into his voice. His impatience with Frank had increased over the last few months. He didn’t understand how the guy couldn’t devote himself to holding down a steady job while at the same time pouring endless hours into his blog, internet surfing, and his half-baked garage band, all while living in his dad’s basement – rent free of course. He was twenty-eight and without substantial ambition of any kind. In Mike’s thinking, guys like Frank were what was really wrong with the world.

Sarah chimes in, “Hey, hey, guys. Take it easy. Let’s just catch our breath a minute.”Mike grumbled under his breath and turned away to fish out his cellphone. “No service,” he

announced. “How about you guys?” Sarah and Frank checked their phones with the same result. “Yeah, that would be too easy, wouldn’t it?” he complained. Without waiting for a response he opened his door and exited the vehicle.

The passengers watched as Mike circled the car, inspecting each corner until he stopped at the passenger side front corner and planted his fists on his hips.

“Is it flat?” Frank yelled.

Mike’s angry eyes came up and landed on Frank with a look that said, Are you kidding me? How could it be anything else? Frank opened his mouth to issue a snarky response but Sarah, seeming to sense this was coming, turned and gave him a warning glare that shut him up.

Mike knelt by the tire for a closer look, Sarah opened her door and got out. She rubbed her sleeveless arms which prickled with gooseflesh when they came into contact with the chilly temperature outside. Mike looked up at her and saw her losing her fight with the cold air and removed his own jacket and threw it to her. “Is it bad?” she asked.

“Bad enough that the car won’t be going anywhere until it gets a new tire,” Mike replied.Sarah looked at the backside of the car, then back at Mike and said, “Don’t you have a

spare?”“You’re looking at it,” he said tapping the ruined rubber with the index finger of his right

hand. “Which wouldn’t be a problem if our any of our phones worked because I could call Triple A, but it looks like that’s out.”

“What are we gonna do then?” asked Frank who had come half out through the open passenger door.

They all fell silent, each hoping someone else would offer a solution. None was forthcoming.After a few moments Mike suggested, “We could start walking and keep an eye on our

phones to see if we get enough cell service to make a call.”Sarah groaned and Frank looked wearily at both sides of the road which were lined with an

unceasing line of forest. “You want us to walk out here in the dark, man? Is that safe?”“What are you, eight?” Mike retorted. “It’s probably safer than sitting and freezing in the car

waiting for God-knows-who to ever come by. At least with my way we keep warm because of the exercise.” He intended that last bit as a subtle jab against Frank who wasn’t really heavy, but was fairly sedentary and just a little too pudgy for the skinny jeans he had the audacity to wear. Mike concealed a smile and turned his face to the tire as a suspicious look stole across Frank’s face.

“I don’t know,” Sarah said timidly, looking at the darkened road behind them and then ahead as well. “I don’t think we’re very close to anyone that can help us.”

“Well, I’m going to walk,” Mike said confidently but with more gentleness than he’d used with Frank. He knew that he only had to sound decisive for Sarah to likely fall in on his side of things and follow him. The only drawback to that plan he could foresee was that Frank would never stay behind with the car alone. He was too much of a coward for that, which meant he would be tagging along and muttering whiny complains most of the way. Still, it was in Mike’s estimation the best plan available to them.

“Are you sure about this?” Sarah asked.“Are we still talking about this?” Frank interjected. “Shouldn’t we just wait for the State

Patrol to come by or something?”Mike ignored Frank and said to Sarah, “Trust me; it’s a better idea to move and keep your

blood circulating than to just sit and do nothing. I’m going.”She bounced on her heels, looked away to the darkened trees, and shivered as she considered

his words. Finally she relented and said, “Alright, I’ll come with you.” She looked back at him and said, “But won’t you be cold without your jacket?”

“I think I’ve got a spare one in the trunk,” he said. Then with a smile he added, “If not, I’ll just have to huddle close to you.” He pulled her close and planted a gentle kiss on her forehead. She rested her head on his shoulder as she leaned into him.

They’d known each other for a few years, but had only been friends for most of that time. Only in the past six months had they wandered into becoming an “item” and it had been more of a good time than a bad, though they certainly had their disagreements – mostly concerning a certain dead weight sibling whom she insisted on including in much of their life together. He was willing to endure him for the sake of her, or at least he had been at first.

Frank cleared his throat, interrupting their moment, and causing Mike to throw him another withering glare. Ignoring the visual reprimand he said, “So, is there a verdict? What are we doing?”

Sarah pulled her warmth away from Mike and announced, “We’re walking.”Frank grunted in frustration and muttered something about her always siding with that guy as

he ducked back into the car and began to gather his things.Mike looked to the road ahead, which disappeared in the dark out beyond the headlights. A

strange sense of coldness overtook him but had nothing to do with the temperature of the night. It was a cold which rose up from inside him as he observed the darkness. He dismissed it as some primal instinct to be leery of the dark and moved to the open door by the driver’s seat. He reached inside for the trunk release and heard the satisfying popping sound as the trunk came open.

When he reached the open trunk he began inspecting the contents in the barely sufficient trunk light and moved items around. He found his extra jacket and a heavy duty flashlight. He tested the flashlight, found it in working order, and tucked it under his arm as he wrestled the jacket on.

When he went to the front of the car he found both Sarah and Frank waiting for him. Sarah seemed to be staring absently into the woods and Frank had his laptop case slung over his shoulder and he was rubbing his arms to keep warm. Mike moved past them and heard them fall into step behind.

They walked in silence for a while, each ruminating privately over their own thoughts. The only sound was their feet against the pavement of the interstate which was a mostly steady rhythm and eventually faded into a familiar background noise. No one was in the mood for talking.

“Did you hear that?”Mike and Sarah stopped and turned to see Frank standing a few yards behind them and

staring off into the woods. When Mike directed the flashlight toward Frank’s face the man didn’t even flinch. Instead he absently lifted a hand to block the beam of light. A deep concern was etched into his features as he intently studied the darkened forms of the trees.

Mike and Sarah exchanged questioning glances and then moved as one back to where Frank stood. “Seriously,” he said, “did you guys hear that?”

Mike stared at him for a moment, then shook his head. Sarah said she hadn’t heard anything either. Frank looked at Mike then at Sarah and said, “How could you have not heard it?”

“Heard what?” Mike demanded, and what was left of the remnants of his patience began ebbing away.

“Sounded like…like kids playing.”Sarah asked, “You mean like teens or something goofing around in the woods?”Great, Mike thought. That’s all we need right now. A bunch of stupid frat boys getting high

out in the middle of…“No,” Frank said insistently, interrupting Mike’s internal complaint. “Little kids.”

Mike sighed and began to wonder of Frank had smoked something “exotic” at the concert earlier. He’d always pictured Frank as a bit of a stoner but he wasn’t about to bring that up in front of Sarah. She thought of Frank as her angelic little brother and any suggestion that he had serious problems aroused an irrational defensive posture from her. There was enough trouble to deal with as it was without adding unnecessarily to it. That could wait until daylight and after they finally made it home.

“It’s probably nothing,” Mike said. “The dark can make things seem weird. Let’s get moving.” He didn’t wait for a protest from either of his two companions, but turned around and continued down the road. Sarah followed immediately and then Frank joined too, though his footsteps came hesitantly.

“Uh, guys?” It was Frank again. Mike turned around again and was about issue a few unfavorable observations about Frank’s backbone, but when he looked behind him he saw only empty road.

Sarah was beside him and gasped when she realized her brother wasn’t there.“Frankie?” she called out uncertainly.Mike swept the flashlight left then right, unable to catch sight of Frank. There was a lot of

space on either side of the road before the landscape became forest and there was no place to hide. “Where’d he go? There’s no way he could have run off without us hearing him or being able to spot him.”

Sarah clung to his side and he heard her breathing turn rapid. Her voice took on a high pitch note of worry as she asked, “Mike, where is he?”

He shone the flashlight in the direction of the woods where Frank had been staring only moments before. He freed himself from her grasp and trotted beyond the edge of the road and stopped halfway between the road and the tree line. He used the light to scan the tall grassy ground and found a dark shape. He threw a look over his shoulder and saw Sarah standing at the edge of the road covering her mouth with her hands. He looked back at the dark shape on the ground and slowly started to approach it. When he saw what it was he bent down and grabbed it, lifting it up. He shined the light on it so Sarah could see what it was.

Dangling from his right hand was Frank’s laptop computer case. He jogged back over to her and they examined it together. They could find nothing wrong with it, save that it was missing its owner. They looked up at each other and Mike saw that Sarah’s eyes were wide and her nostrils were flaring with fear. He didn’t feel much better than she looked, though he tried to assert control over himself, knowing that freaking out wasn’t going to help anyone.

He slid the strap over his head so that it lay diagonally across his chest and said, “Okay, it looks like he ran off into the woods. We can’t leave him or…” he caught himself when he realized what he was saying and didn’t dare finish the thought seeing the state his girlfriend was already in. It was clear from the expression on her face, however, that she finished the thought for him. Her jaw dropped but all that came out was a small and squeaky vocalization.

“Let’s get after him,” was the only thing he could think to say. He waited for her to respond and when she nodded her head he pointed the flashlight back to the woods, he found himself walking with her huddled close to his side.

When they reached the edge of the trees they found a large gap in the trees and a somewhat wide dirt path. Mike couldn’t remember noticing the path before, but he shrugged it off, assuming he had been too concentrated on Frank’s disappearance. They passed through the opening in the tree line and commenced down the way.

They called out his name, but if Frank heard them he gave no reply. Mike listened as Sarah’s pleas to her missing brother become more and more insistent as they moved farther into the forest. He tried to keep his own voice even and calm to balance out the swelling terror which assaulted them both.

Above them the sky was inky and starless, invisible clouds shrouded the heavens and refused to allow the light of the moon to aid their search. On both sides the trees seemed to bear down on them while thrusting countless wooden fingers upward to scratch at the dark ceiling of the night. All around the sounds of nocturnal life prowled and threatened to undo their nerves. Beneath them the dirt path crunched rough complaints as they treaded upon it.

“Hey,” Mike said nudging Sarah gently with his elbow and then pointed out ahead of them. Up ahead the beam of the flashlight reflected off something that wasn’t part of the natural landscape, something reflective and yellow. It was too far away to discern what it was but the introduction of this new element brought a small but fresh wave of hope to them. They broke out of their slow gait and sprinted forward to uncover this new element.

The thing began to slowly take shape the closer they came to it, but it was still blocked by vegetation for a while yet. Finally they moved past the last leafy obstacle and illumination from the flashlight splashed over the whole of it. It was a dirty metallic yellow traffic sign attached to a green metal post. The sign read: Dead End Street.

Mike and Sarah stared up at the sign, trying to make sense of why it would be in the middle of the woods the first time they heard the sound. An echoing childlike laughter bounded out of the darkness, breaking their concentration on the sign.

“What in God’s name was that?” Mike demanded, hearing the surprised fear in his own voice. He listened intently, concentrating on locating the source of the sound, but unable to keep from being distracted over the incessant and seemingly overloud beating of his heart. The woods were silent, failing even then to produce the regular insect noises they had been hearing. He wondered when they had stopped and why he hadn’t noticed. The night felt unnatural without those noises to provide a backdrop.

Then another sound arose. It sounded like something was skittering quickly through the dead, fallen leaves of the forest floor, making a half circle until it came to a sudden stop somewhere near the part of the path they had already travelled. Whatever was out there blocked their retreat.

The hair on the back of his neck stood on end and his face began to feel heavy, threatening to spill tears from a well of terror. The emotion had come upon him so rapidly he hardly had time to identify it before it went to work dismantling him piece by piece. When he looked at Sarah he saw that she could tell he was not doing well and that contributed to her own inability to pull herself together. Tears streamed down her face and she gasped in ragged breaths.

Mike pulled her closer as he shined his flashlight in the direction where the noise had ceased. Only darkness was there, drinking up the beam of light and showing them nothing in their attempt to see. The skittering sound came back again, though only tentatively this time. Whatever was causing the noise stayed just out of reach of the flashlight beam, yet Mike was sure it was close…much closer than was comfortable for him.

He and Sarah retreated a step and in response the mover in the darkness advanced with them, staying ever beyond the reach of their vision. They moved back again, and again the thing came closer. Curiosity overruled Mike’s screaming inner terror and something within him demanded to see what as tracking them. He took another step backward and waited until he heard the first stirring of the night-shrouded thing move after them, and then Mike broke free of Sarah’s grip

and bounded forward a handful of steps. Sarah screeched his name behind him but he ignored her surprise and focused all his attention ahead.

The bare light fell on their pursuer and gave it definition. Before them stood a young girl in a blue and white dress that reminded Mike of the dress that Dorothy wore in the old Wizard of Oz movie. Her skin was pale white and her hair was so inky black it seemed to be made of the fabric of the night itself. Her eyes were likewise black, like little obsidian orbs set in her skull and they were set too far apart. But her most disturbing feature was her mouth.

It was unbelievably wide, nearly reaching her ears and she was smiling like she was the happiest little girl in the world. When she opened that wide maw he could see a few rows of shiny black needle-like teeth.

She tilted her head, as if contemplating him and advanced a step farther into the light. She laughed and it was the sound of childish laughter they had heard moments before. Three, perhaps four similar laughs replied from the darkness and the blood in Mike’s veins went cold. Two more little girls, similar in appearance to the first, stepped into the light on either side of the first girl. They moved two steps toward him. Now that they were closer his mind latched onto a new detail.

They were not pale-skinned creatures as he had first thought. In fact they had no skin at all. What they had instead was finely woven white fabric. They were like living dolls out of some demonic nightmare. His brain struggled to put together what he was seeing when Sarah released a shrill scream, breaking him out of his spell of confusion.

He whipped around and threw the flashlight beam in her direction, but when the beam landed on the spot he’d left her he saw that she was gone. Her scream was gone too, cut off midstream as it were. He lashed the flashlight back around and found the trio of girls a few feet closer, smiling their needle smiles. He did the only thing he could think to do.

He ran as he’d never run before.

***

A short while later with his lungs burning and his heart desperately struggling to find a human pace, he entered a clearing. He whipped around as he hadn’t allowed himself to do during his flight from the strange and terrifying things which had chased him. Both hands clutched the flashlight like he was trying to strangle the life out of it and they shook fiercely as he trained the device around him in an urgent arc. There was no sign of his pursuers.

His legs became like trunks of trees, rooted and unwilling to move as his body screamed for rest. His mind was another story, however.

His mind spun like a rotating steel cage filled with thousands of plastic bingo balls all bouncing off each other and creating a tumultuous but ultimately meaningless noise. No single thought would sit still long enough to be addressed and mastered with any kind of attempt at rationality. He was eventually able to gather his senses and move slowly into the clearing.

Soon his flashlight landed on the corner of something. When he began exploring it with the light he discovered it was an immense three-story brick mansion. He periodically checked his surroundings for the strange patchwork devil girls while searching out the exterior of the building. All the windows on the first floor as well as the front door were bricked off by gray cinder blocks. He was halfway around when he heard what sounded like the muffled scream of a woman come from the inside of the mansion. It was Sarah.

He ran around the structure, frantically searching for some way into it but there was nothing on the front. On the backside he discovered a large crack that he thought he might be able to squeeze through. He felt around the edges of the crack with his finger and shined the flashlight inside but was unable to see much. From some distance away in the woods he heard the little childish laughter of those demonic things, though he did not think they were close enough to see him. Then again, what did he know?

He began pressing himself though the crack. It was not an easy fit but he managed to shimmy through it after a minute or so of effort. His chest and back hurt after he was through to the other side but he tried to pay them no mind so he could concentrate on finding Sarah. He also briefly wondered if this was where Frank had gone. No, not gone, but was taken, he corrected himself.

He played the light in his hand slowly and methodically around the room, trying to ascertain the nature of his surroundings. The place appeared to be just as old and rundown on the inside as it was on the outside. The wallpaper was peeling away in many places, revealing cracked plaster beneath it and sometime beneath that he could see wooden slats suffering from black mold and rot. He knew he shouldn’t spend too much time in there breathing the filthy air, but he needed to find Sarah first.

His heart skipped a beat when the flashlight beam fell across the desiccated remains of a person laying half on the floor and half against a wall. The body looked to have been dead for quite some time. It was not skeletal as of yet but the dried and broken flesh which still clung to the bones was in an advanced state of decay. The skull was turned upward with its jaw open in a soundless scream while its empty eye sockets looked at some point on the ceiling.

The clothes on the body were mostly a shambles, shredded to tatters at points. Mike took a step closer to the body and saw that the flesh was missing and bone was exposed beneath the places where the clothing had been torn away. He could see hundred if not thousands of pockmarks in the bone and he thought he knew what had made them. He recalled the rows of needlelike black teeth in the wide mouths of the nightmare patchwork girls from the forest.

The one piece of clothing the corpse wore which remained mostly intact was a leather apron which bore pockets around the middle filled with little tools of various kinds, none of which he recognized. They reminded him of sewing needles. He wondered, Was this their maker?

When he inspected the wall by the head of the corpse he noticed scratch marks, as if the person had been clawing at it while he, or perhaps she, died. Mike shuddered at the thought of being overrun by those little monsters and being gnawed on by them to death.

He turned away from investigating the dead so he might search for the living. He found a door leading out of the room and into a hallway. It was empty.

“Hello? Sarah?”“Mike!” Her response came from above sounding shrill and desperate. He flashed the light to

his right and discovered a staircase which he bounded up without thought.He called her name again, and again she responded. He was beginning to get a better sense

for where she was. She was somewhere on the second floor and close by at that. After two more calls and responses he came to a closed door in the second floor hallway. He tried to turn the door but it was locked. He didn’t bother trying again.

He stood back from the door and rained down kicks upon it until it flew inward on its hinges and slammed against an interior wall. Mike dashed into the room.

It was some kind of work room with a long table covered in patches of white cloth and tools and what appeared to be a large black chunk of coal or some other black substance. Mike didn’t know nor did he care what the stuff was, but he was overwhelmed with a sense of dread just

looking at it. He turned away. All he wanted was to find Sarah and get out, and as luck would have it she was in the room too.

She was crouched and huddled against a corner of the room, facing the corner like a naughty child under discipline. Her hands covered her ears and she rocked back and forth, crying. He took a step toward her and heard the sound just in time.

It began as a soft hissing noise but soon developed into a larger version, lustful and hungry. Mike ducked, turned, and backed into the room at the same time. He located the source of the eager sound and it took the wind out of him. It was Frank but not as he had been. Both cheeks had been slit to make his mouth wider and the normal teeth had been replaced by the same black needles Mike had seen in the mouths of the things that had attacked them in the forest. His eyes too were now obsidian black like theirs had been. His skin, while not white cloth like theirs, was as pale as milk.

Frank lunged for him.Mike stepped backward quickly, his hand flailing along the table searching for anything at all

to use as a weapon against Frank. His fingers found a wooden handle and wrapped around it, regardless of what it might be attached to. Mike brought it around in a defensive arc and right before it crashed into Frank’s face, he saw that it was a rusty metal single-hand sledge hammer.

The steel connected with Frank’s face and tore flesh and smashed teeth. Blood and black fangs sprayed out of Frank’s mouth but this did not deter him. He shook his head as if shaking off a minor dizziness, and then his eyes reacquired Mike.

Mike saw that Frank’s face was now a tortured mess. The hammer blow had destroyed his cheek and disconnected the left side of his jaw. Nevertheless that mouth hung open hungrily. Mike could tell he was about to make another lunge. Not wanting to give him the chance Mike stepped forward and brought the business end of the hammer down on the top of Frank’s skull as hard as he could. This produced a sickening crunch and Frank collapsed to the floor like a garbage bag full of raw meat.

Mike took a step back and just stared at the felled man for a few moments. Frank was dead; there was no two ways about it. One of his fingers twitched once but that was all there was to indicate the life was sapping out of his body.

He looked at the hammer clutched in his white-knuckled fist, raising it up to his face to inspect it. It was covered in blood and there was a small patch of Frank’s hair sticking to it. Sickened he threw the tool away like it was ridden with the plague. The object hit the floor and blood splattered outward, but he was done thinking about it as he turned back to the huddled form of Sarah.

He came up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. She was trembling powerfully and he wondered if she was going into shock, but he needed to get through to her and get out of there. He helped her stand and turned her around.

Her wide brown eyes were streaming tears and her lower lip quivered as she sucked in ragged breaths. She glanced down at the fallen form of her brother and then shot a look back at Mike. Her eyes were wild and showed no understanding of what had just happened in the room while she had been off in her own little world.

“He’s dead,” Mike said with as much care as he could, but he also let his voice remain firm. “We have to get out of here as fast as we can or we’re going to be dead too.”

Her face was a blank slate. He didn’t think she had understood a word he’d said and was about to repeat himself when she nodded her comprehension. He took her by the hand and led her back out into the hallway and toward the stairs. He was about to take his first step down

when he heard that hissing noise again, which was followed by the sound of children’s laughter, only this time he could tell it was not just a handful of them. He and Sarah turned slowly and looked back down the hallway. All of the doors had opened and a large number of the patchwork nightmare girls packed the space wall to wall. He didn’t bother to count but he saw that there were probably more than fifty of them. There were even a handful actual people, men and women, who had been changed like Frank, perhaps other travelers who strayed into these unfortunate woods.

Mike let out a curse and darted down the stairs towing Sarah behind him. They reached the bottom of the stairs and ran into the room which Mike had entered earlier from the outside through the large crack in the wall. He got busy shoving Sarah through the crack. He noted with relief that she had a much easier time fitting through than he had. It was his turn next.

He pressed and pushed himself through the crack slowly yet desperately. He was just slipping out when he felt a sharp pain in his left hand. He screamed in agony yet continued to wiggle through the crack. When he was on the other side he looked at his hand and saw a small chunk was missing and blood dripped from the hot wound. When he looked at the crack he saw one of the little patchwork nightmares standing in the gap, blood dripping down its chin as it chewed on the small piece of his hand.

Rage clouded his mind and he stepped forward and kicked the little monster in the face. He felt its teeth crack and break under the impact of his leather boot, which brought a short-lived sense of satisfaction to him. Soon, however, that one was replaced by another hissing cloth creature and it bared its angry black smile at him.

“Run,” he yelled at Sarah, but when he turned he saw she had already had that idea. She was becoming smaller and smaller in his vision and so he ran after her. He looked back over his shoulder and saw the ravenous monsters were pouring out of the crack in the wall.

He couldn’t allow himself to think about all of them chasing after him or he would falter and fall prey to them so he pushed his body as hard as it would go. He focused on Sarah whom he could see up ahead of him and he was catching up to her stride by stride. It would only be a few moments more before he was able to move up alongside of her. He only hoped he could help her to move faster because she would need…

Out of the woods four more of them pounced and they all landed on Sarah, taking her down in a shrieking tangle. He reached them in two heartbeats and kicked one of them off of her but the others had already gone to work on her, biting and tearing. She was gone before he could do anything else. The only thing left for Mike to do was to run.

He could hear them behind him, though he dared not look back. He was too focused on the burn of the run in his lungs and leg muscles. He was beginning to feel dizzy too; the small wound on his left hand ached with a ferocious intensity.

He was out of the clearing and into the woods again. All around him he could hear the echoes of children’s laughter. It sounded like there were hundreds of them out there, though he couldn’t see any of them. He could still hear the group of them behind him chasing, though. They didn’t seem to be gaining on him, however, which was a relief.

He felt dizzy, though, he noted, now somewhat absently. Dizzy. Dizzy.Despite all this he ran as fast as he could. He ran his heart out.

***

Morning sunlight streamed into the car but was blocked by Officer Hendricks’ aviator sunglasses. The state police officer, bored out of his mind, patrolled the interstate looking for trouble that never seemed to materialize. In truth, he wanted nothing more than to find someplace quiet to park his car and take a nap. One little rest wouldn’t hurt, would it? He decided not to because it would reflect poorly on him and the last thing he needed was another bad performance review.

Up ahead he saw the Ford Escort pulled off to the shoulder and slowed when he saw the figure emerge stumbling out of the tree line, fall, get up, stumble a few more feet, and then fall again. The man had fallen into the concealing tall grass.

The officer pulled up behind the parked car, radioed in what was happening, and got out of the patrol car. He trotted over to the edge of the road and saw where the man had fallen. He heard the moans coming from the downed man and said in his best heroic voice, “I’m coming, hold on.”

Hendricks dashed over to the fallen man and saw that he laid face down on the ground. He knelt beside him and began to take stock of the man’s condition. There was a small chunk of flesh missing from his left hand. The flesh around the wound was darkening and looked infected. Other than that he didn’t appear to be hurt, only filthy, but he’d never be able to tell unless he could get the guy to roll onto his back.

“Sir, can you hear me?” There was another moan, which Hendricks took to be a response, so he continued. “This is state patrol office Hendricks, and I’m here to help. Can you talk?” There was another moan which Hendricks took to be a negative. “Alright, I understand. Just take it easy and we’ll get you…” but he was interrupted by the sound of children’s laughter echoing out from the forest. He looked up at the tree line and said, “What the…?”

At his knees he heard the man on the ground roll onto his back. When he looked down he was staring into obsidian black eyes and an unnaturally wide mouth filled with row upon row of black needle-like teeth. If he wasn’t mistaken, the man was smiling.

Now, keep reading for an Excerpt from A Ghost of Fire, the first in Sam Whittaker’s “Ghostly elements” series of novels!

A Ghost of Fire – https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/87940

 

Chapter One

I sat alone in a small, sparsely furnished foyer, nervously drumming my self-manicured fingernails on the manila folder with fraying edges full of résumés. I had taken to carrying it with me at all times. The anxiety I learned during my job hunt suggested it was better to take precautions, like always having a résumé handy on the off chance someone mentioned they were hiring. A long shot, I know, but this was my fifth month without a job and only the third interview I’d been able to score. The other two had been early on, both seemed like sure things. Both fell through.

In the deserted room I felt I was attending a funeral for a person no one cared about. Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to remember the short but pointless life of Steven Nicholas’ career aspirations. May they rest in peace.

“I need this job,” I announced to no one.I was wearing my last suit. I’d sold my other two a week ago to some college kid at a job

fair. The one I wore was three years old and slightly worn. I trimmed a few stray threads that morning before leaving for the interview. I chose to keep this particular suit over the other two because it was the one I had worn the last time I’d been interviewed and hired. I’m not a superstitious person by any stretch of the imagination but desperation has a way of making believers of us all. One thing was certain: No one would be able to say I was unprepared.

Waiting wasn’t the worst part. It was the enormous sense of failure that ate away at my confidence. Dad kept telling me, “Just because the economy is rough doesn’t mean you can’t do anything about it. Don’t just try to ride it out; make something better of yourself!” Which was easy to say if you were the self-made CEO of your own company like he was.

I’d done all the right things, hadn’t I? I’d saved six months of living expenses in case of emergency, I’d cut back on all the luxuries, though I hadn’t been able to pay for many of them to begin with and so had few luxuries to cut back on. I’d created a résumé and taken it to a professional, making all the changes she suggested. I’d e-mailed and walked that thing out to exhaustion, beating the proverbial dead horse. Job hunting had become my fulltime job. And now my six month reserve was looking pretty anemic.

Hundreds of applications and résumés later I was starting to lose hope, starting to panic about whether I would lose my apartment or have to ask for a loan from one of my “more successful” brothers or worse, my concerned parents. There’s nothing to make a thirty year old man feel like a loser than to have to crawl back to mom and dad asking for that kind of help. I frequently told myself I’d rather live in a cardboard box.

The lights dimmed briefly above me and the faint ashy smell drifted past. I glanced around the waiting area for any signs of what had caused the smell. It was an empty room with a few white plastic chairs. The walls were mostly bare. The carpet was a blend of dark colors and was that tight industrial kind that was so hard it almost might as well not be carpet. One of those cheesy motivational posters with what was supposed to be an inspiring photograph was framed on one wall. There was no fire alarm blaring, no smoke hanging on the ceiling and nothing else to suggest something burning. I wondered if maybe I had imagined it. It was almost imperceptible anyway. It was more like the memory of a smell than an actual one. I went back to waiting.

Finally a woman appeared in the entrance to a hallway. My first thought was that somewhere an African country was missing its queen. She displayed a practiced, polite smile.

I stood and extended a hand and she shook it only once but firmly. She was tall, slender and darkly complexioned. She wore a fashionable business suit and did so with feminine authority, a contrast to my old worn one. Dignified gray was just beginning to streak her pitch black hair. There was a photo ID badge clipped to the lapel of her suit. This was the type of woman who commanded the attention of whatever room in which she found herself.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Nicholas. I’m Jan Fenstra. We talked earlier on the phone. Follow me to my office, please.” She turned and headed through the door-less opening. I hesitated a moment, then followed, almost dropping my file folder full of paperclips and resumes. She navigated down a short hallway into a room filled with cubicles, only half of them containing people working at computers. It was a Saturday, after all. A few turned heads to see who was following the boss which gave me a short lived sense of purpose and importance. The sense quickly faded when the workers turned away, realizing it wasn’t someone important after all. Just another grunt...another potential grunt.

At the end of the room we took a hard right. Halfway down, Jan pulled open a door which bore the legend, “Jan Fenstra, Director.” She waited, holding the door for me. I felt like a kid who had been sent to the principal’s office but didn’t know why. I went in and she followed, closing the door behind us. She took her seat behind her neatly organized desk. She looked at me expectantly and then looked at the chair behind me.

Sit, idiot, I thought and forced myself to take the seat. She smiled to herself, no doubt recognizing her usual effect on those beneath her position. She opened a drawer and pulled out a clean manila colored file. I lowered my beat up file out of sight covering it with my arms. She flipped through the papers in it until she came to the one she wanted and let the file lay open on her desk.

“You are applying for the custodial position, Mr. Nicholas. I see from your application you have a Master’s degree in English literature. These two things seem incongruent with one another. Is there something I should know?” Well there it was. Straight for the jugular without warning. Did she know? And if she didn’t, would it be wise to try to keep it from her? Of course it wouldn’t. This was a woman who had no trouble at all smelling lies and evasions. It would be stupid to sabotage my only shot at a job in months. Rip it off quickly like a band aid and it should hurt less. ‘Less’ being the operative word of that phrase.

“I don’t know if you should know, but I’ll tell you anyway. five months ago I was terminated from my previous position. I was working as a high school English Lit teacher when a group of students accused me of inappropriate conduct. An investigation was conducted, nothing substantial was found, but a group of angry parents, a few of them on the school board, hold more power than things like evidence.” Anger burned in me, just beneath the surface. I tried to stay calm, but was sick of defending myself to people who not only did not know me but also did not know what happened and made their judgments regardless. I could feel the flush of red appear on my face.

The African Queen leaned back in her chair and narrowed her eyes to slits as if focusing some second sight into my soul. She tilted her head to one side.

“Did you?” she asked.“Did I what?”“Did you act inappropriately?” I quickly concluded she was not playing with me as some on the school board had. Nor was

she looking for a reason to despise me as one of the other potential employers who’d interviewed

me. She was investigating something. She was a dime store novel detective in a business woman’s power suit.

“No,” I said, mild irritation escaping with the word. I had developed a defensive posture over the months since my dismissal but was tired of bringing it to bear. It never helped anyway. In my experience, people formed their opinions of me within moments of hearing I was fired for inappropriate conduct as high school faculty. Her verdict was handed down quickly, too, but not in the direction I expected.

“I believe you. Thank you for being honest with me. That helps with my decision.” She leaned forward and again inspected my application from the file in front of her.

“Sorry, did you say you believe me?” That was foreign to me. Most everyone, even one of my own brothers, opted not to trust me as quickly as this woman chose to believe my version of the story.

“Yes,” she said not looking up from the application.“Why? Not that I’m offended or anything, but no one else seems to.”She looked up into my eyes and held my gaze a moment. She seemed to weigh something on

invisible scales before she spoke again. “I can just tell when people are lying to me. That’s good for you. It’s very important to me that I hire someone I believe I can trust.”

I sat back in the chair feeling somehow strangely relieved and noticed my anger had greatly subsided. She had disarmed me. I couldn’t say exactly how.

“How did you....” I stopped and decided to start over. “Why is it...?” Again, I didn’t seem to know where I was trying to go. One more try.

“Okay, I get the whole, ‘It’s important to have honest employees who won’t steal company pens’ thing, but I’m just asking to sweep and mop your floors a few times a day and empty your trash cans at night.”

She looked at me without speaking. Was she waiting for me to continue? I didn’t know if I could or even if I should try.

I began to think I had made a poor move opening my mouth. Perhaps I should have waited for her to ask a question about my work experience or if maybe I knew which end of the broom to hold as I swept shredded paper bits from her floor when she wasn’t there at night.

Just then I turned my head slightly toward the closed door distracted by something. Again I thought I smelled ash smoldering away. It stayed longer this time, and I believed I definitely smelled it this time. I looked back at Jan and understood she hadn’t noticed it. I couldn’t stand it any longer.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “but is something burning?”She looked briefly confused as if she thought the English major was trying on a metaphor

and then realized I meant it.“No, I don’t believe so.”“Do you smoke? Cigarettes, I mean.”“No, I do not.” She wasn’t the least bit put off by the personal question. The interview had

waved goodbye to personal formality before we walked into her office. Why bother with it now?, I thought

“It’s just that that’s the second time I thought I smelled smoke since I got here. The first time was in the lobby...” But then it was gone again.

“Rest assured, Mr. Nicholas, we have a state of the art fire alarm system here. It will detect fire before anyone else does. Now, how about we get back to the interview? I see you have had some janitorial experience in college.”

I remained distracted for another second or two. I had gotten a bad vibe from that smell. I turned my face back to the waiting executive. She raised her eyebrows in questioning anticipation. I stumbled back into the conversation.

“Yes, it was part time. I worked for the maintenance and housekeeping department of the university I attended. It helped pay the bills, basically. It wasn’t anything really professional. Sweeping, mopping, dusting, windows, and I ran one of those big floor waxing machines between semesters.” The rest of the interview ran like this. It lasted about ten more minutes and felt much the same the rest of them had. It also concluded the same way the others had. But in another way, an intangible way, it was also very different.

Jan stood up and extended her hand. I got up from the chair and took the hand with a sense of doom knowing what was coming next.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Nicholas, I’ll be in touch with you sometime this week.” There it was. I’d heard that one before. It was the interviewer’s way of saying, Good luck buddy. I hope you find a job elsewhere. In my experience they never contacted you later that week. It was a polite way to brush you off.

“Thanks.” I turned to leave.“I mean it,” Jan added.“Mean what?” I turned back to look her in the eye.“I mean it when I say I’ll contact you later this week. You were thinking I was going to blow

you off. I’d hire someone else over you and not bother calling you. That’s no doubt happened to you before. But that’s not the way I do things. When I say I’m going to do something, I do it.”

How did she know that was what I was thinking? I mean, it was almost verbatim the same words as had gone through my head.

I could see she was serious. She not only dressed business, she meant business. And that was what mattered. I somehow knew that everyone in cubicle world on the other side of the door behind me was terrified of this woman. They didn’t know what to do in the face of such naked authority. I also knew they shouldn’t be afraid. If anything she could be their strongest advocate if they were on the same side.

In that moment I liked Jan Fenstra very much. I had no problem with authority and no burning rebellious nature a younger man might possess. I was no mindless robot or no spineless yes-man. I was just looking for my place. I saw in this woman a person with the power to help me restore my dignity.

“Thanks for your honesty, too. I’ll look forward to your call.” And I did. This was beginning to feel like a real opportunity. Without another word between us I turned to the door, opened it and went through.

***

Sitting in my car, keys dangling in the ignition, the rusted 1991 Honda Civic became a cocoon and inside I was forming into...something. Not quite sure what I felt I was becoming, I looked down the street ahead of me. From where I sat I saw the building. It housed Spectra Data Processing, the company I’d just interviewed with.

There was nothing flashy about the building. It was maybe twenty years old and had been home to other businesses before Spectra came along. There were four levels above ground and a basement. It stretched to the sides for several lots, about five house widths. I checked their website the day before. I had gotten the call that I landed the interview and discovered the

company was fairly new, only five years old. But it was also doing exceptionally well. I promised myself that I would have to remember to look a bit more into the company if I got a call later that week telling me I had the job.

I knew I would get it. I knew it almost as a certainty. It was a feeling, a pretty strong one and it came over me as my eyes traced the company logo on the side of the building. It was one of those feelings I got from time to time that almost always paid off in the end. I’d had them before but mostly on mundane things.

There were times when I would be driving somewhere with the radio on and just knew what the next song was going to be on the radio without the jockeys announcing it. Sometimes this happened three or four songs in a row.

For a while I had not thought of it as anything unusual. As far as predictions go it was not the kind of thing which was particularly impressive. It finally occurred to me one day that nobody else was really doing it. But then I merely passed it off as a bit of odd but ultimately useless luck. It wasn’t something I could make happen, it just happened out of the blue. I was no superhero who predicted catastrophes, saving lives, nor was I a psychic hotline guru who could tell you someone tall, dark and handsome would walk into your life soon. I was just Steve, the unemployed master of nothing special.

Later I thought of it more as a personality quirk. Something strange about myself I didn’t share with other people. Many of my former associates already thought I was scum. If I had replied, “Oh yeah, well at least I can predict the next song on the radio,” it would only add to the creepy factor people saw when they looked at me. I didn’t talk about it with anyone because it wasn’t useful. It was of no practical benefit to me and I could not foresee it becoming so. I ignored it when it happened.

I turned the key in the ignition, starting up the car. I was about to put it into drive when something caught my attention up ahead.

“Oh, you can’t be serious,” I said to whatever God might be listening. There was a small child in a white dress smudged with black streaks gliding slowly across the street. A little farther down the street a black sports car sped in the child’s direction. It made no indication of slowing, but the child was too far away for me to reach in time to do anything. I got out and started to run anyway, yelling and waving my arms.

The car reached the child and narrowly missed as the kid walked just out of its path. As if in slow motion I saw the draft from the speeding car lift the edge of her dress. She didn’t even notice. The car kept coming.

The driver hadn’t even seen her. But he saw me and slammed on the brakes. The expected screech rang loudly in my ears. I took a few steps back so my legs wouldn’t be crushed by the howling thing bearing down on me. I leaned forward and planted my palms on the spotless black hood as it finally stopped. Then I raised my hands slightly and in an expression of frustration brought them back down as fists. The hood gave slightly where my fists landed but quickly reverted back to its original shape. Inside the driver laid down heavily on the horn for about five seconds.

The driver’s door shot open and a well-dressed guy in his late twenties materialized, red faced. I could see where this was going before it started, not needing any psychic intuition or extra sensory perception to tell me about it. If I didn’t get control fast there was likely to be a fight right here in front of my potential future place of employment. I fought back the urge to scream at the guy, to rip him up one side and down the other. I fought the urge to rearrange his

face for him. I also fought to regain calm control of myself. I was to speak and what came out was not a tirade, but a controlled explanation.

“Man, listen, you almost hit a little kid.”The driver looked about to explode for a moment, then it sunk in. His faced drained of all its

redness and became white as a sheet. He spun around searching behind him, maybe afraid I was partly wrong and he had hit a kid after all. We both peered to the street behind the car also but saw only an empty road. We both looked at each other for a moment and trotted back a few yards. There was a line of cars parked along the side of the street and the girl might have easily disappeared between any of them.

There was a line of homes on one side of the street standing in opposition to the businesses and industrial parks on the other side. The kid could have belonged to any one of them or none of them. In a residential vs. industrial area like this there was no telling where she had come from or where she went if she had kept going. But she had seemed so small and slow on unsure footing. Could she have gotten very far? I didn’t think so.

We searched and called out in the immediate area but got no response.“Man, I didn’t see any little kid. What if I hit her and didn’t know it. She could have been

knocked all the way to...”“Trust me,” I interrupted, “If you’d hit her you’d know. I hit a woodchuck once and I’ll never

forget it.” I got down with my chest on the ground and looked under the cars to see if she was hiding beneath any of them. It was all wheels, undercarriage, street and space.

“Are you sure you saw a kid, man? I mean, are you really sure? I didn’t see anyone, just you.” He had gone from explosively angry to worried in under five seconds. Let’s see your fancy car make that kind of record, I thought.

“Yeah, I’m positive. It was a little girl in a dirty white dress. She started over there where that data processing building is and walked over to about here.” I finished searching under the cars and stood up to face the driver. “How fast were you going, anyway? The speed on this street is thirty-five. You must have been going at least fifty.” I could see the fight coming back in the other guy. I’d pushed him, and rightly so, but a push was a push nonetheless and guys like self-entitled drivers of black sports cars always rose to a challenge.

“Hey, I...What are you, a traffic cop?”“No, but I know how to read two black numbers on a white sign. You should try it some

time.” I was starting to lose my own cool again, starting to feel my blood boil. Part of me wanted this guy to get angry enough to make a move so I could lay him flat. In most guys there dwells a sense of right which, when violated, itches to throw a punch in the direction of the perceived wrong. At that moment mine screamed at me to give in whether the guy made a move or not. I stood still and contained instead.

“Hey, pal, you better watch it.” Now the driver was really pissed off. I could tell he was used to people treating him politely. I also didn’t care. I rolled my eyes, turned my back on him and walked back to my idling Honda. The driver stood stunned for a moment and then elected to continue his complaint.

“Hey! I’m talking to you!”“Yeah, well, I’m done talking to you,” I replied and kept walking.About three seconds later I heard the door of the other car slam behind me. The engine

revved loudly and tires began to squeal on pavement as the car lurched forward. The horn was soon added, lending further dissonance to the annoying symphony. I kept walking forward without stepping to the side.

I turned my head slightly to my right to see the black blur of a mustang pass me with the window rolled down. I could barely make out the scowling face of the driver and an arm extended out the window straight up terminating in a single finger extended from a tightly closed fist above the roof of the car, the one gun salute.

“Yeah, give my best to your husband,” I remarked to the retreating tail lights. I stopped abruptly and turned to look back at the street, not believing we hadn’t found the girl. Just then I thought for a brief moment I might have seen the edge of a smudged white dress disappear behind the far corner of the Spectra building. I rubbed my eyes, not sure whether I should trust them or not. Then I saw something else.

On the closest end of the building, a few windows down, I saw the tall dark feminine figure of Jan Fenstra watching me. I was startled and almost took an involuntary step backwards, then struggled against the urge to run. She just watched me. Then she gave me a small nod. Before I could return it she was gone, the window shade sliding down.

How much of the exchange had she seen? How much could she have seen? She probably had not seen the part where I’d almost been run over and certainly not the part where I’d had the terse verbal exchange with Mustang Man. But she could easily have seen the part at the end where the car had sped past me honking and saluting. At least I hadn’t chased after the car in a futile attempt to catch up with it.

Yes, I decided, Ms. Jan Fenstra, Director, had probably seen this much of it. But what of it? What did it matter? I did not think it would bear on my getting a job with Spectra as one of its broom and mop guys. I’d already had that sureness, that certain feeling which never seemed to lie.

I made it back to my car. I closed the door and heard the Rolling Stones finishing their last few lines of “I Can’t Get No (Satisfaction).”

“U2,” I said abruptly. “‘Sometimes You Can’t Make It On Your Own.’ That’s what’s coming on next, I think. No, I’m sure of it.”

The Stones finished not getting any satisfaction and the DJ came on saying, “That’s the Rolling Stones. Coming up next we’ve got some of your favorite Irish rock stars, U2, for you with ‘Sometimes You Can’t Make It On Your Own.’”

“No sir,” I said to myself, “Sometimes you just can’t.”

Chapter Two

When I walked into my studio apartment an hour later, the message light on the answering machine was blinking. I dropped my keys next to it on the counter and walked away without pushing the playback button. I was afraid it was my mother inviting me over for the weekend again. I couldn’t stand the endless sympathy dinners with the obligatory lectures on how I really should have found something to do by now.

“I can’t deal with another weekend of that, not right now.” Not when I’d had a possible victory that day. I wanted to wait for confirmation that I had in fact gotten the job first. Then I could face the parents again. Then I could do it gladly.

I also set down the plastic bag of Chinese take-out and the rented DVDs on the small coffee table between the futon and the modest sized TV. The TV had been manufactured in the early 90’s when they still weighed at least thirty pounds and were awkward to handle because of their boxy shape. Garage sales and thrift stores were a bachelor’s best friend when there was a need for furnishing and short funds. The food and the movies were a little celebration treat for the interview and presumed win against unemployment.

There was a little kitchenette just inside the door. I went to the refrigerator and pulled out the half consumed two-liter bottle of generic brand root beer. I then retrieved one of the six non-matching glasses from the cupboard and poured myself a cup. I got a fork for the fried rice and sweet and sour pork and headed into the living area trying to balance it all long enough to set it all down on the coffee table without spilling or dropping anything.

I put one of the DVDs into the player, turned on the TV and sat down. My thoughts kept turning back to the interview and the near accident I’d witnessed. Between bouts of these stray memories I only caught glimpses of Bruce Willis blowing stuff up and narrowly escaping death. The movie just couldn’t hold my attention for more than five minutes at a run. The food, barely touched, was getting cold. An hour into the movie I finally turned it off and left it unfinished. I was too restless to sit and vegetate in front of the TV tonight.

“I’ll try again tomorrow,” I promised myself.I sat back on the futon in the silence of the apartment, not knowing what to do next. It wasn’t

that I was bored. I was distracted and until something could catch and hold my attention I knew I could be that way all night, maybe not even able to get to sleep until four or five in the morning. I hate nights like that, when the brain refuses to shut down because I can’t clear it of all the loose thoughts rolling around in my head like marbles on a shifting floor.

I decided to get up and pace around the apartment until something was able to draw my attention long enough to kick start clarity for me again. I started out by pacing to a window and looking out into the darkening day. It had been lightly raining for a while and I hadn’t noticed. The wet pavement reflected the street lamps now blinking to life along the road. Tiny droplets of water condensed on the cars lined outside on the street, became thousands of miniature rivers coursing their terminating paths for a short while and finally were absorbed into the damp ground below.

My mind was drawn away from this to a memory of a smell of ash. I wondered at this, trying to connect it with something. I puzzled at why I would think of the smell of something burning. I couldn’t remember where I had smelled it. I knew it was recent but I couldn’t connect it with anything else. I even pinpointed it as being that day, but I couldn’t seem to fix it into place. It was like something was blocking the view of my memory. And just like that it was gone again. It

was shattered by another distraction. The phone rang, startling me out of my pursuit of a memory.

I stared at it for a moment and held a microscopic internal debate about whether I should answer it or not. I didn’t want to talk to anyone then. But I also knew the longer I waited the more there would be to talk about later. Plus I would have to conjure an explanation as to why I hadn’t been answering the phone and I didn’t like lying, not even about something that menial. I was going to have to talk to people sometime later if not then. I lifted the phone from its cradle and greeted the person on the other end of the line.

“Hello, Stevie!” It was my mother. I rolled my eyes. Let the guilt parade begin.“Hey mom, how are you?”“Oh, I’m fine Stevie. I was just calling to check up on you, to see how your job search is

going. Is there anything new?” As always there was a subtext. This was one of my mother’s favorites. It went something like, “A thirty year two old man like you should really have a more stable life. Why when your father was your age he…” and on and on it went.

“Well mom, I actually had a job interview today. I think I have a pretty good shot at getting this one, too.” I knew what was coming next and braced myself. The inevitable suspicious question would rise from deep within her mind, float to her lips, travel fifty miles of telephone line and hit me right between the eyes like a bullet.

“Oh, that’s so nice,” She said, then added, “What kind of job is it?” I hesitated, which was always a mistake. Mothers can smell fear like a canine unit at an airport can find drugs. I tried to be nonchalant, downplaying my own excitement at having any kind of lead on work.

“Nothing much, just some janitorial work for a data processing company.” There was a pause and I could see, actually see, my mother roll her eyes on the other end of the line.

“Oh, that’s nice,” She said not meaning a bit of it. “Well, it may be okay for now,” she added cautiously, “but it’s not really something you want to try to live on for long. Even if you do get it you should probably keep looking for something better.” I closed my eyes and rubbed them with the thumb and index finger of my free hand. I found that there were just some people in this world who refused to be pleased with any kind of progress. I believe all such people go to my mother for advice on how best to do it.

“Yes, I know mom. Thank you. Look I don’t mean to cut this short, but I’m kind of in the middle of something here.” I looked at the blank TV and cold Chinese food. Yes, that’s right mom, I’m having a lovely party for one, I thought to myself. I hope you don’t mind but I’m in the middle of a stimulating conversation about climate change brought on by all the explosions Bruce Willis causes in all his movies. Watching paint dry would have been a more attractive option than continuing the present conversation.

“That’s fine, Stevie, I just wanted to invite you to come home for the weekend.” Home. I was already home. My old bedroom where I’d discovered the music I loved and the brave new worlds created by Tolkien, Bradbury, Hugo and others was no longer home. It hadn’t been for years. I mostly enjoyed my early weekend retreats back there, but recently they had become more difficult. There was no outright hostility when I went back, but there was still something not quite right.

Part of it was that I didn’t fit the successful mold created by everyone else in the family. The rest of them were CEOs, wealthy entrepreneurs and trophy wives. I had no intentions of aspiring to any of those paths, especially the trophy wife thing. I had neither the brainlessness nor the equipment. And as desperate as my situation was I didn’t have money for that kind of surgery.

Plus, I think I’d make kind of an ugly woman. Regardless, I was the black sheep of the family. I was the failed project.

“You know, thanks for the offer, mom, but I can’t this weekend. I’m doing something with some friends.” This was a pure lie. There was nothing planned for the weekend. I didn’t even have any real friends in the city. I’d tried to develop some four months before after having moved there, but people seemed to get very busy when they found out how I lost my last job. The same problem applied to meeting girls.

It was hard enough to answer the “What do you do” question with “unemployment.” Try to explain the reason you’re unemployed is due to an accusation of sexually inappropriate behavior toward minors, and for some reason you will find that the average single woman on a barstool isn’t interested in having you meet her parents or pick out curtains together.

“Oh, that’s alright sweetie. I understand. I hope you have a good time with your friends. Tell me if you meet somebody fun, won’t you?” Ah, yes, “Somebody fun.” That was of course mom-code for “Somebody who can provide me with grandbabies one day, you uterus-less wretch.”

“Yes, of course I will Mom.” Then, as an afterthought, in order to appease guilt gods I added, “Oh and I see my message light is blinking. You must have tried to reach me earlier when I wasn’t here. Sorry if I missed you.”

“I didn’t call you earlier honey. I was busy all day. Some of us work for a living you know.” There’s nothing like a closing jab to keep family relations civil. Yes, of course, I thought but did not say. Sorry mom. How could I forget? Maybe unemployment is starting to make me stupid as well as useless. A thousand apologies.

“Oh, sorry. Okay well I’ll talk to you later. Got to go.” As I pressed the off button I could hear my mother try to get in one last comment. I smiled and placed the phone back into its cradle. Then I looked at it for a moment. The red message light blinked slowly, advertising its single unheard message. If it wasn’t my mother, who was it? I pushed the button. The voice which issued from the grainy speakers was unmistakable, crisp and authoritative.

“Mr. Nicholas, this is Jan Fenstra at Spectra Data Processing. I was calling about two items.” I was surprised to hear back so quickly. I figured she must have called shortly after I’d left. I scrambled to find paper and a pen in case I needed to write anything important. The recording continued.

“The first is to notify you that we are accepting you for the custodial position. I’d like to arrange to meet with you on Wednesday at one o’clock so we may go over your pay rate and a few other procedural matters. We’ll be taking your photograph for an ID. This will allow you into certain areas of the building, notably the custodial closets which are otherwise locked electronically. Also if you want to use the elevator you will need the badge.” There was a momentary pause and a click. It sounded maybe like she had set something down on her desk on the other end of the line.

“The second item is to see if everything is alright. I heard the tires of that car screech earlier and then someone in the cubicle area shouted something about a fight outside. I looked out my window to see what was going on, knowing you had just left. I couldn’t see anything for a few minutes then I saw you walking toward your car. I also saw the other car, the black one speed by you honking and…gesturing.” She paused for a heartbeat then added, “I do hope everything is alright.

“If you have any questions or conflicts on Wednesday feel free to call me Monday and we’ll work it out. Otherwise I look forward to meeting you in the middle of the week. Have a good

evening, Mr. Nicholas.” The recording concluded with the customary beep. I finished scrawling my notes and put the pen down.

I felt the call was more about checking up on me than it was about relaying the information about getting the job. I remembered thinking that if anyone was on this woman’s team they could trust she would go to bat for them without fail. It was an odd feeling, and a wonderfully strange contrast to my mother’s call.

I realized at that moment I’d found the clarifying anchor I needed earlier. I no longer felt the distracted and disconnected sense which threatened to unravel the day, dragging it down into uncertainty in the night. I was refreshed and ready to relax. I went back into the living space of the small apartment, got the cold food and took it back to the kitchenette to microwave it. I brought it back to the futon and was about to switch the movie back on and start over when I heard it for the first time.

The giggle of a small child came from somewhere in the apartment. I looked over and noticed the bathroom door was closed but a yellow bar of light streamed out from beneath it. The light was on in there and I knew that I had not turned it on. It had been off when I had gotten home and I hadn’t gone in there. The small, girlish laughter drifted out again and the light in the bathroom turned off.

I rocketed up from my seat spilling freshly heated rice and my glass of flat root beer onto the floor. I was frozen in place, not knowing what to do. Part of me screamed to run for my life and never come back. Another part of me, a smaller part, wanted me to pretend it hadn’t happened and that I was only imagining things and that nothing had really happened. A third faction within my mind, the one which ultimately won out, decided the best option was to stay and figure it out.

“Hello?” I called and heard the shaking in my own voice. There was no response. I forced myself to tear my feet away from the places where they had glued themselves and move toward the bathroom door. It was only about a yard and a half away but each step felt unstable as if the floor would give way beneath me and I might fall forever.

I reached my hand out and wrapped it around the door knob. My heart beat well beyond the normal rate and threatened to explode out of my chest. As I was about to turn the knob and burst into the small bathroom I was stopped by the tiniest whiff of something which did not belong. The smell of smoke and ash filled my nose and then was gone again just as quick.

The memory of the interview, of twice smelling something burning in a short span of time, cascaded back upon me. It was what I couldn’t recall just minutes before. Any further thinking along that line came to an abrupt halt as the urge to act grew too strong to contain any longer.

As fast as I could I turned the knob, pushed on the door and rushed into the bathroom, not that there was much space to rush into. There was enough space for the toilet, the shower and one human being. I was the only one in there. The shower curtain was open and the stall was empty.

The hair on the back of my neck was raised and yet it seemed unusually warm in the small room, almost as if the shower had been going at full heat for a few minutes, but there was no steam on the mirror and I certainly would have heard it. My eyes scanned around, darting back and forth but there wasn’t much to see. I even checked between the back of the door and the wall. Nothing.

I spun around and looked back into the main area of the apartment in case I might catch a glimpse of something which did not belong, but it was also deserted. Nothing was out of place and no one was there. I felt this as much as saw it. I expected to have the sense that someone was

watching me, that feeling you get in old libraries where the eyes of long dead benefactors followed you from their paintings on the wall. But that sense was not there.

I moved cautiously back into the main area, anticipating someone or something jumping out at me for some unutterable purpose. Nothing did. The apartment was empty and completely silent except for me and the sound of my rapid breathing. Then a sensation came over me, completely unexpected and illogical. I felt completely safe and at ease. I knew I should not have but I could not reconcile what my mind told me and what my heart seemed to know. I also began to feel very tired.

I cleaned up the spill I had made and put the rest of the food away in the refrigerator. The great pressure and fear of only five minutes earlier now felt like a distant memory. I transformed the futon into my bed and lay down. Pulling the blankets over myself, I quickly fell into a deep sleep untroubled by dreams of smells and laughter.

A Ghost of Fire – https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/87940