Stories

A New Year

This is the first stab at this concept, and I’m not sure how well it turned out. It’s probably something I’m going to revisit — probably even this very scenario. We’ll see. For now see what you think!

Julie opened her eyes and squinted over the blanket lump that was her date from last night at her alarm clock to see it was only 7am on New Years Day. She did the mental calculations and realized two facts at once: 1) she’d only gotten four hours of sleep, and 2) she wasn’t going to go back to sleep. Shortly after that, another fact jolted through her: Dave and I slept together! she thought, eyeing the brown head of hair peeking out of the covers, snoring quietly next to her. The jolt subsided and she thought with more than a little resignation, Yep, Dave and I slept together…
They’d known each other forever, and her crush on him had waxed and waned over the years — as, he admitted last night, his for her had as well — but the timing was never right: he was in a relationship, or she was dating someone who seemed right at the time, or… so many “or”s. But last night… things clicked — at least they did logistically. As for the actual business… it left a lot to be desired. Julie sighed and Dave stirred at the sound. He rolled over, blinking the sleep out of his eyes.
“Wait…” he said as recognition settled in, “Did we…?”
“Uh huh.”
“We did, didn’t we?”
“Yep.”
A heavy silence stretched for long seconds. “…It wasn’t very good, was it?” Dave said finally.
“No, no it wasn’t.”
“GOD FUCKING DAMNIT!” Dave yelled, leaping out of bed.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Julie tried to settle him down. “It wasn’t that bad,” though the more she thought about it…
“This isn’t how it’s supposed to be!”
Julie shrugged, “Dave… it is what it is. It’s not worth getting worked up about.
“No, no, no,” he said gesticulating wildly — which made more than just his finger wag. “You don’t understand, I lived December 31st, 2017 six hundred and thirty six times!”
“What do you mean? Lived six hundred thirty six—”
“Six hundred thirty seven including last night! But that’s the thing! ‘Last night’! There was a ‘last night’!”
“Of course there was. Dave, are you feeling okay?”
“No! I’m decidedly not okay!”
“Fine, do you at least want to put some clothes on?”
He looked down and realized he was naked for the first time since waking up. “Oh, uh, yeah…” As he searched around the bedroom for his boxer shorts he started to explain, “You know that movie ‘Groundhog Day’?”
“Of course.”
“That was yesterday!!”
“What do you mean? We didn’t watch that yesterday…”
“No, I was Groundhog Day-ed!”
“That’s crazy, Dave. Look,” she tried to console, “we just…. you know, maybe we’re just not meant…”
“No! I spent six hundred and thirty six days trying to figure it out. It took me forever just to figure out that I was supposed to get together with you…”
“Me? Why me? Did you get some sort of rule book?”
“What? No. I mean… You’re my Andie MacDowell!”
“Uh… Thanks?”
“It made sense! I mean, it always seemed like there could have been a thing between us if the timing was right, and I told you that last night and… oh no,” his face went pale and he sat heavily on the foot of the bed.
“Dave? What?”
“Was I a pity fuck?”
“Dave…”
“No, really, did you feel sorry for me when I told you I’d always had a crush on you took pity on me and…”
“Dave, seriously, it wasn’t….”
“Oh my God. Oh my God…” he started repeating.
“Dave! Stop. Don’t be an idiot. It wasn’t like that!”
“Really?” he asked sheepishly.
“Really. Look, we tried it. It wasn’t great. Live and learn, right?”
Dave sighed heavily, “Now what?”
She smiled, leaned forward holding the blankets over her chest, and kissed his forehead. “Let’s go have some breakfast.”
Dave stood and gathered his clothes and moved toward the bathroom. Julie took a look at her crumpled dress from the night before and shook her head at the memory. She pulled on a pair of sweat pants and a tshirt and went to the kitchen to make coffee.
Then she screamed.
Dave came running out of the bathroom, one leg in his pants, one leg out. “What?!” he yelled. He saw her standing in the hallway, then, past her, he saw a man in a suit pouring a cup of coffee. “Who the hell are you?”
The man looked up from pouring the coffee. “Hi Dave, Julie,” he started, then gestured towards the coffee pot, “I made enough for both of you.”
“Who are you and why are you in my house? And… and…. you made coffee?!”
“There’s bacon in the oven — should be ready in about five minutes. Oh! Muffins, too,” he said, opening the microwave and retrieving a plate full of blueberry muffins.”
“WHY ARE YOU IN MY HOUSE?!” Julie yelled.
“Ah, that…” he said, straightening. Then, in a more serious tone he said, “We have to have a talk. You’d probably better sit down…” he gestured towards the table.
“WHY ARE YOU—”
“In your house, yes yes. I’ll explain. Seriously, sit down first.”
Dave and Julie cautiously moved towards the table neither taking their eyes off of the man, like he was some sort of wild cat that would pounce any moment. They sat down and the man set a plate with muffins, fruit salad, and bacon in front of them along with a mug of coffee.
“Julie, a little sugar and Half and Half? Just like you like it, right?”
“How did you…? I didn’t even have Half and Half…”
“Right… that’s not terribly important,” he waved his hand. “I’m… well, you can just call me Bob.”
“Bob?” Julie asked.
“Okay, look… I’m not good with names and maybe that’s a bad one. Let’s just go with that for now. Let’s talk about last night…”
“Last night?” Julie asked.
“Yes, specifically you two,” he gestured between Dave and Julie. “You know, when you two ‘hooked up’?”
“How do you know…”
Bob held up a hand interrupting. “Again, not important. What is important is that it happened and, Dave, I think you’ve noticed… it’s no longer yesterday.”
Dave’s eyes went wide, “What do you know about that?!”
“Let’s just say this,” he gestured to the breakfast, “is about that. Eat! Please!” Bob was quiet until both Dave and Julie nibbled experimentally at the food in front of them. “Now then, Dave, you probably noticed that last night… wasn’t what you might have expected.”
“Yeah,” Dave said, his shoulders sagging.
“Whoa, Romeo,” Julie said, “It wasn’t a picnic for me either!”
Bob let out a laugh, “Right. So, here’s where it gets interesting — seriously, those blueberry muffins are delectable. Fresh blueberries!” he started unwrapping a muffin, then stopped. “Dave? Did you explain the whole six hundred thirty seven New Years Eves?”
“I tried…”
“Okay,” Bob said taking a bite of the muffin. He chewed thoughtfully and swallowed. “Dave, you’re right now living day six hundred thirty eight. I must say, I think last night’s performance got you to — you’re more upset yesterday than you are today!”
“Wait… upset yesterday…?” Julie asked.
“Are you familiar with the Many-worlds interpretation? The idea that when you make a decision you unknowingly create a parallel universe where you made the opposite decision?”
Dave shook his head. “I’ve heard of that,” Julie said.
“Good, we’ve got one smart one in the room,” Bob remarked snarkily. “Welcome to the parallel universe!” Bob said, spreading his arms wide.
“Huh?” both Dave and Julie said in unison.
“Dave didn’t really wake up today…”
“I did!”
“No, you did,” he gestured to Dave, “but the you-you is still repeating New Years Eve. You’re a parallel universe.”
“It just feels like the regular universe,” Julie said shaking her head.
“Right? Well, it does for now. But that’s why I’m here…”
“Why are you here?” Julie asked.
“Because this reality, by definition isn’t stable. It’s going to fall apart. I just wanted to explain this and, you know, make you breakfast before the end of your world.”
“Uh, that’s nice of you and everything, but… end of the world?” Julie said, then noticed the room get darker as if a cloud passed in front of the sun.
“Yeah, looks like it’s starting sooner than I thought,” Bob said frowning. “Well, eat up!” he gestured to the food.

The Ironist

Wednesdays are new story days! And to kick things off comes a short story inspired by an idea that I had in a dream the other night. As often as these things are, the dream was a lot of fun! I hope this is fun for you, too!  — Jordy

The chime of the small bell above the front door broke Victor out of his concentration.
“Be with you in a moment!” he called loudly, hoping his voice would carry to whomever had just come into the front of the store and mollify them long enough for him to finish laying the sole of this pair of boots — he believed the secret to his boots reputation as exceptionally long-wearing came as much from the nails themselves as the rhythm of driving them through the sole. He never spoke this theory aloud or showed anyone — even his apprentice. Two nails left, and the arrival of the would-be customer nary disturbed his tap-tap-tapping. Done.
He straightened, stretching his back and taking in a deep breath. Getting to his feet he parted the curtain that blocked the view between the front of the store and the back. The sight of this potential customer made him pause for a moment. The tall man stood a good six and a half feet, Victor guessed, his suit an immaculately tailored black double breasted pinstriped number that must have cost more than Victor paid in rent for the store for a year. The man peered through silver-framed reading glasses, inspecting the sole of a dark brown work boot Victor had on display, turning it over in his large, dark hands. “You do beautiful work,” his words a deep basso profondo. He paused and looked up from the boot, meeting Victor’s eyes. “You come highly recommended.”
“Thank you, sir,” Victor said, then hastily added, “Umm, I beg your pardon, but I wonder whether you’re in the right shop. I specialize in work boots — most of my clientèle are construction workers.”
“What suggests to you that I’m not a construction worker?” the man asked, stepping closer.
“Uh, well, your suit for one…”
A broad grin creased the man’s round clean-shaven face. “I’m joshing with you, Victor. Though my father worked on many buildings in the city,” he looked up at the ceiling as if he were gazing right through it to the towering buildings around them. “I imagine he would have very much appreciated the supreme craftsmanship in these,” he gestured to the boot in his hand.
“Thank you again — How do you know my name? How can I help you?”
“Sydney,” the man said, “Please, call me Sydney.”
“Of course, sir, err, Sydney. How may I help you?”
“I’m the general manager of the Elysium Hotel. I trust you’re familiar with it?”
“Of course. Best hotel in the city, I understand.”
“Best hotel in the country, I’m proud to say, and have been for the last two generations. But we have a problem, Victor, and I believe you are… uniquely qualified to help us.”
Victor realized the direction this conversation was going and didn’t like it. He licked his lips nervously and said, “No… no, I don’t think I can help you.”
“Our main elevator banks have stopped working. Have you seen them?”
“No, I can’t afford the Elysium,” his words came out more clipped than he intended.
“But you’re familiar with the elevators? They’re the architectural showpiece of the building,” the man’s cadence picked up. “Surely, you’re familiar with their design. A single iron pillar behind each elevator car, no cables, no supports…”
Victor took a moment to decide how to answer. “Yeah, I’m familiar with them,” he said curtly. “You’ll need an ironist for that.”
“Indeed.”
“Too bad there aren’t any around anymore.” He paused. “Though I heard of a guy in San Francisco who claimed to be an ironist. Maybe check him out?”
“Your grandfather built that elevator bank, Victor.”
“Oh, I know,” Victor said. “And if he were still alive I suspect he’d be able to help you but he’s been dead twenty years. The last of the ironists… Well, except maybe for that guy in California. You should check him out…”
“Victor, I’m here because I believe you’re more capable than you acknowledge.”
“Thanks,” he smiled. “I’m not. My grandfather is long-dead. His knowledge died with him. Iron magic, as far as I or anyone you’ll talk to, died not long after…” he sighed. “Look, Mr…”
“Sydney.”
“Yes, sorry, Sydney. Look, I’m impressed my grandfather’s work lasted as long as it did. That’s serious craftsmanship! But if there’s an ironist out there, I don’t know of them. I’m sorry.”
Sydney studied him silently for a long moment.
“Why don’t you use galvanized nails?”
“They’re more expensive,” Victor retorted.
“Your boots are the best. You charge a premium for work boots, yet you buy cheap nails? I don’t buy that.”
“Do what you want.”
“Our head of facilities has a pair of your boots. Has worn them every day for the last five years. I looked at the soles of his shoes the other day when he was on the ladder. Those nails are pristine.”
“You’re point?”
“He walks to work from the subway every day, rain or shine. I wonder how many puddles or how much slush he’s stepped through. And yet, not a dot of rust on those nail heads.”
“What is your point, Sydney?”
“You’re an ironist, Mr. Duvey, like your grandfather.”
Victor didn’t speak.
“Could I persuade you to at least come with me to look at the elevators?”
“I can’t help you—”
“Just look,” Sydney held out his hands defensively. “We’ve got emergency measure in place right now for our existing guests, but we have fifty three floors of rooms and suites. No easily accessible elevators means we have to shut down. If we shut down, that’s a terrifying amount of money every day. Please… just look.”
“I’ve got a store to run here,” he started, but was interrupted by the ringing of the bell and his apprentice, Dave, coming in from his lunch. Great timing, kid, Victor thought as the young man walked quietly past them and into the back.
“I can pay you for your time. Say, three hundred dollars — just to look.”
Victor bit back a knee-jerk reaction. Three hundred dollars to just look? How could he reasonably turn it down? “Okay,” he acquiesced, “but just to look. I’m not—”
“Not an ironist, I know. Shall we?” Sydney gestured towards the door.
“David!” Victor called towards the back.
“Yeah, boss?” David said, his head appearing through the curtain.
“Watch the shop. I’ll be back in a few.”
“You got it.”
When they arrived at the Elysium they entered through the service entrance and Sydney led him to a service elevator. As he inserted his managers key and turned it to “Maintenance Deck” he explained, “We have a number of service and freight elevators that use conventional lift mechanisms. They’re not set up for guests, of course, but for the time being they’re the emergency solution we have. The elevator shuddered slightly as it rose.
Victor had been to the Elysium before. His grandfather had led him across the great foyer to the delicate glass-fronted elevators. He remembered the pride in his grandfather’s face as they entered the elevator car in the middle of the five, and he remembered how perfectly smooth the ride was. They took it up to the top floor and the only indication they were moving came from visual cues as the world scrolled by outside the glass door. He couldn’t actually feel any movement in the car at all. All the while, his grandfather beamed.
Victor was literally jolted out of his reverie by the elevator making an abrupt stop at the maintenance floor. The doors opened on a concrete pad connecting a number of catwalks. Sydney took the lead, walking purposefully onto the wide grated catwalk ahead of them. They crossed open pipe conduits and giant bundles of wires as they reached another concrete pad and changed directions onto another catwalk. After the third direction change Victor gave up trying to keep up his mental map. Finally, they crossed another catwalk and Victor recognized the arc of iron pillars ahead of him — these were the columns for the main elevator. A catwalk traced the arc of the five pillars of extremely pure, matte gray iron nearly a meter in diameter that rose straight up to collars affixed to the ceiling of the building, just a few feet above their head. As his eye traced the pillars he saw blemishes.
“How long have the elevators been out of service?”
“A day… 36 hours at most,” Sydney returned.
Victor moved right next to the pillar that caught his eye and sighted up the length to the ceiling. “This one’s been giving you trouble for longer than that.”
“Yes,” Sydney returned, “We haven’t operated that elevator for a few weeks now.”
“The rust is a dead giveaway — it won’t form on charged iron. But once that charge drops… oxidation within days, some within hours. Look, you can see the rust up there,” he stepped back and pointed.
“I see,” Sydney said, squinting.
Victor placed a hand on each pillar in turn. “Well, it’s clear you’ve got a problem here,” Victor said after touching the last pillar. “Stone cold. You’re definitely going to need an ironist if you hope to get these functioning.”
“We need your help,” Sydney said.
“I’m not an ironist, I told you…”
“What would your grandfather do?”
White hot anger surged through Victor, but he tamped it down. When he had his emotions as under control as he could he asked, “Do you know how my grandfather died?”
“A car accident I believe.”
Victor smiled wryly, “Yeah, a car accident… right after the passenger in the car next to him put a bullet in his head.”
“That wasn’t—”
“In the papers? Yeah, it wasn’t part of the narrative. You see, fancy hotels weren’t the only demand for ironists. The military also saw the advantages of harnessing iron magicians. He worked with them on a number of projects — a lot of ironists did. Until it became clear their work was being used to kill. They all stopped, every one of them. My grandfather was the most outspoken — their unofficial spokesman. They killed him. The government. They believed if ironists weren’t going to work with the US, it’s in the country’s best interest to make sure they don’t fall into Communist hands. What started as killing the leader led to an all out extermination— sorry, I mean a lot of ironists getting into fatal car accidents.”
Sydney was quiet. “I’m sorry,” he said at last.
“Yeah, me too,” Victor said looking at the pillars.
“Oh, I’m sorry about your grandfather, certainly. But I’m also sorry about this,” Sydney said as he suddenly shoved Victor towards the pillars with all the force he could muster. The railing of the catwalk gave way and Victor flailed as he fell towards the pillars and the cold polished marble floor so many stories below…
Only he didn’t fall far.
Sydney stepped to the edge of the catwalk. About a meter down Victor hung, each hand braced against an iron pillar. He breathed heavily as he hung there, but it was an effort to recover from the shock rather than from exertion. “Are you happy?” he said incredulously, adding, “You son of a bitch?”
“Completely,” Sydney said, dropping to a knee and offering a hand.
Victor pushed off of the far pillar and placed both hands on the same pillar, using his open hands one over the other to scale the smooth pillar as if it were a ladder. He climbed above the level of the catwalk and them leapt to the walkway.
Sydney stood up, dusting off the knees of his suit. As he straightened, Victor punched him in the mouth.
“I deserved that,” Sydney said, dabbing at the corner of his mouth with a handkerchief he pulled out of a jacket pocket.
“Yeah, you did,” Victor said, still breathing faster than normal. “Now if you’re satisfied, I’m leaving — send the check to my store.” He looked from one catwalk to another trying to remember the way back to the elevator.
“Fifteen thousand dollars.”
“What?”
“That’s what I’m willing to pay you to get these elevators working again.”
“Are you insane? After you just pushed me off the catwalk?!”
“I had to make sure you really were as capable an ironist as I suspected.”
“And if you were wrong?!” Victor demanded.
“I wasn’t wrong.”
“But what if you were?!”
“Fifteen thousand, off the books. I appreciate your desire to keep your skills hidden. You can work after hours, slip in the back…”
Victor wanted to laugh in his face. Victor wanted to punch him again. Victor wanted to walk away without saying a word. But he didn’t. He thought about that insane amount of money. And then, no matter how hard he fought it, he thought about his grandfather beaming as they rode the lifts that he had built that now lay dormant…
“Fifteen thousand,” Victor said. “Off the books. No one else knows.”
“Absolutely,” Victor said, extending his hand. “Can you start tonight?”
Victor drew in a long slow breath and let it out equally slowly. Then he took shook Sydney’s hand. “Yeah, I can start tonight.”

 

31 Ghosts – Day 31: Trick or Treat

 

Happy Halloween! The greatest holiday of them all! Hopefully the Great Pumpkin will bring you something grand this dark and spooky evening. Before I get to tonight’s story, I just want to give a huge thank-you to everyone who’s been reading. If you’ve missed a few, there’s a page with links to all the stories. I don’t have quite as grandiose plans for November, but you can count on a lot of new content and a lot of writing, too! This was SO MUCH FUN for me, and the last thing I want to do is put the brakes on. So stay tuned! Until then, I’ve got one more ghost story for you!

Aiden lifted the mask of his Kylo Ren costume and stared.

Olivia noticed Aiden wasn’t with them and turned. “A, what gives? We got a late start – we’re not going to make it to the Brookeville neighborhood if we don’t hurry, and they’ve got the full size candy bars!” She tapped her staff against the ground in irritation.

Jacob likewise turned and raised his white Stormtrooper mask “What’s up, A?”

“Dude, there’s something seriously wrong with that kid,” he said, pointing his red light saber at the short ghost walking opposite the flow of trick-or-treaters.

“What? The kid with the sheet? Other than being retro, what’s the big deal? Let’s go!” Olivia implored.

“No, I’m telling you there’s something… I don’t know… off.”

They watched the figure stop at the alley between two houses, look around to see if it anyone was watching, then darted down the alley.

“Why’s he going down the alley to the junkyard?” Jacob asked.

“I don’t know. Let’s follow him!” And he rushed forward. Jacob looked at Olivia, shrugged, and followed. Olivia blew a stray hair that had come loose from her Rey triple bun with a frustrated breath and charged after the two boys.

She rounded the corner at a run and found the two boys stopped at the end of the alley peering around the corner. “This is a stupid—”

Both boys in unison cut her off with “Shh!”

She rolled her eyes and edged around herself to at least see what they were so captivated with. The boy (or girl) in the sheet with eyes cut out of it hurried along the chain link fence, his pillowcase swaying heavy with candy from his white gloved hand until he reached the chained gate of the junkyard. Once again, he looked back and forth, and seeing no one, squeezed through the gap left by the loosely locked chain.

“Come on!” Aiden started forward.

This time, though, Olivia grabbed his fluttering cape, bringing him to an abrupt, choking stop. “Wait!” She whispered furiously. “Aiden, what the heck is going on? What did you see about that kid that has you stalking him?”

“I don’t know… I can’t explain it…”

“Well, try,” she insisted.

He gave her his bug-eyed “We have to move NOW” look. She defiantly put one hand on her hip and held fast with her other hand to his cape. He sighed heavily, rolling his eyes, but seeing no reaction from Olivia started, “FINE! Did you see the way he moved?”

“Yeah, he moved like a kid under a sheet with eyes cut out,” she responded.

“No, that’s just it! He didn’t. You’d expect him to bob up and down but he just… glided. The sheet is too long to see his feet. And he’s wearing white gloves – who does that? Even if you’re going as a ghost by wearing a sheet why gloves?”

“So, we’re stalking a kid under a sheet with gloves on…”

“Trust me on this one, O.”

She studied him for a long moment and then, “Alright, let’s go.” And they raced to the gate as quietly as they could and one by one squeezed through the chain link fence and hurried deeper into the junkyard.

They didn’t get too far before they could hear a crackling fire. Rounding a corner, they ducked behind several 50-gallon drums as they watched the boy walk towards a small campfire in a clearing of the junkyard. The boy in the ghost-sheet walked purposefully towards a make shift bench by the fire. As he did he reached down with his free gloved hand and pulled the sheet up and over his head. The sheet dropped to the ground and just two white gloves and a bag of candy moved towards the fire – there was no boy there. One by one he then stripped off the gloves and if it weren’t for the pillowcase of candy they wouldn’t have known where he was at all. They tracked the floating bag of candy to the bench. After a moment they could make out the translucent outline of a boy, though they could still see the fire through his transparent figure. He sat there and started rifling through his sack of candy.

Aiden, Olivia, and Jacob strained forward behind the barrels to watch. Jacob put his hand on the top of one of the drums inadvertently knocking an empty oil can over which rolled loudly off the top, and banged the side of a drum as it fell to the ground.

“Who’s there?!” The boy jumped up and spun to face them.

The three squeezed together behind the drums, Aiden swatted Jacob, and they all held their breath.

“Hello? Who’s there?”

Olivia started to stand up, but both Jacob and Aiden tried to grab onto the canvas of her costume to hold her down. She slapped their hands away and took a step out from behind the drums. “M-m-my name is Olivia,” she stammered. “These are my friends,” she pointed to the drums, “Aiden and Jacob.”

There was no movement at first but then a shove and “oww!” and Aiden half fell clear of the cover of the drums. As he awkwardly got to his feet, adjusting the Kylo Ren mask perched on his head he said, “Hey.”

Jacob slowly stood up as well and gave a small wave, “Hey.”

“Who are you? Why did you come here?!” the ghost boy demanded.

“We… we… saw you walking and we…” Olivia stammered.

“You looked lonely,” Aiden finished. “We wanted to see who you were, that’s all.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all.”

“My name is Stewart,” the boy said. “B-b-but my friends call me Stew.”

“May we call you Stew?”

“Are you friends?”

“We could be,” Jacob said. “Looks like you got a good haul there,” he gestured to the candy sack visible on the ground through Stew.

“Yeah… I did.” He looked at their sacks. “You guys too?”

“We did all right,” Olivia said. “We were going to head over to Brookeville before we came to see you.”

“Oh man, you missed out,” Stew said beaming. “I started over there!”

“Full size candy bars?” Jacob asked enviously.

“Come on over and see!” He gestured to the makeshift benches by the fire. The three walked over to the fire, Jacob, unhesitant, sat down right next to Stew, but Olivia and Aiden sat on a bench a little further around the fire.

The four were deep into discussions about the wonders of nougat and nuts when a voice called out from the shadows. “Hey! Who are these guys?”

“They’re my friends, Eddie,” Stew called back.

“That so?” Eddie replied coming out of the shadows they could see he wore a red velvet cowboy costume, complete with white boots and metal-looking cap guns in holsters. Under his cowboy hat he wore a Lone Ranger-type mask over his eyes and a triangle bandanna tied over his mouth. As he closed in on the group around the fire, he removed his hat, mask, and bandanna revealing nothing underneath. “You sure we can trust them?” the voice came from where Eddie’s mouth should be.

“Don’t mind him,” Stew said, “He’s just old and cranky.”

“Am not old! I’m only a year older than you, Stew.”

“Well you act like an old ghost!”

“We are old ghosts, Stew. What is this? Our fiftieth Halloween?”

“Sixtieth,” Stew mumbled under his breath.

“You’ve been out here trick or treating for sixty years?!” Aiden gaped.

“We have other friends, too!” Stew said.

As if in reply a voice rang out from the darkness, “Who are you losers talking to?”

Eddie and Stew both rolled their eyes. “That’s Duane,” Stew said as a boy dressed in a green plastic shirt with red and black plastic pants. On his face he wore a plastic ape face held in place with an elastic string. On the right chest above a sash with a curved dagger printed on the shirt a logo read, “Planet of the Apes”. Duane walked over to the fire and took his mask off revealing an empty space as he sat down on a bench opposite Oliva and Aiden. As his features became somewhat visible in the firelight, Aiden could see that Duane appeared to be a few years older than Stew and Eddie and themselves. “I don’t know why you losers go trick or treating – you can’t eat the candy!”

“Shut up, Duane,” Stew shot back. “What did you do?”

“Same thing I’ve done for forty years – scared the little baby kids,” he said. “Baby kids like… YOU!” and he leaned forward suddenly, his eyes literally bulging out of his face unnaturally. Aiden and Olivia flinched at the sight. Jacob kept discussing candy hauls with Stew.

“Give it a rest,” Eddie said.

“You gonna make me?” he asked threateningly.

“No, but I might,” a voice came from the darkness behind them.

Stew and Eddie visibly brightened at the sound. From the darkness came lanky dark-skinned boy maybe a year older than Duane wearing a black mohawk wig above a sponge-makeup beard and row upon row of fake gold chains over blue overalls.

“Hey Anthony!” Eddie waved.

“What’s up, Eddie? Stew?” Anthony moved by the fire and nonchalantly sat on the bench closest to Aiden and Olivia. “Hey,” he said to Aiden, “I’m Anthony,” and stuck out his hand to shake.

“I’m Aiden,” and Aiden reached out to shake hands, but his hand close right through Anthony’s.

Anthony laughed, and Stew and Eddie joined in.  “Heh, I’m sorry, man, I couldn’t resist.”

Aiden pulled his hand back and looked at the spot he had just grabbed. “It’s… uh… okay…” he stammered.

“Why can we see you better than them?” Olivia asked.

“Oh, you mean how come you can see that I’m black and these boys are white as the sheet Stewie was wearing?” Anthony smiled at the translucent Stew who awkwardly smiled back. “I don’t know myself, to be honest. I think it’s based on how old a spirit you are. I’m just over thirty, but that ass over there,” he gestured to Duane, “Has ten years of translucence on me. And these boys,” he nodded to Stew and Eddie, “Are like another 15 years more, so you can barely see them at all.”

“Are you guys here all the time?” Jacob asked Stewart.

“No…” he said sadly. “Usually it’s like a week before and after Halloween.”

“’When the veil gets thiiiiIIIIIiiiin’” Duane sing-songed.

“And the rest of the year?” Aiden asked.

“Well,” Anthony started, “We’re still around… sort of. We just can’t interact with y’all at all. That’s why this we love Halloween!”

An electronic song started playing and Aiden fished his cell phone out of his candy bag and looked at the display. “Oh crap,” he started, “It’s my mom. She’s on her way to pick us up over in Brookeville!” Aiden got to his feet and Olivia and Jacob followed.

Stew looked up at Jacob with sad transluscent eyes, “Will you come back tomorrow?”

“Yeah, totally!” Jacob said, then looked at Olivia and Aiden who looked less positive, “I mean, yeah, we’ll try, absolutely.”

“You’d best,” Anthony said, “because we won’t be here much longer. And then another year….”

Aiden looked at Olivia who said, “We’ll be here.”

Stew and Eddie audibly cheered.

“See tomorrow!” Jacob said as all three started off at a run the way they came in.

When they disappeared out of sight, Duane asked, “Think they’ll come back?”

Anthony folded his arms behind his head and leaned back on the log, “I’d say there’s a ghost of a chance.”

The other three groaned and Duane threw a dirt clod at him, while Eddie and Stew threw their hated boxes of raisins at him.