Speaker 1: You want in, he asked me. But what, I replied.
He smiled and pulled back a chair with his cane,
then tapped the seat with it. His thin lips parted,
and he said to the regulars club. His eyebrows went
up and down, like doing a little dance, and the
bespectacled eyes beneath them twinkled. I'd been stopping at Morning
Bell for coffee every morning for a little over a month,
same time every Wednesday. I'd noticed the two tables pushed
together and surrounded by a group of older gentlemen, all
beyond retirement age. They were all there every time I
ordered my sixteen ounce Amrcano, but I'd never really paid
any mind or attention. Apparently they must have noticed me, though.
Oh he'd fit riding with them, said Chrissy the barster,
half joking. I asked her loudly enough for the old
guys to hear. Is this a club or an occupation? Oh,
it's an occupation for sure, Christie replied an equal volume.
The old guys went in to an uproar. Hey, we're
paying customers. I've been coming here since before you were born, sweetheart.
Nobody's ever asked us to leave have they, Christie smiled
at them. All I paid for my coffee and wandered
toward the seat which had been designated from me. I
usually took my coffee out to my car and drove
to work, where I would sit in the parking lot
and listen to the news while I sipped until I
felt properly electric, so I could survive my office, where
the most interesting thing was the contrast between the great
cubicle walls and the fluorescent lights above. Like Kevin and Hel,
I suppose I could stay out of the snow for
a bit longer, I said, sliding into the seat offered me.
So let me guess this is the real city council, right,
don't you know? It? Said? The man hood invited me over.
He patted me in the back with the hand that
had once been very strong. The names stand Cassinger Allen,
I replied, Alan Purcell. Are you already retired? Allan asked
a thin, studious looking man across from me. Oh, get
out of here, Wesley said another. He's not even forty yet,
I bet, I smiled. I'm forty two and no a
Medida analyst. They still need that with all of today's advancements,
asked Wesley, the thin man. I smirked, shrugged, and said, well,
that's sort of up for debate, I guess, but they
keep on paying me. So this professional ambivalence seemed to
resonate with a few of the men, who raised their
coffers and took joevilsips Mine was still too hot. A
man standing outside the group walked away. I felt bad
for a second, thinking maybe I had accidentally stolen his seat.
I expected him to pull up a chair from another table,
but he walked far past the tables near us and
moved out of my line of sight. As others began
to introduce themselves, I began to wonder if the standing
man was just shy. I said, so, you guys come
here just about every day, right, don't you ever run
out of things to talk about? Hot? Laughs? Dan, We've
probably got five hundred years of lived experience between us all.
It's going to be a lawn long time before we
run out of subjects. He or here, said a man
exactly Westley's opposite in size, demeanor, and position at the table.
His name was Trevor. There was also Henry Neil, James Baron,
Johnny Gordon, and a couple of others whose names unform
They escaped me. So what was to day's subject before
I came in? I asked. The jovial group suddenly quitted.
The men all looked amongst each other, but non at me.
My coffee smelled strong and rich, and I wanted so
badly to sip it in that brief, uncomfortable moment, but
alas it was still too hot, you know, looking back,
the awkward silence probably only lasted three seconds, even though
it felt much longer. Stan broke it. How do you
allan feel about ghosts? Ghosts? I asked, surprised, Stan nodded.
I looked round the table at all the expectant faces
looking back at me. Wesley said, telling ghosts stores was
alih friend Bruce's favorite tradition around Christmas time. He passed
away just over a week ago. This will be our
first Christmas without him. But Stan here suggested we tell
some tales of our own. Turns out, some of us
have some good ones, said the men named Johnny. He
looked much worse for where the many of his comrades.
Yet when I studded his face, I believed him to
actually be one of the group's younger members. He either
lived a hard life or live life hard. Stand Before
I interrupted him to invite you into our fall, Johnny
was about to tell a story of his own. That's right,
said Johnny. Now, unless any one else has something to add,
I'll get started. Go ahead, said Stan. Now that the
introductions had ceased, the man standing in the back returned,
crossing his arms and leaning on the wall. I wanted
to say something, offered to get him a chair, but
since Johnnie seemed somewhat irritated about being interrupted before, I
dared not speak up after he began again. You all
know how I used to like to go out in
the water early before dawn. On a good day, I
could catch enough crappy obligal for dinner before heading out
to work for the day. I'm talking about back when
I lived in the lake. Of course, I just wandered
down to the dock first thing in the morning, hop
in the boat, and is about to one of the
good spots. One morning. Back at that time, I might
have been forty, but only barely. I stepped out my
front door into a cloud. It got foggy up there
on the lake all the time. But this day rested
so heavy all around it felt like a cloud had
sunk down from above. It didn't stop me for a
second though. It was eerie, sure, but also beautiful. So
there I I was floating on dead, stale water in
the heavy fog right before summerise. I cast out one
line and actively worked a second to maybe snag a
nice catfish. When the sun began to rise, the fog
around me so thick as it was lit up orange
like fire. The new light bounced around in the cloud
until it felt like I was caught in a still
frame of an explosion. It was absolutely gorgeous. All the
air turned that vivid color, and the smaller wasps of
vapor became shimmering miniature rainbows that flashed before vanishing. I
must have seen Nea light up like that a hundred
times before, but on that day was no less beautiful
than the very first time. I tell Yet, that was
a better way to start the day than any cup
of coffee, No offense, Christie. I looked over at Christie
and saw she was making no effort to disguise her eavesdropping.
She shrugged and sad. None taken that morning was special,
not because the light and the fog alone looked any
more impressive, But because of how the stillness of the
water reflected the fiery fog so perfectly, all I could see, up, down,
and all around me was that brilliant orange haze. That
is until something else broke through, a small, dark shape
that rested on the line between the glowing air and
the slightly dimmer water. It merged in the direction of
the rising sun, so I had to squint to look
at it, and through my eyelids it looked all soft mavy.
I couldn't tell what it was For a few minutes.
It turned out to be a small rowboat, the kind
beilt for no more than a person or two. At first,
I thought a fellow fisherman might be out sitting or
laying low inside the boat, taking everything in. Like me,
Thanks to the stillness of the water, I didn't have
to worry about his colliding, even though I couldn't see anybody.
For the sake of being friendly, I called out, howdy, beautiful,
I've here, isn't it. Nobody answered me back, Here's where
things start to get strange. Hopefully I said it enough
times now that I don't need to remind you. But
just in case. The water was perfectly still, almost no
current whatsoever, and it was most certainly a rowboat. I
saw on the near horizon. I could see two wars
sticking off, dangling motionless in the water. But somehow the
little boat began drifting towards me. Of course, even in
the stillest of waters, there's bound to be some subtle movement,
but not enough to move a boat this fast. I
tell you, it came toward my boat as quickly as
if some one was throwing it toward me. I called
out again again, without receiving an answer, and I started
ruling in my active line. I wanted to get away. Suddenly,
the orange haste feld ominous. I couldn't see beyond ten
yards in any direction. I knew vaguely how far I
ventured out, but with no sight at the shore, I
felt specially nervous about the word situation I'd found myself in.
You might be thinking, so what, it's just a rowboat, Johnny,
Not like I could have hurt you, right, And sure
you're right about that. It could have just proked free
of its tether and drifted off empty. Sure I grant
you that, but that's not the scenario that came to
mind right away. Out there on that glassy at Blowing Lake,
my mind jumped all the terrible reasons a small boat
light that might end up abandoned in the water. After
retrieving the line i'd been working, I set down that
pole and picked up the static line I'd put a
bobber on it, which rippled through the orange water on
its way back to me, until suddenly it dropped below
the surface. The excitement, thinking I'd gotten a bite and
from something bake, jostled my brain and threw out all
of my fear and whorris. But the dragon the line
persisted too consistently to be from any fish. I snagged
something under water, something either very stuck or very heavy.
When I reeled hard enough, I actually pulled my boat
toward the barber and whatever the hoop below he had caught.
I might have just cut the line, but I had
one of my favorite jerk bits down there, so I
had to at least try to get it back. I
felt the object shift a little, which gave me an
ounce of hope, And just as I felt that little
bit of gift, the empty rowboat floated past me. It
cruised right over my trap line. About ten feet away.
I could see into it and saw nobody inside. Nobody
passed out dead or asleep, nobody laying down to take
in the sky. Nobody at all. Except that was about
when the sun reached a high enough elevation to light
up some of the rest of the world, so high
it stopped making the fall glow quite so bright. The
shore line began to appear, and there standing on it
was a man. He waved to me, not in a
friendly sort of way, well not unfriendly either, but not
in greeting, I guess, is what I mean. It sort
of seemed like he was trying to flag me down.
I let my line go slack and wave back to him,
just trying to signal that I had seen him, hoping
he would give me some sort of explanation and quick
finding the empty boat already hit me on edge and
seeing that man there was something I still don't understand
that just felt off about him. But just as I
lowered my hand after waving, the man on the shore
evaporated in the fog. As the sun rose just a
few inches higher, it slight stopped coloring the fog, and
a quick reflecting so brightly off the water at least
from where I was positioned. The glassy water looked almost
black now under the low cloud billowing above it. Just
wanting to get off that water, I started reeling again.
I almost forgot my hook was caught whatever it found
down there, and those murky depths shifted again, ever so slightly,
then came dislodged. I felt its weight drag my line
down a little deeper, as the end of my pole
bent with it. In my mind, a sudden flash of
two images, totally unprompted by my conscious thoughts, nearly made
me lose my grip. One sort of floating in the
background showed my immediate memory of the man on the shore.
The second, more prominent image was of nothing I'd seen
with my two eyes only, the one up here. Johnnie
tapped his forehead with his index finger and looked round.
What I the picture was my hook down there in
those cold, dark waters, stuck in the ribs of a
blow de'cots. Did I have any proof that a dead
man was dragging my line down, bending my pole nose snapping? No,
But I tell you all, I cut that line faster
than I even realized my knife was in my hand.
It snapped into the water, and I watched his ripples
frade away. I never learned whose boat I saw other,
or who that man on the shore was. Nobody ever
came looking for either of them. As far as I know,
I probably just got tricked by the light and spooked
by a log or something. But there you go. That's it,
asked Stan. You're just going to leave us all hanging there.
That's all the closer I ever got, grunted Johnny. During
his story, he seemed to disappear into a trance, but
now he's downd off. Herself free emerged. Oh don't be
so critical, parleyed Wesley. It was a good story, full suspense,
wal told Johnny. Ambivalent. Cheers went up, and a few
old guys took tupers SIPs at the lips of the cops.
It didn't seem like anyone really wanted to go next
except for mebe the guy leaning against the wall. He
didn't look at all uncomfortable without a chair and didn't
bother Christie for anything as she came around to top
everyone off. But Wesley didn't notice the man in the back,
and while Christie refilled every one's mugs, he said I
have a story to offer with just as much mystery,
but Stan might find a conclusion a bit more to
his taste. I'm all ears set. Stan Wesley pushed back
his chair, stood and moved behind it, where he placed
his hands on its back and leaned forward, making the
wood creek. As most of you know, I used to
teach physics variations of yeat and we know what up
all around the table informing me. This was a fact
Wesse mentioned with some frequency. Oh yea yea. He dismissed them.
I worked with many Grudgate students on their the seas.
Some of them even went on to work with many
of the greats in their respective fields. But ironically, the
most memorable student I ever had was one who dropped
out and never became anything. Nothing in the world of
physics anyway. But she was the only student who I
can honestly say taught me something. Her name was Rachel,
and she was pursuing her pH d, focusing on magnetics.
She had a brilliant mind, but thought a bit too
much of her originality and creativity. She frequently brought me designs, schemes, calculations,
behaving as if she had just brought me the solution
to all of the world's energy problems, only for me
to regrettably inform her that whatever breakthrough she did was
already tried by Nicola Tesso or a similarly great mind
of the past. I always told her not to be discouraged,
because as soon as she could just learn to examine
all the work done before her, she could build something
truly remarkable off of it. And then she disappeared for
a while. I eventually learned her mother, who she had
been very close with and had done everything in her
life to impress, passed away after being struck by a
driver who fell asleep at the wheel. I wrote her
a letter, well an e mail, expressing my condolences and
telling her we could easily arrange for her to make
up her labs whenever she felt ready. I didn't hear
back then. One day, it was a Friday, I stayed
late to findal Liza report before the long winter break.
I started an automated process, then went to relieve myself
while it ran its course. I shut my office door
behind me out of habit its latch. I could off
the polished floor in the hallway, every light in the
building had been shut off, so only the red emergency
lights provided any life for me on my way to
the restroom. Only when I opened the door to go
and did I hear someone else's footsteps down the hall.
Not wanting to get arrested in conversation with another late stay,
I quickly ducked into the dark restroom and quietly closed
the door. I needed to turn the light on, and
struggled for a few seconds to find the switch. During
that time, I listened as the gentle footsteps passed by
the door. It struck me as odd I heard only
the person's steps. I didn't hear any swishing of clothes,
no size of eleventh ir exasperation. You don't even notice,
I'd venture to guess how many other noises usually accompany
a sand so simple as a footstep until those other
noises are absent. Well, I still had a task at hand,
so after I finished up in the restroom, I returned
to my office. Along the way, I saw no sign
of another person in the building, heard none either. But
when I again stood at my office door, I found
it partially open. Now you might say, Wesley, you crazy
old man, you just forgot to close the door, But
remember how I told you its latch echoed down the
hall when I closed it. I distinctly remember hearing it
that evening. Because the building was otherwise so quiet, I
would have surely detected any weakenss in a noise which
might have indicated my failure to properly shut the door.
Of course, my first thought went to the footsteps I
had heard on my way into the restroom. My premonition that,
however they belonged to wish to speak with me, therefore
interrupting my last minute work, I thought must have been correct.
I pushed open the door, prepared to me if hooever
come to find me, or so I thought. There, standing
on the other side of my desk, just behind a
tall chair where I usually sat reading writing grading, was
a shimmering translucence which took the vaig form of a
woman bitter back to me. She jumped when I entered,
turning ever so slightly toward me before vanishing into thin air,
at which she left electric with crackling static in her wake.
Now you men all know me, Christie, you too. You
know I'm a man of science. Anything that exists can
be proven given enough time and resources. That's my philosophy well, friends,
admittedly felt too scared to sit in my chair with
my back to the empty place deaparition had left behind.
So while waiting for my nerves to settle, I went
looking for the answer, the logical russianale for how I
had seen what I saw. I retraced the footsteps i'd heard,
walking past the restrooms till from which they first reached
my ears. I stood in a tea in dissection, and
could have turned left or right. White would have taken
me to the lecture halls and more faculty offices. Left
led to the lab. Having just experienced what I would
categorize as a scientific anomaly, of course I chose left.
In our lab, we had a variety of equipment, but
don't fill your mind's eyes with some grand laboratory like
he might see in a Hollywood horror film. We essentially
had rows of desks lined up, each with relatively simple
equipment for a particular field of study. There were no windows,
so we could more easily control light conditions and temperature,
which meant when I first opened the door to the
la it was pitch black inside. But deep inside the
darkness I heard the muffled sobs of a woman. I
called out hello, and a crying immediately stopped. Nobody answered me,
though I stood in the doorway waiting and heard nothing more.
With rising apprehension, I reached into the dark to feel
for the light switch and flipped it on. The rows
of white lights in the ceiling came to life, which
needed to be replaced soon bars than hand. A couple
of lights deeper in the room flickered her radically before stabilizing.
It was beneath one of these flickering lights that I
saw her, Rachel, my student who had vanished Euler in
the semester. She gave me a good fright. Rachel. I
found her curled up with her niece to her chin
in one of the swiveling chairs by desk. In front
of her, enkissed in child glass sat a complex device.
She concoted it on her own out of parts of
the various coodment around her. Rachel, what are you doing here?
I asked her. She seemed surprize to see me, said
she thought the building was empty. I asked if that
was why she chose such a bizarre time to return
to the lap as she told me it was. When
asked if she knew anything about footsteps in the hallway
or in apparition which visited my office. Rachel looked up, dumbstruck.
She was this formerly unshakable student. See, Rachel had just
finished conducting an experiment, an experiment which she thought to
have been a total failure. She built an electrostatic generator
inside of a vacuum tube. Inside the tube, she also
placed a bracelet her mother had been worrying the night
she died, which was stained with blood. Prior to her experiments.
She used an electromagnetic field to charge a bracelet, making
it interact with the electrostatic device in a way she
speculated hope more alike would bring about some ethereal remainder
of her mother. If such a thing existed. Her hypothesis
was convoluted, a mutant offspring of the scientific and spiritual,
clearly bored of a person maddened with grief that somehow,
although not in the manner she expected, it worked. I
told Rachel to go stand by the restroom door and
wait while I reset her experiment and performed it for
a second time. I must say I found the prospect terrifying.
I just wanted to reward my student for hope of
fund discovery and give her the closure she sought. While
she was gone, I did exactly as promised, and when
she returned to me, it was with tears streaming down
her cheeks. I never asked her to tell me what
she saw or what else may have happened at in
that hall way, and she never offered to tell me. However,
as a scientist, I know how much stock to put
in the power of human emotion. Her reaction was all
the evidence I needed. Wesley looked down, then picked up
his coffee and took a long sip. We all knew
he was done. Pango said, Johnny, if you believe this
experiment actually worked a new conjured up a ghost, why
didn't you publish it? How Come we've never heard of
this incredible breakthrough of yours. Because Wesley instantly counted, as
if expecting this question, I was never able to recreate
it without Rachel, or with any item except her mother's bracelet.
If you'll allow me to be briefly and scientific, I
personally believe whatever emotional power Rachel instilled in that piece
of jewy mattered more than any other factor in her experiment.
Perhaps if someone experiencing a similar level of grief and
viewed an object of matching power. We could recreate what
Rachel did in the Physics Love that night. I am
content to have experienced one such separation, though, and I
count myself lucky to have witnessed it. Unlike at the
end of Johnny's story, after which most of the men
had ruminated in silence of a Westless story, nearly everyone
spoke at once, all having something to say. It became
immediately clear to me the character Wesley played in this group.
He was the unwittingly arrogant academic who thought more of
his own intellect than any of his comrades did. Yet
he made up for this spiny personality with his bigart.
I keenly understood that these men appreciated each other for
their differences. For their differences are what made the gatherings
interesting enough to continue for years and in some cases decades.
Amid the upper accusations of exaggeration, friendly denials of credibility,
good nature jeers at Wesley's scholarly pros, I turned to
stamp beside me and whispered, although I'm sure it was
quite loud, I'll need to leave to you. Thanks for
inviting me though this has been really fun. Oh do
you need to leave right this second? Us Stan, I stammer,
afraid of what I might be committing to if I stayed.
Stan said, well, at least stick around for one more
if you can. I've got to tell my story. Yet
it's one some of you won't by I know some
of you will. Though the others quit bagging on Wesley
and gave their attention to Stan. He turned to me again,
with his head cocked and said, maybe even you new friend.
I think he may have forgotten my name, but something
and how he looked at me felt indescribably knowing. He
gave me the sense that we were in on a
secret together, orbeit a secret. I could not pretend to
be aware of the one man standing against the back
wall scene to become very interested. As soon as stam
made to begin his story, and he too, the standing
man watched me like a light hearted co conspirator. I
haven't thought much about how to start this, said Stan,
so I guess I'll just lay out if a groundwork
can go from there. I took Paladin. Oh gosh, how
on it all now? Just about three weeks ago I
bet any who he's a well behaved I'll be eight
feisty golden lab. He's got to be walked at least
twice a day or led out to play, cause otherwise
he gets real auntsy. That boy's not meant to be
cooped up. In fact, just after this I'll be walking him.
To be straight with you, all, I wanted to have
this conversation about ghosts because of something that happened to
me just over the weekend on Saturday morning. It stuck
close to my mind like cheese in the bottom of
a pan. And well, I wanted to run the story
by all of you, but I couldn't go first, No,
not before you'd all let your mind be opened an
inch or two. What I'm about to tell you happened
to me is the one hundred percent no bs, no
lies truth. I promise that Saturday morning, I took Pilot
for a walk, and like I said, he's a real
good boy. But that more he jumped away from me.
He ripped the leash from my hands and nearly pulled
me down. He shot across the street and into the
park with the LEAs swinging and jumping behind him. I looked,
thinking he must have seen a raccuno square, But as
far as I could see, Pilot wasn't chasing a thing.
He ipped and jumped through the park like he'd been
struck mare, and for a minute I thought maybe he had.
I called him back to me, and after a couple
of tries, he listened and came running back with his
tongue flapping out the side of his mouth. He looked
so happy, just rolled with himself. Now, Pilot's been through
a lot, so I didn't want to be too hard
on him. I took up his leeche and tried to
lead him home, but that stubborn dog didn't want to budge. Now.
Instead of running around like a fool, he plunted his
rear on the sidewalk and sat there with the dumbest,
happiest lakif ever seen. I gave his leeche a gentle hug,
but he would not respond to me. I looked up
and said, come on, but it's time to get you home.
You want a treat. That's always a good way to
get him moving, but not that morning, apparently. And what else?
When I looked at him, my eyes were sort of
drawn up, as only there was nothing that were distill.
My eyes got locked they staying into that blank space
beside Pilot, where I felt I sensed someone there. I
can't say how, because I didn't see it here or
smell anybody. I just sort of sensed a person, yes,
a human being, standing near my delk. Philip seemed to
sense them too, and wasn't remotely bothered. In fact, I've
never seen him look so happy. Finally, he let me
lead him back to the house. Well, I guess he
led me. He really didn't seem to pay me any
mind at all as he followed whatever I couldn't see.
At the front door, Pilot sat obediently, but not for me,
and stared at the sky until I unlocked the door.
He walked inside slowly, and for the rest of the
day he moped around the house, looking sad and tired.
I couldn't think of a reason for him to act
like that. I offered him treats, played with him as
well as I could, but nothing I did cheered him up. Strange.
I took him on his evening walk at the usual time,
but we didn't leave the block. He just seemed so depressed.
So the next morning, this is yesterday, I was cooking
some bacon and eating an apple. To keep the doctor away,
I fed a couple strips of Pilot. He already seemed
to be warming back up to his usual self, and
I was glad to see. I always tend to move
a bit slow on Sunday mornings, so we didn't do
our first walk on time. I just finished breakfast and
was tying my shoes when somebody knocked on my front door.
This time of year, you never can know what that means.
Could be a neighbor dropping off some Christmas cookies, could
be somebody whose car got stuck up the road. Either
way you'd better answer. I limped over with one shoe
and opened up the door, but I tell you, nobody
was there. I looked both ways. Then I realized there
were no footprints in the snow which had blown around
over night. I could clearly see mine and Pilots from Saturday,
but not one fitt nor PoID yet to disturb the
fresh layer of snow. Strange ho well. I started to
shut the door, but Pilot dotted through it at the
very last second. I wet the door back open and
yelled after him, but he got out of reach. Quicken
me with just one half lay shoe on. I had
to just watch him go. He ran the same direction
we usually woke, so I estimated he would go to
the park again. In my car, I thought I might
have a chance of catching him. I drove to the park,
didn't see him, so I went to the next place
that kin to mind he might have gone. Stan looked
around the table, as if checking to see if he'd
been understood. One of the men whose name I forget,
asked Bruce's place. Stan looked down and slowly nodded Bruce.
I thought, when did they mention Bruce before Wade. Wasn't
he the one who I should have explained for our
friend here's sake, Stan continued gesturing toward me. Pilot belonged
to Bruce before he passed. I adopted him. We always
got along, Pilot and I, so it seemed like a
good fit. Knots of agreement bobbed all around me. I
noticed one character was suddenly absent. The man standing against
the wall had disappeared without my noticing until that point,
Stan said, so, I naturally considered that Pilot might return
to his long time home. Maybe he wanted to see,
if you know his old master had come back. I
pulled into Bruce's driveway. The sign in his yard still
says it's for sale. I got out to have a
look around, maybe call pilot's name a bit, to see
if I could draw him in. I wouldn't need to, though.
Right as I closed my car door, I heard him barking.
I would have been relieved to hear it, except there
was just one problem. The barking was coming from inside
the house. I hadn't noticed him because of the inflection
on the window all are, but now I could clearly
see his face in Bruce's front window. He was smiling,
eager to see me. I assumed some one must have
been around, maybe the realtor, and let him inside to
keep him until animal control could pick him up. So
I knocked on the front door. Some one had to
be there right. Nobody answered, so I checked her round
back through the patio door. The house looked pretty empty.
Beside the pilot, I found a realtor's hide to key,
but I didn't have the combination. Luckily, it turned out
nobody told the realtor about the keepers kept hidden in
the doorbell. Isn't that crazy though? That the doors were
locked even though Pilot was inside, somebody could have let
him in and left him, but it hadn't been that
lawn yet. Anyhow, Pilot met me at the door, but
was careful not to let me catch him by the collar.
Maybe going in with the Lecian hand wasn't a good idea.
I announced myself to any one who might be around
as I followed Pilot into the house. Bruce's family took
all the pictures and sentimental stuff down, but otherwise his
house is still pretty much how it always was. It
felt strange to be back there. Pilot went into the kitchen,
then around to the stair case going up. I was
right on his tail and till the kitchen. I stopped
there because I was pretty sure I had heard one
of the boards above my head and creek. I told
Pilot to come back, but of course he didn't listen.
He went right up those stairs, straight toward the place
where I now most definitely heard a second creek. It
sounded like a grown man was standing directly above me,
which those of you who've been there might know was
Bruce's bedroom. I listened through the floor as Pilot joined
the person standing above me. I waited to hear a voice,
but no one spoke. Pilot was obediently quiet, not hyperlike
he usually get around strangers. That gave me a little comfort.
Again announcing myself, I went up the stairs as loudly
as I could. I wanted to give forever was up
there as much notice as possible that I would soon
up here. Pilot stuck his head out of the bedroom doorway,
then quickly spun around back inside. I started talking right
away as I got to the room. I think I
said something like sorry for letting him bother you before
I froze there in the doorway. Pilot was in air
all by himself. I heard another footstep down the hole
in one of the other rooms. I called out and
stepped into the hallway, but nobody responded, so I asked Pilot,
where are they? Boy? He stopped in front of me
in a doorway for a second with his tail straight back.
Neither of us breathed. After a time, Pilot braved the
shore trip back to the bedroom down at the corner
of the hall. I decided to keep back. As soon
as Pilot reached that doorway, his tail pointed upwards and
he ran in, watching him disappear startled me into a run.
He barked twice. My heart was fit to burst. You know,
I started to wonder just who or what exactly we
chased into that dark room. A burglar, a squatter. Pilot's
a big boy, but he's no fighting dog. I've reached
the doorward just in time to watch Pilot chase his
own shadow into the corner. He stopped and looked up
about half way to the ceiling, and his tail stopped dragging.
It stuck back at an angle like a warning flag.
When he barked, I recognized the anticipatory tone he always
took if I struggled too long to open his treat
jar or locked the door on our way out of
the house. With each bark, he wriggled backward a bit
and gestured slightly towards the floor in front of him
with his head. I said to him, come on, boy,
let's get you back home, but he wouldn't budge from
that corner. It took me ten minutes to get him
to leave. But once we got out of there, things
have carried on like normal since strange heart. That's what
got me thinking about ghosts, and that's the story I
wanted to share, I've felt stand looking at me, But
I was looking at the big front window into the
fallen snow since morning Belsat and the corner. The window
looked a long way down the next block, although the
blowing snow made it difficult to see indetail passed the
fire hydrant in the corner. People floorid but to oblivist
a toll man passing by them, all bothered by the
coal and blown snow. Somehow, even from behind, I recognized
the man who'd been leaning against the wall. He's still
with us there, friend, Stan asked me. I turned to
him and said, sorry, I guess I'd just got lost
thinking about the sorts of possibilities a story leg that
opens up the Forstan could even take in these words,
I asked, what did you say your friend's name was? Again,
Bruce replied Wesley. Johnny clarified Bruce Edwards. Edward's oh never mind.
I thought it sounded familiar, but I was thinking of
some one else. Stan eyed me, likely realizing along with
me that no one had said Bruce's last name. Allowed
Yet he didn't say anything, though. Instead he got caught
up in the low but lively discussion which his story provoked. Meanwhile,
I pulled out my phone under the table and searched
for Bruce Edward's obituary, as I hoped it included a
recent ford of him, and sure enough, the face staring
up at me was the same which had interacted with
me from the back wall. Excuse me, I interrupted, Sorry,
but I really need to go. Great story is everyone?
Tell you? What? If you'll let me join you to morrow,
I just might have a good ghost story myself. I
think you'll all find it pretty interesting. Stan winked at
me and said, see you tomorrow. Then I hurried out
into the cold, realizing I've forgotten to leave a tip
for Christy in the jaw. Oh well, I would get
her double tomorrow. I couldn't afford the time to turn back.
By the time I confirmed his identity, Bruce's ghost had
already drifted out of sight down the block. Shielding my
eyes against the flurry, I pursued him, but at the
next coroner, with no sign of the tall operation in
any direction, I surrendered. I would not get to ask
Spruce why he chose to appear at his morning club
and watch me alone unless Stan could also see him.
Hence the insinuation and winking. What I told those men
the next morning, after Sherry my story about seeing a
mysterious man standing in the back of the coffee shop
was that I thought Bruce might be making his rounds
saying his good byes. Even those who had seemed skeptical
of the stories told the prior morning appeared to accept
this theory with humble gratitude. From then on, I've always
waved to the regulars when I picked up my coffee,
but I've never sat with them again. They never pushured
me to ada. It isn't my time to join them yet.
Whatever the reason, Bruce and maybe Stan chose me through
which the channel the gift of Bruce's final good bye.
I'm glad he did, because I received a gift from
it myself. I've learned not to hurry so quickly through
each day, always too eager to reach the next stage,
the next chapter. I know I'll get there eventually. Right now,
I need to pay attention to what's happening right around me.
Right now, there are stores happening in every direction, and
ghosts will likely touch every one of them at one
point or another.