by
M. L. Steger
Smashwords Edition
Copyright M. L. Steger 2011
A Bad Night in a German Tavern
Ghost Lights
Sheriff's Got a Way About Her
Devil's in the Details
Mirror Image
Horns
Charlie's Problem
Demoniac Possession and the Single Girl
Forward
I remember when I was very young sharing a room with my older sister, begging her to tell me a ghost story as we both lay in our respective beds. The light would already be off and mom and dad would be watching TV out in the Living Room. Most of the time, my sister would tell me to shut up and go to sleep. But once in a while, she would tell me a scary story, and though I don’t really remember any of them, I do remember having trouble sleeping after hearing one.
Imagination still gets the best of me sometimes in the middle of the night, and every once in a while, I admit, I hide under the covers if I watched a particularly scary movie or read a scary story before going to bed.
I mean I love a good scary story as well as the next guy, particularly if it stars a ghost or monster, but I need to get my sleep too.
So, instead of writing really scary stories, I wrote some “kinda” scary stories with humor, therefore making it a little easier to go to sleep after reading them. I hope you enjoy them.
- M. L. Steger
A Bad Night in a German Tavern
I had been traveling to various cities in my ancestral land——visiting the more well-known ones Frankfurt, Bremen, Munich. Finally, I started making my way to eastern villages——places that were closed off to westerners during the Cold War. I wanted to learn about how the natives of my ancestral land lived and wondered if I could make any connection to how they lived and to what I longed for——some sort of peace outside the consumerism and greed of the western world. I took train or bus for the longer distances and hiked for the shorter ones. Hiking not only allowed me to be alone with my thoughts, but it also allowed me to get to know that land better——on a more intimate note, than passing through it quickly by vehicle.
Once I got to the small town of Zschornau I heard rumors of an ancient crypt with my surname engraved on it. It had been there for ages for the cemetery where it was located was very old itself.
Though I was due in Kamenz five miles south of my current location, I thought I could take a picture of my surname on the crypt.
If I was quick enough in finding this cemetery, I could reach my destination by early evening.
I traveled through brush and some deep mud before I found the overgrown path to my destination.
Though many of the old headstones had since crumbled, a small stone crypt in the corner of the cemetery peeked above the tall grass. And though it was considerably weathered, there appeared my last name on the crypt. I took a few pictures of it and realized the sun was getting lower. I looked at my watch. It had taken me longer to find the cemetery than I thought.
I again found the path out of the cemetery; however, I was unable to find the road again. The sun seemed to be against me as it pressed against the top of the trees, threatening to set.
For a brief moment, I felt panic coming on; however, it was only brief as I almost stumbled across the road I was to take. It seemed that I found my way to the road much quicker than it took me to get to the cemetery.
I quickened my pace, realizing that it would probably take me an hour or more to get to Kamenz.
Despite the fact I was in a foreign land on an unknown road, I found the night walk pleasant. It was somewhat warm and I could hear distant owls hooting at each other. My sense of security diminished when I heard a howl from a distance, then another answering almost right away. I quickened my pace. For several minutes I heard neither hooting nor howling but flapping wings overhead——a bird looking for its resting place as I was heading for mine.
As I walked the unknown road, I came across a deserted house, then a little further on, a house with a light on. As I continued on my journey, I came across more and more buildings until I saw one with a neon sign in the window advertising a familiar beer brand.
At this point, I was thirsty from my hike, and not adverse to the thought of eating something.
It was a pleasant enough tavern with about twenty or so patrons at the time.
I sat down at a table where I was quickly waited on. I voraciously ate a sausage and drank the local ale. However, I found myself in a bit of a predicament when it came time to leave.
It appeared that the door where I had entered the tavern was now heavily barred, but not just barred——it had a heavy wooden cabinet resting in front of it.
I tried to ask the waitress in my best broken German how I exit the establishment. She somberly shook her head.
I looked over at the bartender. "Sie bleiben hier heute a bend." He said, shaking his head.
One of the men I was sitting next to steered me back to our table.
I tried to protest and explain that I had to be somewhere, but it didn't seem to matter. None of us were going anywhere that night.
In fact, no one else seemed in much of a rush to leave the little tavern. I thought I might have been kidnapped, but no one else seemed to care or think anything about leaving. It was at that point that I had wished I spoke more German.
There were hushed conversations around the room, but I didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. Perhaps they closed the road after dark and a person pretty much had to stay where they were once the road closed. It was at this point I regretted my side trip to the cemetery but there was little I could do about it now. So, when in Rome, do as the Romans do, or when in Germany, do as the Germans do. I decided to make myself comfortable until I could leave. This was made quite easy for me as the waitress kept pouring more ale.
As the conversations continued, my eyes slowly got heavier. It didn't help that my glass was constantly refilled whenever I took a sip. When I realized how easily I could be robbed if I was not careful, I hung my bag over my knee and gripped it tightly.
However, the warmth of the fire in the corner and the monotonous tones of the other patrons did me no good——I fell asleep in my chair.
It must've been several hours when I finally awoke. What awoke me, I do not know as the whole group in the tavern sat silently——many just staring at their drink.
I looked around. It was as if they were frozen in time. No one moved. I got out my language book and was about to ask for the restroom, when a bang was heard at the door. One of the men who had sat motionless jumped at the sound. The bartender looked over at the door. The heavy cabinet was still there, but the bartender was not taking any chances. He motioned for some of the men to help him move a table that would back up the cabinet that was blocking the door.
A shot of concern went through my head. Was it really me they wanted to keep in, or something they wanted to keep out?
Again, a knock on the door——not a knock but a pound. The door vibrated with a "bang."
The men pushed the table up against the door. "Johann." A soft voice was heard from the other side of the door. If I didn't know better, I could swear the ruddy complexion of the bartender turned white.
The group of men who had moved the table held it in place.
The pounding started again. These men were definitely trying to keep someone out.
"Johann Steiner," the voice - a female's - was louder this time. "ich bin es. Ihr Helga."
Several of the men looked at the man sitting by the fire. He huddled closer to it.
"Lassen sie mich innen. Ich bin so kalt."
The men who still had drinks huddled closer to them. No one was making eye contact.
I wanted to ask what was it that frightened them so, but I dared not speak——for no one did.
The light above our heads, though dim before, slowly became dimmer. The fire played strange tricks of light on the tavern patrons' faces. I looked at my sixth or seventh glass of ale——I had since lost count. I didn't have to speak the language to know I was not in a happy situation. Something was very wrong.
Then, a pounding hit the door so loud, I felt the vibration from the chair I was in.
"Johann." a voice - not the woman's, but that of a beast yelled outside the door. "Johann, lassen sie mich innen!"
Another pound, then another. More men got up to brace the door and the furniture in front of it. Another pound. Another. Another. Another. Pound! Pound! Pound! Pound!
We heard the frightening sound of wood splintering as one of the hinges started to pull away from the door jamb.
In an instant, every one of us in the tavern was bracing the door.
I could feel the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.
"Auggh!" The beast screamed unholy fury outside the door. I shivered as the sound chilled me to my insides.
Pound! Pound! Pound! Pound! Pound!
Fortunately, the hinge and door stood in place. Whatever it was that wanted in, stopped for the moment.
After a moment or two, we all relaxed a little. I turned to the man next to me, "What was that?"
He shook his head.
Just then, a loud thump was heard on the roof. Then steps, as if someone were walking on the roof.
The walking stopped. Then, the pounding started. Pound! Pound! Pound! Pound from the roof. The bartender started yelling something toward the roof.
The beast screamed again. Then it pounded some more. Then, it stopped.
None of us spoke a word. In fact, I'm not sure if any of us were breathing.
It took several minutes for most of us to relax. I didn't repeat my question. I was afraid what the answer might be.
Again we all sat down in silence after about ten minutes. Unfortunately, my bladder couldn't wait any longer.
"Restroom?" I whispered quietly to the man next to me. He pointed to the door on the far side of the bar.
I nodded and quietly went over to it. I wasn't sure I wanted to go by myself, but my bladder told me I had no choice.
I did my business and came out to wash my hands. It wasn't until then that I noticed I heard crickets——the noise was coming from outside. Up above the sink about ten feet high was a small four by six inch window that opened to the outside.
At first, I didn't notice the two wild eyes staring back at me through the opening, but when I did, I jumped with a yelp away from the sink.
"Johann?" a woman's voice whispered through the window.
I ran out of the restroom. I stumbled across the floor and back to my seat where I was poured another glass of ale.
It wasn't ten minutes when the creature started pounding on the walls. Pound! Pound! Pound! I looked around at the others. They all looked as frightened as I felt.
Pound! Pound! Pound! "Johann!" The beast growled.
I kept thinking how the eyes were just staring at me in the restroom. There was no movement. It was as if the eyes were part of statue——something inanimate. Yet, there they were, staring at me. I shivered in my seat. How was it that they creature could see me from ten feet above the ground? What kind of creature was it? I didn't want to think about the last bit. I didn't want to know what it was or if such a thing could exist.
Pound! Pound! Pound! Pound! "Johann, kommen zu mir." Pound! Pound! Pound!
The man at the fire got up. The bartender put a hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him.
Pound! Pound! Pound!
The sound kept hitting my ears. I couldn't process it anymore though. I was too frightened.
Pound! Pound! Pound! "Johann, Kommen zu mir. Ich bin so kalt."
The man by the fire, who by this time I had assumed was Johann, sat back down and put his hands over his ears.
"Die Sonne ist oben bald." the bartender whispered to him.
The man beside me said quietly, "The sun will be up soon."
"Good," I whispered back, though I wasn't sure if it was good or not.
Pound! Pound! Pound!
Johann stood up, "Weg gehen Sie schlechtes Geschopf. Gehen Sie zuruck zu Ihrem Grab, in dem Sie gehoren."
"Johann! Johann! Johann! Lessen sie mich innen. Lessen sie mich innen!"
The creature screamed, "Lessen sie mich innen. Lessen sie mich innen. Lessen sie mich innen. Lessen sie mich innen. Lessen sie mich innen. Lessen sie mich innen. Lessen sie mich innen. Lessen sie mich innen. Lessen sie mich innen. Lessen sie mich innen." Pound! Pound! Pound! Pound! Pound!
"Gehen sie weg!" Johann sobbed. He buried his face in his hands as he crawled back to the fire.
"Bitte Gott, holen die Dammerung." The man beside me whispered.
Pound! Pound! Pound! Pound! The pounding kept on for over ten minutes. However, it was getting weaker——less urgent. Finally, it stopped altogether.
Another ten minutes passed. Nothing. Then another. Then another. I started to feel the effects from the little sleep I had. My eyes grew heavy again with the quiet. Until someone spoke, "Dammerung."
A shaft of light from above the door penetrated the tavern. The sun had risen. We survived the night. The group started to stretch and mutter amongst themselves. Many patted Johann on the back, speaking comfortingly to him in low, gentle voices.
The bartender and some of the men started to move the furniture away from the door. When the door finally swung open to meet the new day, I couldn't believe how glad I was to see the bright light illuminating the bar.
"Thank God for the sun." the man sitting next to me said. "Evil cannot live where there is light."
I smiled and nodded. I was about to get up when one of the men asked me, "Did you see her?"
I shook my head, not understanding the question at first, then, realizing that I might have seen her——peeking through the restroom window, I nodded.
The man gave me a look of concern. Then the man next to me asked, "Did she see you?"
I wasn't sure how to answer that. Did she see me? I could swear she was looking right at me.
"I think so." I said. "Does it matter?"
"We will hunt today. By tonight, be very far away."
"Who was she?"
"Johann's wife. She was buried a week ago yesterday."
He didn't have to tell me twice. By four p.m. that very afternoon, I was on a plane back to the States.
Ghost Lights
They've been around for a long time. I first heard about them from someone else who saw them once after they were told about them. You know how rumors spread.
It's strange how they always appear in the same place every night. It's always after sunset. Usually, around nine o'clock but some of them start showing up before. Then one by one they slowly gather.
The number is always different. Sometimes there is less, sometimes more. But they come every night——like clockwork.
It's strange how they come here every night over and over again. Though it's not always the same ones. They've done it for over one hundred years. That's a long time. You wonder what attracts them here, but it's why we come out——to see them. To hear their “oohs” and “aahs”. Though they call us strange and beautiful phenomenon, we find them more interesting.
We can always see them, but they cannot always see us. And though they remain individual in number, we can join together to become one or disappear altogether.
Though they say they come here to see us, we come here to see them.
We watch them as they drive in their shiny cars along the road. Sometimes we float alongside. Sometimes we dance on their car tops, or dance around them. Sometimes we line up and follow each other like a string of lights, just to hear their exclamations of excitement.
And every night, they come and watch us——watch the ghost lights. And every night we come out and watch them.
Sheriff's Got a Way About Her
He was a big man. He never liked compact cars and thought they should be outlawed.
But his own car was 2,000 miles away or at least it seemed like it, so he had to make due.
Four hours on the airplane and an hours drive to the station.
Fortunately, it was fall and the southern states just finished their usual heat waves.
It had been about a half-hour of sleepy fields before he spotted him alongside the road. At first, Office James from Police Internal Affairs thought he was a hurt animal. As his car neared him, the man stood up and started to dance around in a fidgety manner.
Officer James stopped the car and got out. "Are you all right, son?"
The man didn't look at him but continued to step side-to-side and shake his hands as if he was trying to remove them from his arms.
Officer James took a good look at the young man who couldn't have been older than twenty-five. His clothes were rumpled and soiled and his hair had twigs and weeds in it. Officer James assumed that he had been living outside for a while.
Officer James walked over to the young man, but made sure he kept enough distance between them.
The young man started to laugh.
"Son?" James cautiously moved his fingers to where his gun usually was on his belt. He had left it in the car.
"If I stay out here by the road, she won't come after me."
"Who's that, son?"
"Sh-Shelly."
"Who's Shelly?"
"Shelly's my girlfriend." The young man avoided looking at James in the face.
"Having a lover's quarrel? Looks like you been sleeping in the doghouse for more than one night."
The man smiled a bit then let out a laugh, but only briefly——as if he didn't want someone else to hear him laugh.
"Look, I'm heading into town——" James hesitated, as he spoke the young man turned pale and started shaking. His eyes widened. "——are you okay?"
"She f-found me." The young man ran out into the field and, finding some trees ran to them.
James looked around and shook his head. Obviously, the young man was on drugs. James thought that it was too bad that that poison got out this far into the heartland.
Another half hour and Officer James was in Pomona. It was a typical-looking town with typical-looking people. One of the lowest crime areas in the country. One of the few places that had no record of jailing criminals——they simply disappeared. Rehabilitated overnight was the rumor.
Officer James found the police station. If he was afraid of it being too hot there, he shouldn't have worried——the station was freezing.
An officer sitting at a desk got up, "Can I help you?"
"I'm Officer James from Seattle." James showed the officer his badge. "I'm here to see Sherriff McMurry."
"She's in the back." the officer motioned James to follow him.
"Thank you."
"One question." The officer stopped.
"What's that?"
"You don't have any skeletons in your closet, do you?"
"What do you mean?"
"Never mind." the officer stood in the doorway to a back room. "Hey, Sherriff. That guy from Seattle is here."
A woman came out. She was younger than James but older than the officer in the front room.
"I'm Sherriff McMurry. What exactly was it that brought you down here, Officer James?"
"You know who I am?"
"It's not every day we get visitors——especially from the west coast."
"I'm just doing a standard review——no need to worry."
"Why don't I believe you?"
"I don't know. Why don't you?"
"Because I contacted headquarters and they didn't know of any reviews being done in neighboring counties. You want to tell me what's up, or am I going to have to keep guessing?"
"All right. I'm here to check out how things get done around here."
"What things?"
"How you process papers, arrests, criminals."
McMurry smiled. It would have been charming if it wasn't so knowing, "Criminals? What kind of criminals?"
"Look, I've reviewed some of the reports that were filed with this office and I found a number of discrepancies."
"For instance?"
"A family was being terrorized by some hoodlums. Arrests were made, but..."
"Yes, I think I remember that. Those men spent a night in jail and haven't caused any problem since."
"That's unusual, isn't it?"
"It's a small town, people need to learn to get along."
"You're telling me one night in jail straightened them up?"
"Yep."
"I would like to speak with them if you don't mind."
"Suit yourself."
Officer James arrived at a small farmstead not too far from the main town.
He knocked on the door, only to find no one home. He looked in through the windows. All was still. James walked around the farm a bit. He found the barn, but no livestock. He also found various farming machines which hadn't been used in ages.
As he was about ready to get back into his car, a truck drove up next to him.
"You looking for Remy Lawson?"
"Does he live here?"
"Used to. Packed up and moved away about three months ago. He was living here with some friends. They each moved away one-by-one until he was the only one left. Finally, he moved out. Said he couldn't take the quiet no more."
"The Sheriff told me that he was here."
"I don't think there was any love lost between those two. He probably didn't want her to know he left. But I gotta tell you, once she got through with them, they were a lot less rowdy."
"How's that?"
"They weren't so bad at first——I mean barroom fights do happen occasionally, then they started to take to bothering folks outside the bar. They had a family pretty scared. Sherriff caught them setting fire to a tree in the family's front yard. She arrested them, and had them promise not to do it again or she would have them for lunch."
"And did she?"
"They didn't listen. Of course, that kind seldom do. Anyway, she took care of them."
"How?"
"You haven't heard about our lady sheriff?"
"No."
"She has a way about her. Some say she's a witch. Others say she just ran the boys out of town. But I know for a fact she didn't do that."
"Then what do you think happened?"
"All I know is those boys kept to themselves since then. Occasionally, I'd see one or two in town——grocery shopping or such. They always looked tired and if you looked at their hands or faces, they would have scratches and bruises——not always, just sometimes."
"You think the sheriff had something to do with their appearance?"
"As far as I could figure, she never stepped closer than fifty yards near to any of 'em. I don't know what happened to them."
"Well, thank you, er——"
"Hank. Hank Clemmons." He shook James' hand. "What are you doing here anyway, if I might ask?"
"Investigating. Well, it's more like a study of the lack of crime in your town here."
"Yeah. Things have been pretty nice here for a while, but then, no one wants to get on the sheriff's bad side."
James nodded, "Well, thanks again."
As James drove back to town, he found the young man by the side of the road again.
James slowed down. "How are you son?"
The young man was hugging himself.
"Hello again." James said as he removed himself from his car.
The young man nodded then looked off into the distance.
"Still hiding from Shelly?"
The young man started stepping side-to-side again as he did the first time James met him.
"Sh-Shelly is angry."
"Is she? Why's that?" James figured this young man probably promised his girlfriend he would stop using drugs but did it anyway. That's what usually happened.
"'Cause I killed her." The young man looked directly at James. For just that moment, the young man seemed very sober and clear-headed.
"You killed her?"
The young man looked down, then nodded.
"Where is she, son?"
He shook his head.
"You don't know or you won't say?"
"She's watching me."
"You just told me she was dead."
"Well,.." the young man shook his head, "..I did kill her."
James cuffed the young man and put him in the back seat of his car. The young man didn't resist.
It was only when they started getting into town did the young man protest.
"Are you taking me to jail? Sheriff said I wouldn't have to go to jail. You can't take me to jail." The young man started kicking the front seat and doors as well as pushing his shoulder against them.
"Son, you just told me you killed someone."
"The sheriff knows."
"And she told you you wouldn't have to go to jail?"
"That's what she said."
"We'll see about that."
James barreled through the front door of the police station. "I need to talk to the sheriff, now!"
James didn't have to look far since Sheriff McMurry was sitting in the front office. She looked out the window at James' rented car.
"You got Sammy Stephens, I see." She said calmly.
"You know he killed his girlfriend?"
"Yes."
"You told him he wouldn't have to go to jail?"
"That's correct."
"And why's that?"
"I don't think jails really rehabilitate people the way they should."
The other officer came into the front room.
"Why don't you go to lunch, Bill?" McMurry said. "I'll keep watch."
The officer quickly left James and McMurry alone.
"You don't think they rehabilitate people? Who the hell are you to decide? That boy murdered his girlfriend and you're letting him roam all over the county. What makes you think he won't kill again?"
"He won't."
"How do you know?"
"He just won't."
"That's it. I'm having your badge."
"I wouldn't do that, officer."
"Or what?"
James picked up the phone on the desk in front of McMurry only to find the line dead.
"All right. I'll tell you, or rather, I'll show you. But only if you're really sure."
"You'll show me what?"
"How I know Sammy won't hurt anyone ever again."
James wasn't too sure about being alone with Sheriff McMurry. He made sure that his gun was in a position he could easily get at. McMurry was going to take him somewhere in her pickup truck.
McMurry stopped at the foot of a hill. James turned around and saw the local cemetery stretch out before him.
"They used to hang criminals on that hill." McMurry pointed to the hill, "and this is where they buried them. Now, they bury everybody here."
"Very interesting." James said, "Now what? Are we going to dig up some dead people?"
McMurry laughed, "not quite." She leaned against her pick-up truck and folded her arms. "We have to wait a little bit."
"How long?"
"'Til it gets dark."
"Oh, I see. Then all sorts of ghouls and goblins are going to come out and frighten me?" James leaned against the truck too. "I'm not buying it."
"What if we don't wait 'til dark?" McMurry asked.
James raised an eyebrow in interest.
McMurry walked over to one of the graves and leaned over it while whispering some "incantation."
James felt like a complete fool. Surely, the sheriff was putting him on. He looked around to see if anyone was watching.
McMurry continued to lean over the grave, whispering.
James thought he saw movement. Was the grave moving? No, it was just the wind blowing the weed on the grave, that's all. Just the wind.
A big pile of earth moved upward on the grave, like someone or something was pushing on it. The wind wouldn't do that. James blinked several times.
A hand broke free of the earth. McMurry jumped, but continued her spell casting.
James slowly walked over to the opening grave. This was a rather elaborate joke if that's what it was.
"All right." James said to McMurry. "That's enough."
McMurry looked up at him, "But we're not done yet."
"I am." James said.
"But you came here for answers." McMurry turned her attention back to the grave site.
"No. I don't want to hear about these answers." James said as he got back in the truck.
Anyone who goes to these lengths to convince me they're on the up and up has got to have a few screws loose, James thought.
McMurry knew she lost this battle so she got back in the truck and silently drove James to his hotel.
James got out of the truck and said, "I don't know what you think you're pulling Sheriff, but it isn't going to work on me." James slammed the door behind him.
It wasn't until later that night that James dreamt that he was back at the cemetery, watching McMurry lean over a grave and whisper to it. And just as it happened that afternoon, James watched the earth above the grave site move and the hand pop out of the earth. McMurry turned to smile at James, then continued to whisper to the grave site.
James watched as the half-skeleton, half-human creature pull itself out of the ground——bony toes, half covered with skin, half not. The feet the same way. The ankles were somewhat covered with mold–some mold disintegrating to dust and McMurry standing there watching this abject creature with a smile on her face.
"It should be in the ground." James said to her. "Keep it in the ground."
The creature got up and approached James. "Keep it in the ground." He repeated until he woke up with his heart racing as his limbs twisted in his blankets.
James opened his eyes to the quiet darkness that surrounded him. He lay on his bed and let the quietness quiet his mind.
As he lay there, he could hear a soft rustling sound by his door. James looked over at the door. He could just make out an outline of a person standing there.
James carefully reached over to the light and turned it on. There was nothing there. James got up and looked in the bathroom. He splashed cool water on his face. He looked under the bed just for good measure——nothing. He was still dreaming, he thought.
James climbed back in bed and turned off the light. More shuffling by the door. James turned to look at the door. There was definitely someone there. He could smell the stink of dirt and mold, and some other ungodly smell he couldn't identify——perhaps rotten meat. James turned on the light. There was nothing, but he could still smell something.
He checked the bathroom to see if the toilet hadn't run over. It looked fine.
The smell was very strong in the room, so James opened the door to let the cool, outside air in. Maybe McMurry was up to something. Yeah, that was it.
Just then, out of nowhere, Sammy appeared.
"Jesus, son. You gave me a fright." James said.
"Sorry, but Shelly...."
"What about Shelly? You want to come in from the cold?"
The young man stepped in. He was shivering.
"Have you seen, Shelly?" he asked.
"No," James had the man sit down.
James turned to shut the door. Standing in front of him was a young woman. She was very pale, with almost a blue tinge to her skin. Her hair was stringy as if it hadn't been washed. She had bruises up and down her arms, and massive bruises around her neck. She wore a short-sleeved floral dress. Her legs were bare and she had one left shoe on. Her clothes were soiled.
"Sh-Shelly." Sammy spoke up behind James.
James blinked. This was the notorious Shelly.
"I thought you left." Sammy ran his fingers through his hair several times.
James looked at Sammy, "You told me she was dead."
"She is." Sammy said as he started to sob.
James looked at the young woman. She looked real enough. James looked at her eyes. She looked at Sammy. She didn't seem to see James at all.
"Oh, God." Sammy said, "Shelly, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Sammy rocked back and forth.
James looked at Sammy then at Shelly.
Shelly stepped toward Sammy. Sammy moved away from Shelly to the far side of the room.
"I'm sorry, Shelly."
Shelly continued to walk toward Sammy.
Sammy pressed himself against the wall. "I'm so sorry."
Shelly approached Sammy. She was only inches away from him.
Sammy turned his face away from her. Shelly placed her hand on Sammy's neck.
Sammy started choking. Once James realized what was happening he lunged at Shelly only to be knocked down by a single blow from her free hand.
Sammy continued to choke, trying to push Shelly away.
James watched as Sammy fell to the floor. Once he stopped breathing, Shelly disappeared before James eyes.
James rushed over to Sammy and put his hands on his neck, feeling for a pulse. James saw the bruising on Sammy's throat. Sammy's head limply fell to the side. His neck was broken.
James shakily picked up the phone and called 911.
Sammy's body had been taken away. James was half-dressed sitting on the edge of the bed. Sheriff McMurry stood against the wall, arms folded.
After two hours of questioning she and James were the only ones left in the room.
"Do you think I did it?"
"No."
"Aren't you going to arrest me?"
"You know I won't do that."
"Was that justice?"
"You didn't do it."
"I'm not talking about me. I'm talking about him. Did he deserve it? To die like that?"
"Let me tell you something about Samuel Stephens, Officer. The night Shelly was murdered, he showed no remorse. In fact, when I told him I had to tell her grandmother what had happened to her only granddaughter, he laughed. He said, 'Shelly was a slut and worthless and the old bag never liked him anyway.' It was the laugh of apathy. Of someone who didn't care if the world ended tomorrow. Tell me Officer James, did he care tonight? I'm not going to shed any tears for that boy. I don't think you should either."
"This is your justice, sheriff?" James said angrily.
"You believe in capital punishment, don't you officer?"
"That's beside the point. That boy was a mess..."
"...a mess that was dealt with. Anything suffered, he deserved." McMurry hissed. "The punishment always fits the crime. If he really had any remorse, he would've lived."
"You're telling me you killed him because he wasn't sorry."
"I didn't kill him, officer." McMurry shook her head.
"But you sent her."
"Sent who?" McMurry asked, "You don't believe in witchcraft, do you? Necromancy? Transmutation of the soul? Ghosts?"
James looked down at his feet. How would he explain the night's events to anyone? If he said anything, everyone would think he was making up a story to cover his own guilt. After all, it was only him and Sammy in the room——and Shelly.
"You have this all figured out, don't you sheriff?"
"You shouldn't see it like that. We're on the same side, just different methods. And all criminals in my jurisdiction get punished."
The next morning, James left the southern town. Turned in the keys for the compact car, and got back on the plane to Seattle knowing neither what he was going to say to his superiors or if he could forget what he knew. Death was not an end and despite the possibilities, that scared him most of all.
Devil's in the Details
"I'm in need of your help."
Micky looked up from junk mail and bills sitting on the desk in front of her.
The man was middle-aged and somewhat ruffled, but his gold watch and Armani suit told Micky he was far from poor.
"You in some sort of marital trouble?" Micky assumed. The man could probably afford a mistress or two.
"Much bigger trouble. I only wish it were marital trouble."
He didn't seem to know what he wanted to do with his hands. First, he laid them flat on the desk, then he sat on them, then put them in his pockets, all in a matter of a few seconds.
"Shady business deal? Mafia?"
"No, even the mafia would be a break."
"So..." Micky sat back in her chair. She wished she had a nice leather desk chair like the lawyers in the office she was supposed to work at. Instead, she was sitting in a rented office behind a rented desk on a rented chair. At least, she owned the pencil.
"He's trying to kill me so he can claim the payment." The man said.
"I'm not the police."
"You've got to get me out of the contract."
"So it's a business deal?"
"He tricked me. He said my soul for riches and success, but now he wants me to pay. It's too soon."
"So, you need an extension?"
The man pulled a piece of parchment out of his coat pocket.
"I can't stay. He's following me everywhere, but here's the contract. See if you can do something." He got up to leave, "I'll be back."
Micky stared at the piece of parchment the man had placed on top her junk mail.
Whacks and weirdos. The only thing that seemed to constitute her clientele. Had she taken that job with the fancy law firm, she would be dealing with corporations——people with money. Of course, that seemed to be the only thing that mattered to them. She felt that if she had taken that job she would be selling her soul——her soul for fame and fortune.
Micky reached over and touched the parchment. An electrical current seemed to connect between her fingers and the parchment and rushed up her arm into her brain. For a second, an excited spark gave birth to intrigue. She opened the parchment and immediately groaned. The contract was all in Latin.
She hated Latin. The one subject always made her question if she should go into law or not. So many of the legal terms were in Latin.
Micky put down the contract and searched through the papers on her desk. She had a Latin cheat sheet somewhere. Maybe she could figure it out. Unfortunately, she couldn't find the sheet.
She looked at the contract again and shook her head. The guy was probably delusional. She looked at the bottom of the document. Brian Johnson. That name sounded familiar. He was one of those self-made millionaires that got rich overnight. No one knew how he did it. Micky suddenly became very uneasy about the contract in front of her.
There was something very shady about this business. What did the man mean when he said, "He follows me everywhere."?
It suddenly dawned on Micky what the man was trying to do. "This is some sort of joke." She said out loud to herself.
"No joke, counselor." A tall, dark man, almost handsome stood in front of her. She hadn't seen or heard him come in.
"You know Mr. Johnson?" Micky asked, trying not to look startled.
"Yes, but that is beside the point. His contract is up."
"I take it his contract involves you?"
"Yes, but then again that is beside the point. I want to see if you and I can do any business, counselor."
"What sort of business would you and I do?" Micky asked intrigued.
"It must be hard making ends meet——working in a rented office with rented furniture——at least you own your own pencil."
Micky's jaw dropped. He knew her thoughts.
"Let's just say I can make good things happen."
Micky eyed the man for a moment, "It sounds to me like you can also make bad things happen, Mr...?"
"Frucile. Stan Frucile, at your service." He gave a slight bow.
"Actually, it sounds to me that you are giving Mr. Johnson a raw deal."
"He has gained from the contract. Now, it is time for him to pay up."
"What sort of contract would allow you to kill him, Mr. Frucile?"
"Kill him?!" Mr. Frucile sat down in the chair that Mr. Johnson had occupied a few minutes earlier. "Why, I have no intention of killing anyone, counselor."
"Then why does he think you want to, Mr. Frucile?"
"Perhaps he misunderstood the agreement we made."
"And what agreement was that, actually?"
"For services rendered, Mr. Johnson was to give me his soul."
Micky sat silent for a moment, then folded her hands on her desk. "Mr. Frucile, are you trying to tell me that Mr. Johnson sold his soul to the devil?"
"Why, yes. That is exactly what I'm telling you."
"Are you the devil?" Micky asked quietly, trying not to laugh.
"Yes. Yes, I am."
"How exactly is it that you get Mr. Johnson's soul?"
"Well, I take him to Hell or Hades, if you like."
"And how exactly is that done, Mr. Frucile?"
"Well, er..."
"Yes?"
"I just take him."
"What do you mean by that? Do you mean that he is walking down the street, minding his own business, you come up alongside him, throw him in your car and drive him there?"
"No, there is a spiritual transfer. I can't take his physical body there."
"So technically, you're saying that you have to kill him to take his soul?"
"Well, in a way...I mean he may come by an accident... or ..."
"An accident you cause?"
"Well, that's usually the way it works."
"So is that in the contract?" Micky loosely picked up the rolled parchment and moves it closer to Mr. Frucile.
"It is understood. I explained the terms of the contract with Mr. Johnson. He agreed to it and signed it." Mr. Frucile angrily pointed to the signature at the bottom.
"Yes, once his life expired——naturally——I am under the impression that he had every intention of honoring his part of the contract. But you see, your insistence that he honor it now, is that even in the contract? Did you set a time limit Mr. Frucile?"
Mr. Frucile stirred in his seat.
"I didn't think so. You see with contracts, you really have to watch out for loopholes Mr. Frucile. If you tried to take Mr. Johnson before his time, it would make the contract null and void. Therefore, you wouldn't get his soul after all."
"You think I don't know that." Mr. Frucile said angrily.
Micky continued, "Furthermore, I believe my client is interested in filing a restraining order against you. I suggest you rethink your whole strategy, Mr. Frucile."
With a puff of smoke and sulfur, Mr. Frucile disappeared.
Micky stood up from her chair. It had been a long day and it was only ten thirty in the morning. Mr. Frucile was the devil? Micky shook her head. If he really was the devil, he surely would've made sure the contract was iron-clad——not with such an obvious flaw. Weirdos and Whackos, that's all she ever got. She was thinking of charging Mr. Johnson enough to buy herself a nice leather chair——or maybe, she could just rent one.
Mirror Image
Every once in a while, I allow myself a vacation away from vacations and stay at some quiet spot and soak up atmosphere and get some ideas for short stories.
I had found such a spot in the North West during October, just after the tourist season.
On arriving at Hillcrest Inn, a secluded sort of place, I met Mrs. Winfred, the hostess. She seemed friendly enough but looked at me peculiarly.
She lead me to a second floor room at the top of an old wooden stairs. The room was spacious and nicely furnished with a country-look.
"Dinner will be served at 5:00. Would you like it up here or in the dining room?" she asked.
"Wherever it would be most convenient for you." I said this because I was the only guest staying at the inn that night.
"We prefer that our guests eat in the dining room. This way we don't have to worry about rats in the bedroom."
"Do you have rats?" I asked curiously. It didn't say anything about rats in the Inn brochure.
"No. Not for a while. We would like to keep it that way, you see."
"Okay." I said, "I'll eat in the dining room then."
"Fine."
It may have been my imagination, but I thought that her manner was rather cool towards me. Very different from when I spoke to her on the phone and made reservations.
Because I had arrived at the inn in the afternoon, I found myself longing for something to do. I went back downstairs and found Mrs. Winfred talking to one of the employees. When I asked her about any of the sights in the area, she answered me without looking me in the face. It seemed very peculiar. But what was even more peculiar was the employee who she had been talking to. He was staring at me with a look of horror on his face.
"There is an old ghost town about a mile down the road, and some old church just beyond that."
"Sounds great. I'll just go for a walk then." I said this while catching the employee's eye. He turned his gaze down to the floor.
The ghost town was eerily picturesque, as was the church. If you could ever imagine an old mining town church, it would probably look like the one there.
What struck me about the church was the graveyard. Some of the gravestones were so old, the writing on them had been worn away by weather. Some of the graves were surrounded by a fence, which I took to be the main cemetery area, however, some graves were just outside the fence, apparently the cemetery had run out of room. Just beyond the group of graves outside the fence, I thought I saw another gravestone, just under a tree. It was odd that it should've been separate from the rest, but I didn't have time to think anymore about it because I was suddenly getting poured on by a cloudburst.
I ran back to the inn as best as I could, but keep in mind, I was a mile away and by the time I arrived I was completely soaked——and cold.
When Mrs. Winfred saw me her manner changed. She turned into a caring mother-type.
"Oh, dear. Look at you. You are soaked. Are you going to be all right?"
"I think so, I should change, though."
"Yes, change out of those wet things, take a hot shower, and come back down for dinner."
"Thank you." I said as I walked up the steps. I wasn't sure what changed her manner, but I noticed that a man I had not seen earlier was waiting in the lobby.
"Good Lord." I heard him whisper to Mrs. Winfred.
I turned to look at them and then continued back up the stairs.
After my shower, I went down to the dining room for dinner.
I was shown to a small circular table, as there were many, and looked over the menu.
The employee that was talking to Mrs. Winfred when I first arrived waited on me, "Can I get the grilled chicken sandwich with fries?"