The After Hours - Short Story Vignettes

[phil]

Ghost[/b] (Part 2)

The eminent man went to the couch and sat down next to the recovered patient.
“Feeling better?”
“Yes, Godfather.”
He smiled. “Let me ask you..”
“Yes?”
“When did your visitor first appear?”
“Shortly…the day after…my Grandmother died.”
“Ah..that’s important. You’re in her old bedroom. And you don’t recognize him?”
“No, Godfather.”
“Is he threatening or violent towards you?”
Winona thought of the lamp she threw. She frowned.
“No, not really” Peggy replied, fumbling with the silver chain around her neck.
“May I see that?” He was gazing at the lump under Peggy’s sweater.
She pulled out the locket. He handled it gingerly and inspected it closely.
“Little doe..top drawer..on the left…bring me the glass,” he motioned looking over his shoulder.
He scanned across the locket with the magnifying glass, then Peggy reached over and pressed the top and it opened. He inspected the two old miniature portraits of her Grandparents inside.
“Your Grandmother’s locket?”
“Yes. She gave it to me. I always wear it. But, strange..,” she thought for a moment, “now I remember how on her death bed, when I visited, she seemed to be reaching for it.”
“These initials engraved..A.C?”
“I’ve never seen those, Godfather.”
He handed her the glass and she looked closely and shook her head.
“Who is A.C?” she wondered aloud. She saw the answer in Godfather’s expression towards his wife standing behind the couch.
He rose and slowly waved his finger back and forth.
“There is no compromise…for the darkness in men’s souls. You must offer him this keepsake.”
The veil of darkness was lifting. She didn’t know whether to weep or to laugh. She bloomed like crocuses bursting through the snow.
“How can I repay you, Godfather?”
He started with his usual response as to any favor, then recanted. He walked slowly over to Winona and kissed her gently on the lips. She kissed both his cheeks and hugged him.
“Arrivederci, Godfather.”

“You will let me stay with you tonight?,” Winona asked, as they got out of the taxi in front of Peggy’s house.
“No. I’ve put you through enough,” she said, as she looked up at the second floor window.
“I don’t mind. Really,” she insisted.
“Ok,” she said, welcoming the camaraderie.

Peggy unpacked and was admiring the new frost-shaded glass lamp that Winona bought at The Antique Shoppe as the two were preparing for their sojourner. Winona had the precious locket and bit her lip as she determined the best place to leave it.
“In the cabinet, Peggy?”
“Yes, darling…he always goes there first…we don’t want him suffering any more than we have to.”

Sleet pelted the window as they sat up under the covers in the dark. Candles were burning throughout the room and around two o’clock a chill swept through blowing a few of them out. Peggy reached over and turned the lamp on. A shadowed outline of a man appeared at the window, and within a few moments formed into as solid a figure as a living being. The girls drew the quilt up under their chins and moved closer to each other. He stopped at the curio cabinet and began inspecting its contents as before. Taking out the silver locket he examined it eagerly, then turned and smiled at Peggy. Opening the locket he took out one portrait and threw it to the ground and replaced it carefully with another. He closed the locket, kissed it and replaced it in the cabinet.
Turning once more he clasped his hands together, tilted his head and smiled, and bowed slowly and deeply at the girls and then vanished.

They both rushed over and took out the locket and looked inside. The new portrait was a younger version of the nighttime visitor.
“He’s just a boy!”, Winona exclaimed.
“He was awfully handsome,” Peggy replied, and she closed the locket and held it to close to her chest like a gift she never expected.
“Now the lovers are together again,” Winona said softly.

The morning was bright and so again were Peggy’s eyes. The two exchanged kisses and parted. Winona pulled her hat down on her head and walked down the red brick sidewalk. She turned the corner and it began to snow. She smiled and held out her right hand to let a silver dollar size snowflake land in her palm. She watched it melt and disappear like her visitor in the night.

[Charles]

Yooo Phil,

Wonderful story . . . on January 1 . . . how appropriate . . .

Cheers,
Charles

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[phil]

Thanks, Charles
I changed it a bit. I like it better now.

[Noni is Awesome]

Phil, Incredible ghost story and I love how Noni is the heroine

NiA

[Jen]

awesome, phil!!!
:-*smooches;
~Jen~

[phil]

Thanks, NIA and Jen. Glad you liked it!

[phil]

Famous Last Words

It’s late at night as I write this. Everyone is catching a few hours of precious sleep. Major revisions are needed, so I’m up late working on those. Plus, we’ve had a tragedy played out off stage. I’ll tell you about that later. Our train trip across country has gone well. We’ve encountered friendly townsfolk and responsive audiences in the three weeks since heading out from New York. I will not tell you about the nasty tomato-throwing incident in the unnamed town again. I guess you just can’t please some people. Our date at The Civic Theatre in Bellfontaine, Ohio went splendidly last night. There was one moment though, when a dude’s annoying cell phone kept ringing, and Pacino, yes, Mr. Intensity, calmly turned and said ‘You wanna get that. I can wait.’ It was funny as hell and the audience loved it. Then, at curtain call, flowers were thrown onstage at the girls. I love seeing that. Mostly because they don’t splatter as much.

During rehearsal yesterday morning I was backstage at The Civic and noticed some steps winding up and above. I was curious so I climbed them. Half way up there was a door to the left that opened to a straight plunge to the street below. The architect really botched that bad boy. Imagine a fire escape at the edge of a cliff. Right out of a Roadrunner cartoon. At the top of the stairs was another doorway leading to the catwalk with a great view not only of the stage below but the seats out front. I thought of the scene in Little Women where Winona turns and smiles at Gabriel Byrne. I decided that’s where I was going to be that evening to smile down on her.

It was an extraordinary night. When I got up in the loft there was an old guy also up there with gray colored skin smoking a pipe that reeked of burnt chicken feathers or some other horrible herb. I took him to be in charge of lighting but he leaned on the bannister and didn’t move a muscle the whole evening. Yep, a Teamster.

Anyway, the view was tremendous. I saw impatient children sliding down their mother’s laps, a couple necking(Ninth row, fourth from the left. Amazing), and I discovered something that I’d only until then had a notion of: Despite names like Pacino, Hopkins, Robbins, Sarandon, and Winslet, it was, you guessed it, Winona that people came out to really watch. How could I tell you ask? I was watching the audience. When Winona spoke they leaned forward, in unison, seemingly grasping every word. When she glided back and forth across stage it was like at a tennis match. Two fat ladies in print dresses planted in the front row clutched their programs tighter when she spoke. Especially during the death scene.

Winona was sitting on the couch, cradling Kate’s head in her arms, and looking down I could see right down Kate’s dress as she passed away. What a sight! I knew I had her in that costume for a reason. What magnificent orbs. She’s no fool though. After she was stone dead and Winona lowered her head softly to the pillow, she winked at me and smiled as I peered down.

Actors and death scenes. What is it about death scenes? That was the only way I could convince Winslet to join our troupe was to promise one. During our trip each of them has approached me to write one. What am I supposed to do? Kill them all off and then come out on stage at the end and say ‘Ok, folks, show’s over. Go home’? Well, there’s two less to worry about now. Robbins and Sarandon have left because of a family crisis, so that’s why I’m up late revising like mad. There’s consensus among The Company that I should try to contact and convince Cate Blanchett to join us. Well, I tried, but there wasn’t any interest. Should I call her back and promise her a Death Scene?

Maybe we long to hear the most eloquent and beautiful words from those who are at death’s door. It is said that Confederate General Stonewall Jackson’s last words were ‘Let us cross over the river and sit under the shade of the trees.’ Or maybe something defiant like American Revolution leader Ethan Allen’s response to waiting angels: ‘Waiting are they? Waiting are they? Well--let 'em wait.’
Actors. I love these people to death, truly, but I’d wish their egos would get all dressed early one morning and jump in front of this train like Garbo in Camille. Splatsville.

Dear Reader, the final act ended horribly tonight. We were standing on the platform at sunset shaking hands and bidding our last adieus to Mayor Soderland and assorted dignitaries, when I felt a nudge on my left arm. I turned and it was Winona pointing away from the station, out to the country beyond and she cried, ‘Look!’

Before I could focus on it she was on her way running across the snow covered field. I dashed out after her, easily catching up, my feet crunching through the thin layer of ice blanketing the snow. Through the trees up a snowy climb I saw a deer was caught in the barbed-wire fence. How Winona ever saw this from the train platform I’ll never know. She must've still had Dinky Bossetti in her veins.

The sky was changing to black and blue and two stars were shining in the East. There was no wind, yet it seemed the trees were shivering. The air was clean out there. I could see the flickering lights of the city, and hear the wheels of giants whining on the concrete highways off in the distance. I could see the crimson pool in the moonlit snow.
“Is it dead?” she asked, out of breath.
“Not yet,” I answered, choosing the wrong words.

Winona stood about five feet behind me, bent down, and spoke softly to it like it was a little kitten in her arms. I anchored myself by stomping both feet into the snow, reaching down not really knowing where to start. It watched me the entire time. I remember now a flurry of thoughts. How the closest I’d been to any deer was a cast iron deer grazing on a lawn I worked on during a summer job in college; seeing three breaths in the frosty night and then the stillness and then only two breaths; seeing that angry ‘No Trespass’ sign on the thorny fence of death; how Winona just turned and walked away when it was over; me walking back slowly, guided by stepping into the small delicate footprints of the woman I was in love with.

After washing the blood off my hands and changing into jeans and a heavy sweater I walked into the dining car. Everyone turned and looked at me. It was silent and awkward until someone said to someone else ‘It sure is cold tonight.’ Winona was sitting by herself at a window seat smoking. She was still in her heavy black wool coat, her hair combed back into a ponytail, her skin pale but lovely. She’d been crying. I went over to her, knelt down, and looked into her big brown unblinking eyes. I didn’t know what to say. She flicked her cigarette butt against the window. It bounced back and I stood and twisted it under my shoe into tiny bits.
“I hate fences,” she said at last, under her breath.
I nodded and looked away. That must’ve been the sweet creatures’ last thought too.
She took my hand in hers and caressed it gently.

[Charles]

So very sad . . . and vivid. Thanks for yet another beautiful vignette . . .

Chas

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[phil]

Midnight Blue[/u]

She sat alone on the bed in the darkened Blue Hotel room just before midnight. Dark, except for the flickering light from the television. Her legs were drawn up and she rested her chin on her knees as she fingered a tear in the knee of her bluejeans. The last of the ceremonies were playing out. She thought of the costumed Nicole, Renee, and Charlize as her older sisters lucky to go to the ball whereas she was poor Cinderella left behind. She’d been there, done that and missed it – but tried not to dwell on the past. The train trip was a resounding success. She mostly enjoyed the part where she got to be the villian, the murderous, stalking and grimacing and breathing fire. On stage she enjoyed going ‘over the top,’ but now it was time to tone it down for the screen. There was also some talk of a train trip next year, but through Europe. France, Germany, Switzerland….racing by out her window. Her suitcases were packed and sitting by the dresser as she was ready to head out of America in the morning. This time tomorrow she would be in Sweden, at Vaestervik on the coast opposite the island Öland, letting a lonely camera soak up the light from her illuminative face. She would once again return to her garden and the perennials would flourish – Winona And The Secret Planting. She glanced over at the suitcases, packed with everything but her troubles, and tried to remember if everything was there she would need.
‘Ah, cigarettes,’ she remembered.

She stepped out into the cold night in a light misty rain to get some cigarettes and to take one last look at the city. At the corner she turned back and looked at the lighted silhouette of the hotel. It looked romantic with glistening lights in the windows and reflected streaks shining on the wet brick half-circle path in front.
Passing buy a fruit and vegetable market locked snuggly behind a padlocked black cross-ironed gate on wheels, and a small below-the-street pub called The 39 Steps, with a neon target in the window that got bigger then disappeared, she turned one more corner. Light flooded out of The Spitfire Grill, a twenty four-hour breakfast house. Stopping at the window she waved to Maggie behind the counter. Maggie lifted her hairnet-stapled head, smiled, and waved back. From the outside she could smell the bacon sizzling and see the scrambled eggs steaming. In back of the counter she could see the huge stainless-steel coffee container and a tray of clean white heavy porcelain cups. She was already looking forward to the new day.

Past a large alleyway that had a confusing old rotted sign that read Enter The Chiropractic Offices Of blended into another that read, Bob’s Power Tools, she stepped inside a 24 hour grocery. She noticed two little girls, probably four and five years old, holding hands as they helped their mother shopping. The littlest one was carrying a red basket.
“Where’s your basket?” the little sleepy one asked.
“I’m not old enough to carry one by myself, love,” Winona replied stooping down to eye level.
The little one giggled as her sister tugged her along. She looked over her shoulder and waved to the dark-eyed Angel that was so kind to her. Winona, still kneeling down, closed her eyes and imagined coming home and being greeted by two little ones shrieking with delight and jumping on her falling to the ground.

Heading outside the mist turned into a sudden hard driving rain. The kind of rain that moves sideways and can send chills through you no matter how you’re covered. She closed her coat tighter by her neck and cradled her bag a bit tighter. She surrendered to the torrential rain quickly and dove undercover and down the dark steps into the pub. It was empty except for two – the bartender and a man wearing a ten-gallon hat sitting at the far stool.
“I’m just waiting for that to die down,” she said, her eyes trying to adjust to the dim smoky light.
The bartender waved her over and motioned to a seat. The man in the hat hid behind the brim and continued to sulk. She sat down and ran her hand through her long messed hair.
“Terrible night,” the bartender said shaking his head. He seemed to be a gentle giant to her. His hair was slicked back and his beard was neatly trimmed.
“Terrible night,” the man in the hat echoed.
“I’m Charlie,” the bartender said. “That’s Ernie.”
“I’m Ernie,” from the echo, repeating like a parakeet.
After a moment of awkward silence she asked, “May I smoke.”
Charlie nodded and pushed the ashtray closer. She took a deep draw like it was an essential element of life.
They both watched the smoke rise up to the ceiling.
“I’ll have something light, please,” she said. Ernie looked up from under his hat and went back under.
“A light beer for the lady, Char-lie.”
“A light for the lady.”
“That peculiar sign I saw in the alley…power tool therapy?,” she laughed.
“Yeah,” Charlie said, “nothing like a heavy-duty nailing-gun to fix a backache.”
“Nails in the back!,” Ernie chuckled.
After a pause, “So, whaddya do for a living?” Charlie asked.
“Let’s just say…I’m an entertainer.”
“Ya any good?” Ernie looked up, half-interested.
Winona put her cigarette out, stood up, grabbed the ashtray, cigarette pack, beer bottle, balanced the stool on her head, and juggled all in one swooping motion.
Ernie gave her a standing ovation.
“That was good!” Charlie said, impressed.
“Thanks,” she replied quietly. But she almost stopped breathing, surprised she got through it.
“Nice place you have here.”
“Thanks,” Charlie said. “It’s been here since the 1930’s. Used to have a studio and dance hall above. Not anymore.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Old Blackie owned it back then.”
“Blackie?”

He looked past her and nodded. She turned and looked and saw an old black man leaning on a broom. He smiled a rotted tooth smile and on his moving closer she could see he was wearing a dark green jumpsuit. He stepped closer and she could see his grey and white whiskered face.
“Yes’m, I ran it from then ‘til 1965,” he said as he gazed around the room and nodded each word.
“Over thirty years,” Winona said thoughtfully.
“Thirty-two years,” Ernie said. Charlie looked at Winona, smiled and winked.
“Thirty-three to be exact, Mister Ernie,” Blackie corrected.
“Must’ve seen it all,” she said, playing along.
“Yes’m. You’d never believe what I saw up there,” he said, pointing straight overhead.
“What did you see, Blackie?,” she inquired.
“Muddy Waters teachin’ Marilyn Monroe to sing the Blues.”
“No!”
“Yes’m. Back in ’61. I was up in the hallway and when I walked by the door of the studio it was open and theys sitting on the edge of chairs facing one another, he was singing with her, 'You Can’t Lose What You Ain’t Never Had,' and I heard Muddy say ‘No no no..you gotta punctuate it..punk-chew-wait it!’”
“Really?”
“Yes’m. And you wanna know somethin’?”
“What, Blackie?”
The old man turned away for a bit. When he faced her again she saw his eyes were flooded with tears.
“That poor girl was dead the next summer.”
She looked at Charlie and he shook his head sadly studying a glass he was wiping clean. Ernie dipped under his hat. It was quiet and still except for the motion of the ceiling fan. As Blackie walked away pushing the broom she heard a broken and fading ‘that poor girl.’
***
She awoke with a start at 7:32 the next morning without an alarm. The window was open and the curtains rocked softly. The room was cold. She had slept in her clothes and she was wrapped in a quilt she found in the dresser’s bottom drawer. Her heart was racing and she had a sensation to flee her surroundings. Slipping on her shoes she hurried out of the room down the stairs and outside. Light was coming up from the ground. She was illuminated and happy! It was a happiness that she never expected and never experienced before, and frankly, was not really entitled to. But she deserved it.

[Charles]

Hi Phil,

I love the cartoon-come-to-life. I reads like it was meant to be. Thanks for another gift . . .

Cheers,
Charles

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[Jen]

phil, ur just amazing!!
:-*smooches;
~Jen~

[phil]

Thanks, Charles!

Thanks, Jen.
U are amazing yourself and don't let anyone tell you different!

~phil

[Jen]

thanks, phil!!
:-*smooches;
~Jen~

[phil]

Day and Night On Earth

Hey. Remember the last time you were lonely and sad and you called her? When you drove up the winding road to the path to her doorstep, honked your horn twice and she came out and hopped in next to you, smiled and kissed your cheek? Remember how she smelled? An aura of mimosa and you took a deep breath and her scent reminded you of a walk in the woods along a hidden path on the first day of Spring just after sunrise following an evening of torrential rain?

Remember how she was dressed? Those new bluejeans and a white shirt, it’s collar peeking out from underneath a black pullover sweater under a heavy black button-up cardigan? That black hat pulled down to where the tops of her silver earrings shined? Her dark glasses at the ready? How all of the dark clothes made her pale skin appear the color of the lighter pedals of a sulfer rose?

As you drove away, you asked her to tell you the story of the photo of her kissing B.M., and when she recited it and the real reason she did it, remember how you both laughed ‘til there were tears in your eyes? But after a moment of silence her mood darkened and she told you about those small children with no hair or eyebrows? And as you listened you gripped the steering wheel tighter until your knuckles were white? Then there was the awkward silence as you sat at that red light until the right rear tire of that car in front of you exploded? And the two of you looked at each other and dissolved in laughter again?

When she took her hat off in the shoe store and ran her fingers carelessly and quickly through her hair remember how beautiful she looked? How you thought at one time her dark eyes were her loveliest feature ‘til you saw her hair again? When she was trying on those stiff high heels and lost her balance and you caught her as she fell, remember how her soft hair felt against your cheek?

Afterwards, remember when you went to the Spitfire Grill and the place was packed and you made fun of her ‘cause she ordered just enough to feed a bird? She had fresh fish and a toasted cheese sandwich to nibble on; you had barbecue ribs, candied yams, a heaping of potato salad, and Polish peppers. Yet, she got the biggest laugh when she said your plate was so heavy it made the table lean to one side and you got down to table level to eyeball it and it seemed everyone in the joint laughed as they watched you? Remember she said you were blushing beet-red and after that it was so quiet the only sound you could hear was people chewing? And, that nervous waiter with the coke bottle bottom glasses that took your order. After he stood there with his feet parted at 10 and 2 o’clock, how the two of you knew you’d always get a laugh about ‘Ol’ 10 ‘n 2’?’

When you left the diner and were strolling on the brick path that lead back to your car, remember how she suddenly stopped in her tracks and threw her left arm in front of you to stop? Like a doe she turned her head like she sensed danger coming downwind?

“Hyenas,” she said in disgust, her voice lowering.

The two of you were in the crosshairs of the razzis. She nodded her head towards two black SUVs in crossfire mode. And you knew what she meant. Remember how you almost mentioned to her that you’d read how Hemingway, while on the hunt in Africa, had seen a hyena hit and as it spun in it’s tracks towards death it started to chomp away at it’s own intestines? But, you thought, she already knew what these animals were like. And when she wrote that note on the back of a piece of scrap paper that she pulled out of a trash can - she gave it to you to deliver it to one of the hunters, remember how your heart was pounding in excitement when she gave you instructions and you didn’t want to fail her? You went over to one of the SUVs and tapped so hard against the tinted window you thought the ring on your finger would shatter the glass? At least you’d hoped it would? Remember the rancid smell of pot as the window slowly lowered and the look on the driver’s face when he opened the note and read:

And you ran quick as you could back to her and she took your hand in hers and you were both running and laughing? And you were glad she wasn’t wearing those new high heels or you would’ve never made it? How she seemed to know every alleyway and shortcut that got you safely back to your car? Oh, how your heart was racing! And then the two of you escaped to the park and sat at that bench where you both just talked and talked and talked…..?

**

In the evening, remember lying in bed wide-awake with your head resting on your hand as the events of the day raced by like a runaway train? The cool breeze through the window made the drapes roll in soft waves and your cat leapt off the edge of the balcony to the dresser then on to your bed? How your stealth companion with one foot in the grave landed on the remote and the tv lit up and Holy s**t! Reality Bites is on and there she is in all her glory? That smile! You closed your eyes imagining her beside you as your bed floats down stream. And the cares of the day and your loneliness had vanished and you’re so happy, like all your internal organs had joined hands and were dancing? What a woman she is! The key to your happiness couldn’t be more obvious. Remember?

I do.

[Paul]

Sweet stuff, Phil! Clearly, she continues to inspire you.