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Above Ground part four

by John Riley

iv

Above Ground

Sam eye-balled the mangled mess of a boy racer wrapped in car metal before stopping at the diner. Lugging a punch-drunk suitcase and a head full of appointments reckoned on the lost soul at the back could be the guy called Joe.

The gum-chewing waitress in pink nylon took the hint, carrying on cleaning tables and looking back at them in that suggestive way.

Joe clamped his mouth shut and never looked up when Sam slid onto the seat.

Sam eyed up the lad, gave him a moment, then an offer spoke real low, like if not wanting to be overheard.
“Nasty mess back there, crashing out of life so soon after me helping you out back there. Your soul is property of another you know, anyhow, what will you sell for another chance of life?”
Joe, thinking through a long list. He passed over a name.

Sam sat laughing, a sidelong glance at the waitress. “You got a deal, get in the suitcase, I reckon I’ve found you another body.”

On the jukebox, playing quietly again, Blue Velvet.

-end-

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February 15, 2018 Add Comment

Above Ground part three

by John Riley

iii

Below Ground

He never could play the piano, always wanted to, so what a bit of luck when a man with an old battered suitcase turned up on the doorstep. The wife answered.
“Hey, get this, Hughie, this guy wants to grant a wish for some deal.”
No answer.
“Hughie, you hear me?”
He shuffled up beside her, his face in permanent strife, giving her that stare as to the reason for disturbing him reading his newspaper.
“Let me deal with this,” pushing his way around her.
“Son, I ain’t got time, not interested in what you sell.”
Mr Bainbraker then attempted a thin smile, coaxing his wife back inside and just about to close the front door.
“Sir, I shall pay you 100 dollars, here and now, if I do not give you what you have always wanted. To play the piano? Right now, I shall grant you a wish to escape into a world of music. You always wanted to play the piano, just like your Ma did.”
“What bottle did you escape from?”
He turned back to his wife.
“What have you been telling him?”
“Nothing, he told me you always wanted to play.”
“Sir, give me a minute. All I need is for you to donate your soul when you die to the cause. Simple as that, and I shall bring you a dream fulfilled. If I fail, to give you what you want, then I shall pay you. You have my word.”
He reached down and pulled out a wad of dollar bills.
Mrs Bainbraker’s eyes lit up. Mr Bainbraker chuckled.
“Hell, boy! I ain’t got much use for my soul after I’m gone. When dead, you’re dead. You don’t believe in all that hogwash about an afterlife?”
The money did look like an attractive prospect. They could do with it after what both had been through.
Sam smiled.
“Well, not for me to say Mr Bainbraker, now to business.”

At the end of the deal, Mr Bainbraker was thrilled to hear himself play the piano beautifully as ever he could imagine. He couldn’t believe it. Hellfire! The guy had given him the money. Forced him to take it as an extra gesture.

However, to Mrs Bainbraker, the piece her husband played sounded no different to what it always sounded like. A riot of discordant noise. Anyway, she got her wish and now preoccupied with how she looked in the mirror. She looked so young, even though 80 years of age. Well, anyone seeing what reflected would take issue with what promised and what is real.

part four click here

The Ghostly World Fictional Ghost Stories

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February 12, 2018

Above Ground part two

by John Riley

ii

The man with the battered suitcase used the name Sam. He’d made good progress on his own, walking the length of the road for over a week now.

He followed the signs pointing to Slaughter Bridge. He reckoned on getting closer as the place name kept appearing more frequently.

There were fields of man-high corn on either side of the road. The smell hanging around hung thick, strong fertiliser, and gut-wrenching. Sam pushed on walking.

He strode out with the sun in his eyes until a cloud passed over and offered respite from screwing up his face allowing time to see the way ahead, converging to a spot on the horizon.

He could do with emptying the case, reckoned a few more down there would help, call in some more debts and cash in some karma. He pushed forward, letting his thoughts wander.

He whistled that familiar tune with Grandpa Mathis on his mind and a little bit of business they’d sorted out. Then, Sam noticed it. He picked out something dumped up ahead. He stopped and tried to see what it might be before getting back into his stride.

The stench hitting him emanated from a dead farm boy, lying crumpled at the side of the road with his eyes pecked out by scavenger crows.

Sam tipped his sunhat, offering condolences to the deceased, and pondered on a few words. In the heat of the day, Sam stared down at the lad. Must have been about 10 or 12 years of age this time.

Sam looked northward. Time to make a move. He set off without looking back at the kid. Sam didn’t see the dead body twitch and then in jerky moves bring itself up to a sitting position.

“Take me with you…” It called out. “Take me with you…”
Sam kept on walking.
It made one last try. Sam was a fair distance away so as not to hear its pleading.
“You’d be too much trouble, kid, too much trouble.”
“Haven’t you heard? No room at the inn,” indicated by raising the suitcase above his head.

When Sam was out of view, the kid slumped back down, a crumpled mess at the side of the road.

A light breeze rustled the man-high corn and made a sound like whispering. Sam crossed into Slaughter Bridge and then had second thoughts about the kid.

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The Ghostly World Fictional Ghost Stories

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February 8, 2018

Above Ground

by John Riley

‘All through the night shall an inner voice seek life when laid out seeking slumber. In still moments when dark and yearning, I shall come from shadows to taunt thee.’ The Demon (Samuel Flyte)

In a Las Vegas gambling den that is heaven for silver retirees now glued to the slots and sitting in their own urine – Sam entered the fray.

A quarter or so back in time, he’d seen the carpet joint from a Greyhound bus window nearing the journey’s end from San Diego.

God damn, ain’t that something to behold. Bright neon city, lights flashing, and pretty ladies structuring boardwalks, hell on earth, my kind of town. It’s enough to light up the soul. A fellah can feel lucky when the moon comes alongside Jupiter on the other side of midnight. Viva Las Vegas!

With a wedge of borrowed money and chips that don’t come wrapped in newsprint, he reckoned he had this stranger’s system worked out.

Sam cut in at the table. Man gets a bit of luck. The dames are flocking, a win here, a win there. Sam develops a feel for things, and when thinking day follows night and real men don’t suck from straws, Sam’s luck pissed down the drain.

It all went wrong. Sam couldn’t understand it and hit the bar, necking what he had left until the stranger came alongside.

“Friend, don’t be too nailed about me fleecing you.”
He stood back, gesturing with open palms.
Sam stuck to the bourbon.
“C’mon, you know I thought at one point you guessed… know what I mean?”
He gestured again.
“Maybe you don’t recognise the new outfit?”
“What?” Sam, turning weary from the drink.
“Fellah, you’ve goddam ruined me, ain’t that enough?”
Sam took a second.
“Come to think of it, you, do remind me of someone,” raising the glass to make his point.

The stranger came in close, whispering low and something smokey around the breath.
“We had a clause in that deal way back, the one where I saved your life. Remember? You work for me if we meet again in Zanzibar.”
Sam thought, a vague memory – snake eyes?
“This ain’t Zanzibar. We’re in Las Vegas!”

The stranger reflected with a grin, a devilish grin.
“Check out the name of this hotel!”
Sam looked up at the sign over the bar.
Zanzibar.
The stranger bent down to offer something.
“Here’s the suitcase… you know what you’ve to do.”

part two click here

The Ghostly World Fictional Ghost Stories

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February 5, 2018 Add Comment

Taken

by John Riley

HER DREAMS OF THE new neighbour were strange, perhaps out-of-body events.
Why does young love want to move out of a warm bed, morning sunlight filling the room, lying with your pregnant wife by your side, taking up the space?
“Oh… just then…”
Gemma, feeling the kick.
Martin rolled over, hooking himself up on one elbow.
“There, that one feel it?”
“No,” seconds later. “Yeah, that one just then, keen.”
His hand circled her lower belly, his touch soothing.
Martin leaned over and kissed her lips, drawing back onto his side, nuzzling up close and teasing her earlobe with his tongue. She giggled.
“I dreamt again, about the new neighbour.”
“Oh,” gripping the lobe between his teeth.
“Hey! Animal.”
Martin whispered into her ear. “Minx.” His hand wandered lower.
She moaned at the sensation.
“Honest I dreamt about him… I’m sure there were others.”
“What was he doing this time?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” teasing him.
“He’s gay, anyway he fancies me.”
“How does that make you feel?” She asked.
He turned onto his back. “Kinda flattered, you know another man thinking I’m hot!”
Her eyes were mocking, and her mouth smiling at him.
“Not you! I mean me, dreaming about our new neighbour. Are you jealous?”
They lay back, staring at the ceiling.
“Now, should I wear my lycra shorts to help him move that stuff he wants upstairs?”
“No!”
“Ha! Caught out! He’s mine Gemma Tate.”
Martin cuddled in closer, embracing her, Gemma returning his affection.
Ten minutes in, Gemma reluctantly said he had better sort the job out, then come straight back, and, don’t wash when he’d done, come to bed. She’d this thing for him all hot.
He held the embrace for a few more minutes, gave in to a sigh, and then slipped out of bed, deciding on tracksuit bottoms and a sports top. Gemma watched him.

He called to see if the neighbour now ready.

***

Gemma lay in the bed when Martin burst into the room.
She screamed, drawing up the bed sheets.
“It’s me, Gemma!”
She screamed again when he stepped closer. Martin panicking, frantic now crying.
He froze, holding up his hands to surrender. He wore the same clothes.
“Gemma, it’s me, please…” He pleaded.
He looked frail.
Maybe seventy in age.
Begging her to listen.
“Gemma, how long ago since I went next door?”
He looked so old. Her voice cracking. “What happened? Oh, God is this real? Tell me it’s a joke, who are you?”
“It’s me, Gemma.” His face and body turned old.
“It’s not a joke, please, how long since?”
She cried, how could it be real?
“Ten minutes!”
“I’ve left you for seventy years when I stepped in that house next door. He brought me back too late. I thought it some joke, is this real? Gemma! Where do I start to explain what’s happened?”

-end-

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January 29, 2018 Add Comment

Stan & Maud

by John Riley

“What time is it..?
“I’m losing track, Maud. What d’yer say..?”

“Maud..? ‘Bout time you had a wash…
“…I think we should go out…
“…maybe tomorrow, I’m thinking…
“I don’t trust anybody ’round here; don’t know who they are…
“How long have we lived here..? We worked hard to get this place… Used to be a nice street…”

“That front door does let in a January chill. I’ve boarded it up a bit more…
“I can’t open that back door, swollen too much… Haven’t got the strength now…”

“They’ve been banging on our front door again…
“Hey! Are you not going to drink that tea I’ve made you… It’ll be getting cold…
“I’ve had mine and taken the tablets…”

“Look at yer… yer look so funny… Y’know, once upon a time, you wouldn’t have dressed like that, would you..? You still look lovely to me…
“I say you look like you’re losing a bit of weight as well, ’round the…
“I don’t like people around here… I don’t go out so much… well, we both don’t go out much…
“We’ve got each other…”

“Ohh, mi leg… so sore, sore mother…
“I think cold in ‘ere shall I put the heating on? And find some wood for the fire… I think there’s something else we can burn…
“I’ve a piece of coal somewhere…
“I can still hear them outside… Her down the street, she’s a vulgar tongue…
“She says our house smells… more her dogs… big things; she lets them mess in our garden…
“Have I to put our record on? And should we talk again about the good old days..?
“I saved a few of the records, the ones we play more of… didn’t burn them in the hearth…
“I’ll have to find some more wood though…”

“Remember how we danced on the beach before the war came and took our George..?
“Oh, Maud, why did he have to die…
“Why did they make him go to war…?
“I know, Maud, I shouldn’t think back and get all upset…
“Aye, a tear, Maud, mard-arse ain’t I..?”

“What was that tune..?
“Shall we have a dance now, would you like..?”

“Maybe not yet…”

“Are you comfortable on that settee, warm enough..?
“You used to say, we need to move with the times, Stan… remember move with the times or we’ll get left behind…”

“What time is it? What day is it..?”

“I won’t put light on yet, don’t want to let them know…”

“I’ve been thinking about things again… and come to a decision…
“I’ll not let them take yer… You wait here with me… We’ll go together…
“See what I’ve found upstairs in an old drawer. Your old scarf and a couple of old pennies…
“I’ll place them on your eyes now and tie up your jaw and stop it slipping…”

“I’ll not let them take you in some box to be burnt… You rest in peace here while I wait for those tablets to take me as well!”