who aren’t there.

“What can I get you, sir?” an eager voice asked. I turned back to the bar. “Jack and Coke.” The bartender nodded and hurried off. A minute later I had the drink and walked back to my table.

I numbly made it through the rest of the dinner. I knew the men in sharkskin suits were watching me and my food tasted as flat as cardboard.

I took Star home and she jumped out of the car. “I’ll call you,” I said.

“Don’t bother,” she snapped.

“Perfect,” I said and drove off.

I turned on the radio—static. I flipped the dial around and it was just static station after static station. I smacked the wheel as my racing mind swore it heard “Die … you let me die,” scratch out of the static.

I imagined south Utah had little to no gangster activity.

I got home, sat in the Jacuzzi for an hour, and then went to bed.

The nightly thump rocked me out of my sleep and I rushed into the exercise room.

Nothing.

Screw it.

I went to my computer and typed in Moab, Utah. Images of red desert canyons and clean, blue sky came up. I booked a flight.

A month later I was looking over the Canyonlands in Moab from the patio of the condo I’d rented. I had plenty of money and had paid for everything in cash, sold the practice by proxy, and didn’t tell a soul about the move. Most of my stress was gone and there were no more thumps in the night.

Had Johnny’s pissed off ghost really been harassing me or had it all just been in my stressed-out mind?

Who knew.

But there were no more gangsters and I’d gotten a fresh start.

And that was more than many people get in one life.

It’s been six weeks since I buried my wife of over fifty years and I still can’t get along too well without her in my life. Betty was my life and soul and I’m lost without her. We knew each other since my family moved into her neighborhood when I was six. We were boyfriend and girlfriend in high school and yes, I married my high school sweetheart, a marriage everyone told us wouldn’t last. I don’t know how I could have lived without her. A better match could only be found in heaven. Now I spend the better part of the day wandering around my house hoping to see my wife walk by. I know she’s gone, but I have had a hard time accepting that I’ll never see her again.

Everything in the house reminds me of her. The collection of figurines on the fireplace mantel, the pots and pans I cook with, the his-and-her towels in the bathroom, pictures on the wall, and pretty much everything else in the house. It’s overwhelming at times; I thought of getting rid of her things or moving to another house, but the idea of doing that caused me more grief than by being reminded of her in the house we shared and loved.

Shortly after the funeral, I began to see things; I thought I was on the verge of a mental breakdown. For example, one day I was wandering around the house trying to figure out what I was going to do—that was when I thought I’d have to get rid of her things. I kept a photograph of her on my dresser and that was one of the first things I saw every morning when I got up. It was hard to look at the lovely picture of her when she was young and beautiful and life was fresh and new for us. It hurt me to see it and I turned it around so I wouldn’t be faced with it every day. I thought I’d only do it until I could come to terms with her being gone.

I woke up one morning and as I went to the bathroom I stopped in surprise. The picture was facing out again and I could see her sweet face. I thought it was strange and wondered if I’d somehow turned it around and didn’t remember doing it. Without much thought, I turned it back around and took care of my morning business. As I came back into my room, the picture was turned around again. A chill went through me and I couldn’t do anything but stare at it for a few minutes before I turned it back around. I kept an eye on it for a few minutes, getting the weirdest feeling, as if a low-level electrical charge was running through me. It made me shudder and the hairs on my arm actually stood up and tingled.

Not much happened for the next few days, but then another strange incident occurred. While making dinner, one of the boxes of pasta I kept in the cupboard fell out onto the counter. I didn’t feel any kind of movement or earthquake or anything like that, and I just stood there staring at the box. As I looked, feeling a little bit strange about it, I noticed it was my wife’s favorite kind of pasta. I walked over and put it back in the cupboard, making sure the cupboard door was closed. To be honest I don’t remember if it was closed or not when I came in, but out of habit I had always closed them so it left me perplexed. Even still, it wasn’t normal and I felt myself again shuddering at the thought of it. The house no longer felt the same; it felt like there was a presence here. It was odd and uncomfortable.

Later that evening when I was watching television and nodding off in my chair, the channel on the TV changed and startled me. The remote was on the table and I know I hadn’t touched it and I really began to feel worried. I didn’t know what was happening and being alone, and rather advanced in age, I began to wonder about

Добавить отзыв
ВСЕ ОТЗЫВЫ О КНИГЕ В ИЗБРАННОЕ

0

Вы можете отметить интересные вам фрагменты текста, которые будут доступны по уникальной ссылке в адресной строке браузера.

Отметить Добавить цитату