Of all the towns that my car decides to break down in, why this one? I think my parents met here eons ago, but I had no intention of coming here. To make matters worse my cell phone is dead. It’s 3:00 in the morning. No one’s in sight, all lights are out, obviously, people are asleep in their beds. I got out of my car only to find dark streets, all quiet. Why did I have to pick a fight and leave Tommy in the middle of the night? I know how to pick ‘um, my bad timing and my men.  The only way I can make out anything at all is the by the light of the full moon, which seems right now to be my only companion. The sun will come out in three hours, so perhaps I should just stick it out until morning.

I decide to do just that and turn to go back into my car when I hear it. A solo trumpet with smooth, crisp notes playing noir jazz. It reminds me of a strong cup of java, or whiskey. Someone was awake. I started walking towards the sound.

All the storefronts were dark. I followed the music and could not find the source. Probably some musician was up and couldn’t sleep. Just the lone sound from the brass instrument.

I turned to go back and saw a reflection of light fall across the pavement in front of me. I turned and saw a place light up with a neon sign that read “Sam’s Diner”. Relief at last, there will be food, and hopefully a phone. Somewhere to wait it out until a garage opened in the morning.

I walked in, a bell rang notifying that a customer had entered. I could see the outline of a man in a fedora sitting in a booth further down, but nobody at the counter. Smoke rose over his head in ringlets, like small grey halos.

I waited. Still, no one other than the one diner. While craning my neck to see if anyone was in the kitchen I heard the trumpet again. It was the man in the booth playing songs from the 40’s and 50’s. Tunes I remember my Dad played on the vinyl from time to time, which I always found odd since he was so into classic rock. It reminded me of the old movies I used to watch with him too. He always loved suspense, mystery. I shared that love. He said he used to watch movies when he was a kid with his Dad who died when he was very young. I decided to ask the musician about the diner service after he was finished. The song ended. I walked over to him.

“Excuse me.”

He looked up under his fedora. I couldn’t see his eyes. He nodded.

“Do you know if this place is open for service?” I asked. “I don’t see anyone working.”

“They left, ease up doll. There’s grub here for you,” he said.

I noticed a slight smile under his shadowy hat.

“What do you mean there is food for me.” I asked a bit spooked.

He rested his horn down next to him, and paused before he answered me. The musician took a cigarette out of his coat pocket and lit is with one of those fillable silver lighters. He wore a suit. Who wore a suit to a diner at 3:00 in the morning? This guy was talented, but odd.

His gaze moved to the counter. He lifted his hand complete with cigarette towards the counter. On it sat a sandwich, coffee, and fries. “It’s yours. I ate at the club. Changed my mind about eating more chow. Go ahead, enjoy, put on the feed bag!”

Ah, that explained it. He just did a gig. No wonder he was dressed up. I was hungry, starved. Taking food from a stranger is something to be leery of I admit. Honestly, I don’t know why, but I trusted this strange man.   

“Are you sure?”

“Dig in! So,” he asked, “what brings you out at this time of night?”

As I ate the meal he gave me, which was really quite tasty, I told him about my fight with my boyfriend and how angry I got. “I took off with nothing, no plans, an old car and just drove and found myself here. Then my car broke down. I heard you playing and followed the music.”

“Dames shouldn’t be driving at this time of night. Your fella shouldn’t have let you out.”

“Hey, I can take care of myself.” I was a bit insulted by that, but I let it go.

After I ate, he serenaded me with more songs. I told him how retro he was. He didn’t seem to care. Just nodded, put his horn down and lit another cigarette.

Then it dawned on me. Smoking isn’t allowed in restaurants, but the owner wasn’t there, so perhaps he didn’t care. 

Before I knew it, I was getting drowsy. My eyes closed. I must have fallen asleep. When I woke up, I was sitting on a bench outside the diner, which had changed. It looked different in the early morning sun. All brick. I could have sworn it was a trailer diner last night. I don’t know where my musician friend had gone and how I got outside.

I went back inside. The owner was inside behind the counter.

“What can I do for you, young lady?” the proprietor asked.

“Just looking for the man that was here last night, the trumpet player.”

“Last night, trumpet player? We’ve been closed all night,” he said.

“There was a man here. He gave me his dinner. We talked. He played for me.”

He sighed and shook his head. I thought he was going to call me crazy. He came around the counter and looked me square in the eye.

“So, Sam gave away my food again?”

“He said he had ordered it.”

“Yeah, in 1944, he returns every now and then.”

“Are you telling me I have been talking to a ghost?”

“Fraid so, not sure why he picked you. What’s your name?

“Maggie, Maggie Howland.”

“Did you have a grandfather named Sam?”

“Yeah, but I never met him.” I answered.

“Yeah, you did. Sam Howland was a trumpet player who opened up this diner in 1944.” He died in 1965. Your dad was named Sam Jr., correct?”

I nodded.

“There usually is a reason why he comes, maybe you being his granddaughter was the reason he showed himself. Usually though it is something important, not that you being his family isn’t important. But like you said, you didn’t know him.”

Just then two cops came in. The owner nodded and went over to serve them coffee. “So how is your morning going boys?”

“Busy, there was an incident last night. This guy got upset with his wife and decided to shoot up her car and her dress shop. Only it wasn’t her car. It looked like hers but it was registered under someone else’s name. Someone left it in front of her shop. We got him, but not before he shot holes in the storefront and the car,” said the dark-haired cop.

“Officers, is that a blue Toyota Camry you are talking about?”

“Yes, mam, are you Margaret Howland?” asked the blond cop.

I nodded.

“Sorry, Ms. Howland. Good thing you weren’t in it,” he responded.

Part of me felt angry, my car was gone. I wanted to go home, talk to my folks. I had that desire in me now. More than anything else though, I realized. If I had been in that car sleeping last night, I would be dead right now. My grandfather saved my life.

I looked at the diner owner and he gave me a smile.

“Don’t worry. I will make sure you get home … doll.” He winked. “Yeah, I seen him too.”

I smiled and thought in a way I had Gabriel himself as my grandfather. Who knew? I left with a million questions for my Dad.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Look at that insect form. Are you any uglier than it?” the ghost asked.

“Are you so blind? It is nothing to do with my appearance. Think of what you did. Think of how you made me. You stole body parts to create me. You mutilated corpses. You even committed murder to build my wretched body. You are the greatest monster that can be, you are ego. Nothing is ever enough for you. You no sooner created me, then you tried to throw me into a vat full of acid, just so you could create another life, then another, and on and on. You, Victor Frankenstein, you, are the true horror of my story,” the Monster said.

The ghost said nothing. The specter looked much like a living man. Yet different somehow. Somehow apart, less substantial than a human.

The ghost spoke. “Perhaps I am truly the monster.”

“You are damned. Why else would you haunt this broken place as I do?” the Monster said. Outside a storm arose. Pounding rain driven sideways by fiercer winds.

“Tell me, did you even think of a name for me?” the Monster asked.

“No, but I will call you, Victor,” the ghost said.

“Of course you will. Your ego is limitless,” Victor said to the ghost. The night cried.

Sandy stood staring out at the stunning red sunlight rising on the beach.

Sandy loved the beaches on Cape Cod. They were the greatest in the entire world.

She had moved to the Cape only a few months ago, but Sandy already knew, there was no way that she could, or would, willingly live anywhere else.

Many of her family and friends objected to her moving from her trendy Boston suburb, to the quaintness of the Cape. Some of them, even laughed at Sandy about the move, making all sorts of jokes about her getting old. Sandy didn't feel old. She didn't like people trying to make her feel old.

A few of her friends went too far with their jokes. Still, when they came to visit, Sandy put on her best hostess act. She promised to show them a unique sight at this very beach; a few hours before sunrise they would see something, life changing.

Sandy could still make out where her friends were on the beach.

The mounds of sand were arranged perfectly. The incoming tide would pack them down even tighter. Could she hear them screaming? No, not really, still it was a nice thought.

Sandy hoped her friends enjoyed their permanent stay on the beach.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wanted to surprise you. Besides, you were away visiting your aunt and I had to take it or lose it.”

“You should’ve lost it,” Sophie sneered. “You know how I hate cemeteries.”

“I know. Sorry, but the view will inspire my work.”

Sophie rolled her eyes. “Right, Tommy Tombstone. . .” she laughed, moving away from the window. Kyle’s band was pretty cool even if they were into bands like Black Sabbath and other dark music Sophie didn’t like. Kyle’s band did the popular cover tunes but also wrote their own songs and were gaining a following. Front man Tommy was into the dark arts and played it up for publicity. Kyle ignored it though it helped them write most of their material.

Kyle pointed to the window then pulled open the heavy dusty drapes. “It looks worse closing out the light,” he said coughing. “Feels like a morgue. You should know some of the history out there,” he pointed to the rows of old stones that were grouped close together between the two small apartment buildings with a church on the far side. “There’s a story about a little girl who died in a fire. Her parents were poor and buried her here because this land was once part of the church’s property and . . .”   

“Whatever,” Sophie sighed. “It creeps me out. Now, can we start unpacking?”

“Sure. Only if you want to stay that is?”

“I’ll give it a go for your sake, but I don’t like the creepy vibe. And I’m going to replace those ugly drapes. I’ll get room darkening shades to block the view.”

“Fine with me,” Kyle said, picking up his guitar. He grabbed a stool and propped himself in front on the tall window and began playing a new tune while gazing out the window.

 “Inspiration,” Sophie muttered wondering if this move was a mistake.

A few weeks later Sophie noticed a change in Kyle. He’d been playing in front of the window every day for longer periods of time. At first, she dismissed it thinking he was working out new songs. He was inspired by the view. But as time went on, he appeared mesmerized by something. Totally zoning out. He’d became sullen and withdrawn. Other times he’d moan that someone was out there watching him. He was getting more detached every day. And in the last week he had tuned Sophie and others out, even the band. Sophie was at her wits end when she called Tommy in to see for himself.

Kyle sat in his usual spot on the stool in a stupor, staring out the window and strumming a tuneless song. He barely acknowledged the singer. 

“Kyle, what are you working on man?” Tommy asked, looking out at the dusky cemetery. The sun was setting and casting eerie shadows over the rows of headstones.

“I’m going to help little Laura,” Kyle said, perking up and pointing to one of the stones. “She’s helping me transition.”

“That’s the most he’s said in days,” Sophie said in a hopeful voice. I’m going to close the drapes.” But as she approached the window, a hand pulled her back.

“Don’t. It will make him worse.”

“What?”

“Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

“Huh?”

A few moments later Sophie saw Tommy on the other side of the window. He walked around and appeared to be talking to someone a few rows back, at the edge of the lot. When he came in, he whispered something to Kyle. Sophie was confused and said nothing, but after a few moments Kyle began to play a tune. Only it was more like a lullaby. A mournful lonely tune.  It gave Sophie chills.

Tommy left and wouldn’t tell Sophie what he said to Kyle, only that there was some sort of exchange.

A few days later Kyle was back to his old self and Tommy had disappeared.

“What happened?” Sophie asked as they packed the last of their things.

Kyle went over to the window and waved. “Tommy talked to Laura. She wanted. . . a soul,” he sighed heavily. “She couldn’t cross over without a guardian or something like that. Tommy was eager to learn about the other side.”

“What? He wanted to die?” Sophie gasped, gazing out the window. “Why?”

“He was caught up in the dark madness as you know. Lost to it. He was hard to reach at times, even more than I was when I felt the pull from the other side. So, he -made a deal. . . a sacrifice.”

“He sacrificed himself for you?”

Kyle nodded. “Weird. I know. But there is a lot you don’t know about Tommy.” Kyle pulled the curtains to block out the view. “He was a good guy but also dark and mysterious.”

Sophie shuddered. “Too creepy. I’m glad we’re moving.”

“Me too.” Kyle picked up the last suitcase and glanced toward the window as he crossed the threshold for the last time. “I’ll miss him,” he muttered. “But at least we still have the band.”

“Wow, look at the size of that spider,” I declared in a high - pitched voice to my husband. The large arachnid was fat and brown with a gazillion legs. Its web was intricate and thick. The ugly creature was perched just outside our front window. Creepy.

“I wonder what happened to the little frog that was in the windowsill last week,” Matt said, scrutinizing the large pane.

“Hmm. I wonder. But the spider isn’t that big.”

“Well, if it sounds like a frog, we’ll know he ate it. And just in time for Halloween too," he laughed and walked away. Meanwhile I kept staring at the creepy brown thing growing outside our window. I had half a mind to take a broom and sweep it away. In fact, that’s what I planned to do the next morning. I hate spiders.
  
    When I awoke the next morning the creepy eight - legged insect was gone, but the web was still there in all it’s gory glory. It was strong and silky. A hurricane couldn’t blow that thing apart. And that gave me an idea.

    I went out to the shed and grabbed the blower. Did I mention how much I detest spiders? I revved up the large machine and came ‘round to the window. There was no creepy arachnid, but I did see the web and heard a ribbit sound. “Hmm, maybe the cute little green and brown frog survived after all.” I said to myself. But no, there it was, the worlds ugliest spider, even bigger and fatter than ever. It was more green now than brown, just like the frog. Huh? Instead of crawling along its home spun intricate netting, it hopped into the middle like a bullseye and croaked at me. Its chin grotesquely billowing out and its eyes glaring red.

I dropped the blower and ran into the house. I would never look at frogs the same way. 

When Evelyn's youngest cousin's youngest daughter started having kids, it was a not so gentle hint - get your affairs in order, girl.  Yes, she still called herself girl.  Somebody had to.

Decluttering had begun five years ago, sporadically though. Dump anything that doesn't bring you joy, sounds easy. But she'd already gotten rid of two husbands, the one her parents loved and the one that loved her.  The third one, the one SHE loved, came down with COVID, that bum! He left her unceremoniously in the ER. And that was that.

Now Ev regularly pried open musty closets and drawers and emptied them straight into the barrel, never checking their contents. Out of sight, out of mind.  “Who cares?” was her mantra.

The entire mahogany wardrobe, in fact, left her joyless, but she could not budge it.  Not for lack of trying. Every day some time was devoted to the project. She even dug a sizable slice out of the hard wood floor during one attempt.  But alas, the wooden giant lurked smugly in the corner, mocking her removal efforts.

Riddance is good, but exhausting work. She put the kettle on and toasted half a stale English muffin. Time to sit and breathe a bit.  Of course the phone rang.  The landline.  No one calls the landline unless they're trying to sell you something.  A somewhat familiar voice crackled on the machine.

“Auntie Evelyn?  Hi, it's Cassie, Jeannie's daughter?” Ev picked up.

“Cassie? Who died?”

“Oh, hi Auntie, you ARE home! I was wondering, do you still have the Barbie dolls my mum used to play with when she'd visit? I hear those were epic!”

“Um... I might ... ,” Ev replied, knowing full well that she did still have the dolls.

“My daughter just loves Barbies, and well, I mean, if you're not using yours, then maybe. . .”

The kettle was shrieking by now. “Let me get that, Cassie.  Hang on.”

“No worries, have your tea.  Just call me if you find the dolls, okay? Bye.” Click.

So much for pleasantries. This girl must only interact via text message, Evelyn thought, as she piled extra butter and jam on her muffin.  But she wasn't one to wallow.  Bitterness is for those who care.

She'd never even met Cassie, not to mention her Barbie-loving daughter.  The cousins had moved to Arizona years ago and forgotten they knew Auntie Evelyn. Unless someone died, or they wanted something.

After tea, she'd give her muscles a workout and tackle the attic. She hated that pull-down staircase - no railings. But she'd been practicing backing downstairs since hubby 3's demise.  She'd read in a magazine, that most fatal falls are head-first. Descending feet first was statistically safer. She was a safety pro.  You have to be when you live alone.

The Barbie Collection was not to be trifled with. She'd packed them away with meticulous care. Her own daughter had loved the dolls and Ev was a dedicated buyer. They'd spent so many happy hours on Barbie shopping adventures and bedroom fashion shows. She'd miss those days, you know, if she cared.

As Evelyn backed down the attic steps she heard a quick metallic ping. Oh no! The ladder seemed to give a bit, then snapped back into place. Whew!

The Barbie trunk was more difficult to pull than it had been to push, years ago when she moved it to “the penthouse”. What wasn't more difficult now?

She and the dolls eventually arrived at their horizontal destination. Ev sat on the small oval rug at the foot of the bed, removing layers of yellowed tissue paper.  The girls looked pretty good but everyone needs a little tweaking after they've been laid up for a while.

Ouch, she groaned as she stood to get a cloth, a comb, and her trusty garment steamer, best invention ever! Evelyn took her time cleaning, coiffing, dressing every doll, giving them a makeover any salon goer would envy.

All afternoon and into the evening she worked her magic.  Once sufficiently groomed, each Barbie was positioned in a comfortable space on the guest room bed. Ev could finally call it a guest room. No one had slept here in years.

The sun had set. She switched on the light and was suddenly awestruck. Could she even give these away? Why did she open the trunk? She could have just shipped it as is. C'mon, she told herself, detach. She'd take a picture of the collection, repack, and be done with them.  Yes, that was a good solution.

But how to get all these super models in the same picture was tricky.  Evelyn moved farther away and angled the camera. She really didn't want to rearrange them.  They looked perfect, so youthful and lifelike.

One more step back. She snapped a picture accidentally and startled herself when it appeared on the screen.  Oh God!  She gasped. This is a wake, a group wake! She'd prepared the bodies for viewing. The message was eerily clear.  Time to say goodbye. Detach, she reminded herself.

The huge mahogany wardrobe agreed.  Its footing let go.  It fell forward and flattened Evelyn like road kill.  And that was that.