Chapter 9 - Winter of 2017

The phone rang, just as Marco was expecting it to. 

“Hi mom,” he greeted.

”Hey, good to hear your voice. How are you? Settling in well, I hope?”

”Yes, definitely. The town is very quaint, very quiet. A little bland, but folks are nice. I’m getting to know my coworkers, some neighbors as well.”

”That’s good. That’s awesome. I’m so glad you got that job. I know how much you wanted it.”

”Yeah, it’s nice.”

”Good worker benefits?"

”Some.”

”Any office gossip?”

”No, people don’t tend to gossip. To be honest, nobody really talks to you unless they have to. Like, everyone is pleasant and all, but if they don’t need to speak with you, they won’t.”

”Folks aren't into small talk huh? Oh how’s Juniper? You live so much closer to her now, right? Just the next town over?”

”Yeah, I guess. Spoke to Roxane the other day on the phone. It went alright.”

”I mean, all things considered, she’s a very resourceful woman. Gotta respect her for the hustle.”

”Whatever you say mom.”

“How is getting to work going? I assume that there isn’t a bus or anything, since the town is so little.”

”I walked for a while, and then I started riding there with my coworker, Lexi.”

“Oh, I see. Is she nice?”

“Yeah, she’s cool. Actually, she invited me over for dinner yesterday.”

“Ohh. I see. Is she a good cook?”

“Yeah, the food was great. We had a very nice time.”

”I’m glad to hear it. I’ll have to meet this girl when your father and I swing round for Christmas.”

”Right. And how is dad’s hip?”

Marco’s mother sighed. “He’s still unable to walk, and in a great deal of pain. The orthopedic surgeon has him down in about a month from today. It’s just a waiting game for now.” 

“Yet you’re still planning on driving here. Are you sure you want to do that when the road is icy?”

”It’s only a couple hours. Besides, I need to see your new house, now that it’s all furnished and decorated.”

”Decorated might be a strong word.” 

Lucien fizzled into the living room. He was mid conversation with a ghost Marco couldn’t recognize. When he realized that he was on the phone, Lucien whispered “Sorry,” and disappeared again, shortly followed by the mystery man. 

“Uhh, yeah. Not gonna lie, I should go.”

”Oh sure. Gotta go take the cat on a walk? Water the vacuum cleaner?”

”Yup, gotta go dust the lawn.”

”Ok, well it’s been nice talking to you. Call again anytime.”

”I know, mom. I love you, bye.”

”Love ya, honey. Buh-bye.”

When Marco hung up, Lucien reappeared. 

“You know that she can’t hear you, right?”

”Well sure, but I could have distracted you.”

”Mission accomplished, now who the flip is that?”

Marco pointed to the other ghost, who had broad shoulders and a square face. The guy picked at a patch on his jacket that spelled in embroidery, “war is stupid”. 

Lucien gestured to him with jazz hands. “My good pal Clive.”

“How do you know this guy? Why’s he in my home?”

The other ghost entered the conversation. “He haunted me while I was still alive.”

”Huh. How long ago did you die?”

”2005, but my form got lost in the atmosphere for a while, so I only pieced myself together a few days ago.” Boastingly, he said, “Before you ask, I got bitten by a rabid mouse.” Clive pointed to a ring shaped bite mark on his lower calf. 

“Is that… a normal event to have happen?”

”Getting bit by a rodent? I would say not.”

”No, no. I mean the atmosphere thing.”

Lucien chimed in again. “It happens to everyone at some point. Lucky folks manage to find all their pieces and appear as a ghost. Many don’t know themselves well enough, and return to the water cycle. Clouds and rain and condensation, it’s all a part of life.”

Marco furrowed his brow. “So I’m drinking dead people all the time?”

”Well that just sounds morbid,” said Clive with a slight smile.

”So you guys are all made of other guys’ corpses?”

”Don’t say that ever again,” winced Lucien.   

“Huh.” Marco searched through his memory. “I don’t think I ever found out how you died.”

”Oh me? Nothing interesting. I simply got stabbed in the heart at a dinner party.”

”Nothing interesting?! Buddy, you got murdered! What’s the story behind that?”

“Well, it all started when my business partner at the time wanted to celebrate a very successful year of trade, so he asked me to join him at his estate for a grand supper. Turns out, it was a trap. He was planning to take advantage of my garlic allergy and claim my side of the year’s prophets. I noticed right away, of course, and we engaged in a duel of fencing. His silver sword took the upper hand, and I died there on the dinner table.”

A hand covered Marco’s gaping jaw. Clive grinned as he messed up Lucien’s hair.

”You see this guy? Always underexaggerating it.”

Hudson joined the group. “Who’s this?”

”New kid on the block.”

”Is he sticking around?”

Marco tilted his head at Clive. “You know what? Sure. What’s one more. Welcome to the family.”

“You mean it?” Clive asked. “Radical.”

“Never needed my kitchen sink anyway.”

Early in the morning, Marco lay awake with his hands folded over his stomach. He usually had great difficulty staying asleep the entire night, so he often ended up much like today, wide awake yet tired. Hudson was slumped against the wall, trying to get the ball of his kendama into the little cup. 

“Got any luck with that?”

”No,” Hudson said in frustration.

”You’ll get it eventually, just keep at it.”

”Thanks, mom, I don’t need your advice.”

”What’s got you feeling hot today, hmm?”

”What’s got you feeling nosey today? Hmm?”

“I’m like this all the time, I dunno what you’re talking about.”

”Not to everybody else. You’re usually such a people pleaser. Get your own opinion, gosh.”

”I’m not sure what you’re trying to scold me for.”

”Stop changing the way you act around different people. Grow a backbone, gosh.”

”Sometimes I forget that you’re stuck eternally as a nineteen year old skater boy, and then you do anything, and I’m brutally reminded.”

”What’s that supposed to mean?” Hudson crossed his arms. 

Marco rolled onto his side facing away from the ghost. “Well you keep at that stick thing�"what’s it called?”

”A kendama”

”Yeah, that. I’ve got another two, maybe three hours that I could be sleeping.”

There was sweet silence for a minute, until Hudson broke it by saying “If you keep talking about us, people are gonna think you’re psycho.”

”Huh?”

”You keep almost mentioning ghosts to people. They’re gonna think you’re crazy.”

”Why would you care if they do? Doesn’t affect you in the slightest.”

”Um, hello? The deal?”

”I’m not sure I understand your reasoning. And you keep tacking things onto this agreement that were never there. I’m starting to regret ever having touched your sticky little toddler hand.”

”My hands are perfect. Besides, I want what’s best for you.”

”Or are you projecting your life over mine because you felt unfulfilled in your own?”

”That is truly proposturous. I died in an awesome way.” 

“Didn’t you die skateboarding?”

”Like I said, it was awesome.”

“Anyway, unlike you, I’m a living organism, and living organisms need rest.”

”Ugh, gosh. You’ll regret ever having gotten on my bad side.”

“M’kay.”

Marco jerked the front door once again. He flipped the lock once again. He had errands to run and no patients for an tampered knob, or whatever else Hudson was capable of. Beginning to feel frantic now, Marco called the landlord. It was 8am, so he was rather surprised when she picked up.

”Hi. I am so very sorry to bother you this early, I usually would wait till at least nine, but my front door appears to be jammed in some way. I cannot get out. If you could take a look, whenever it’s convenient for you, just-”

”Yup. I’m on my way, Markie boy.”

“Um, please don’t call me that. But thank you so much you’re a life saver.”

”Ms. Stanley called me, actually. She noticed that you weren’t out of the house like you usually are by this time.” 

The never-before-spotted-but-always-lurking-in-the-shadows Ms. Stanley was a creepy old woman who lived downstairs. She was the inventor of peeking out between her blinds and jotting down license plates.

”Ah. How kind.”

”Yeah. Oh I think I see you through the window.”

Marco hung up. He watched his landlord climb the squeaky wooden stairs that brought one to his porch. She was a strong Italian woman whose voice was somewhat raspy and accented. She gripped a Phillip’s screwdriver, a crowbar, and the masterkey. The landlord began by inserting the key, which would refuse to spin. 

“Holy mackerel, what have we got going on here?” She was perplexed. “Marcus, you’re a saint, you really are, but you mess everything up. I don’t understand how you get yourself in these situations, love.”

“I dunno. I woke up and my door stopped working.” Marco took a step back when he heard noisy metal clanking coming from the crack. 

“These damn squirrels are getting smarter,” mumbled the landlord under her breath. The lady pulled hard at her crowbar, which made a god awful screeching noise, and began to dent the outside of the door. With a bit of persuasion, the key worked again, and Marco was free. The landlord ran back down to her truck to find a replacement to the piece that had been damaged. 

“This shouldn’t take long, dear. You know, you’re my favorite renter. No fuss, no dilly-dally with you. I like that.”

“Thanks. Can I go now? I have an appointment.”

”Yeah, of course. I’ll lock up when I’m done. Not too much though,” she laughed at her own joke and gave a punch to Marco’s shoulder, which was probably more forceful than she intended for it to be. “Have a nice day now, Mr. Rodrigo”

”You too, ma’am. Thanks for fixing it so quickly.”

”I mean, that’s my job. You assume I’m gonna be bad at my job? No honey.”

Marco smiled and waved goodbye, but a doomed and gloomy feeling sank in his heart. Hudson was constantly twisting the narrative to make himself seem right, but in a way, what if he was? Marco knew that he was loved when reliable and agreeable, but for the tiring toll it took, was it a sustainable way of being? How many times could he keep saying yes to whatever extra work was being demanded of him before he simply collapsed? How many times could he say no before people lost trust in him? What was the moderation that most people kept to stay helpful but not exhausted? What was Marco doing wrong? And if Hudson could trap him inside�"or outside, for that matter�"whenever he felt like it, was he more dangerous than Marco realized? His motives were too unclear to understand. Were all the ghosts playing him too then? Who was trustable, and how would he know?

Reviews

[RomaJ]

Chapter 9 is full of clever blending of the mundane and surreal--the jammed door scene is funny but also works as a metaphor for Marco’s quiet entrapment. I found the new ghost, Clive, especially interesting--his backstory and Lucien’s explanation about ghosts adds a poetic, slightly morbid depth--it even makes Hudson’s obsession with the sink feel meaningful rather than random.