\u201cRick Murphy, you must be Cecelia.\u201d<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
\u201cI am but\u2026\u201d her blue eyes widened in fear. \u201cI thought I was meeting or rather I thought\u2026\u201d \u00a0Her hands shook as she groped through her purse; A rather tattered black leather rectangle which had a secondhand shop air about it. \u00a0\u00a0I watched her hands, balled up little fists, knock about the contents of her bag, looking for perhaps an address or slip of paper that would confirm she had not blundered in her own mind although I had called her by name. \u00a0Nerves, no doubt.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
\u201cRoger Caprice. \u00a0Yeah, that\u2019s a pen name – caprice, thought it would be fun.\u201d Her blank stare made me worry; The resume was concise and well written, perhaps the references were a little vague but time didn\u2019t allow several hours in conversation about a temporary editor.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
\u201cA pen name, sure. \u00a0Caprice, that\u2019s good.\u201d \u00a0Her eyes blinked rapidly, and I suspected she fought biting her bottom lip. \u201cI\u2019ll be frank, I don\u2019t read your books and I\u2019m nervous. \u00a0I never thought I\u2019d land an editor\u2019s job.\u201d<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
My hopes lifted; Sure a little stardust in her eyes but nothing she couldn\u2019t work through, if she wanted the job. \u00a0\u00a0I stepped aside and motioned her in. \u00a0Cecelia peered past the door as if she were looking down a dark alley. Edging her way in to my apartment she halted, giving me just enough room to shut the door behind her. \u00a0The young woman didn\u2019t wince, but I suspected she steeled herself against the desire to do so. \u00a0\u201cThis is an interesting apartment\u2026\u201d she said. \u00a0She remained silent which said volumes. \u00a0Her opinion of my taste in decor flickered across her features; She had the good manners to not babble on. \u00a0I smiled at her but she determinedly looked out my large dinning room window trying to admire the view.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
\u201cAn early 20th century tycoon built it. \u00a0The place warehoused commodities shipped in through the Great Lakes and later there was some light manufacturing; furniture makers even some papermakers. \u00a0Now is houses hip writers and artists who don\u2019t mind freezing in the winter.\u201d \u00a0I tried to give her my best, I\u2019m-a-good-guy-smile. \u00a0I needed her help. \u00a0She didn\u2019t read my books, that was essential, she looked half starved which told me she was a poet and needed the money, she had passed the strenuous testing that I put her through in English grammar. \u00a0Everything I needed and wanted; thank God for the online jungle.
Taking a deep breath, muttering something under her breath she turned to me like the condemned facing her judge. \u00a0A deep pink blushed spread across her gaunt cheek bones but none the less a pretty girl faced me. \u00a0Yes, she was nervous; Her first day on the job jitters. \u00a0\u201cMr. Murphy, I\u2019m so sorry. \u00a0I must have looked like a complete idiot. \u00a0I had my speech all thought out, and it started out as \u2018Mr. Caprice thank you so much for this opportunity\u2019\u2026\u201d<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
A genuine laugh welled up in me; She would work out just fine. \u00a0\u201cWell, you seem to be quick on your feet. \u00a0Let me show you around.\u201d
I was rather vain about the place. \u00a0Living on sixth floor of eight, I picked the apartment because it was the most spacious out of all and the original brick with all its industrial scars still decorated the walls. \u00a0It was on the northeast corner of the building so had a decent view of Lake Michigan despite the taller, steel and glass buildings blocking much of that incredible freshwater sea. \u00a0In the winter months those tall buildings came in handy when the famous winds of Chicago became entrapped in wild and lost gusts of vengeance. \u00a0Though the windows rattled, I believed that it was the taller buildings which took most of the beatings. \u00a0\u00a0I didn\u2019t mind the seasons the city offered including winter. In Chicago no matter what time of the year, one feels the big lake in its one mood – grating intolerance of human habitation.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
My apartment also allowed a panorama of those clueless human habitants. I spent many an enjoyable hour watching the passers-by either sweating or freezing their life away in Chicago; It gives a writer pause and fodder for pen and ink. \u00a0\u00a0The view also gave me time to ponder the arrogance of late 20th and early 21st century architecture; The lake\u2019s brutal history of drowned sailors and with names like Al Capone and Eliot Ness echoing down the timeline there should have been more stone work and gargoyles in Chicago, but hey, it\u2019s Chicago. \u00a0The citizens bustle about too busy to remember last week, let alone recall the significance of a gargoyle. \u00a0Chicago\u2019s ignorance is its best defense, besides stone crosses and quiet chapels are for chumps.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
The tour of the apartment was brief because though it was spacious it was empty; I had little time to stuff it full of memorabilia. \u00a0Guest toilet, galley kitchen, the drawer in the fridge I reserved for my temporary staff-all the amenities; All natural all legitimate, all meant to give her a sense of ease. \u00a0The ability to make someone comfortable whom you pay for showing up is difficult. \u00a0The workplace is old, the floorboards creak, doors have a tendency to slam for no reason and though the ceiling is high, it’s still no reason for the frigidity of the cold spots that persist about the place. \u00a0I blamed the anomaly on the Lake, if it was a bad day I took a walk.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
It takes a courageous mind or a desperate employee to put up with the physical aspects of a haunted apartment. \u00a0I think of myself as courageous but I cannot count on the temporary help to be brave so I try to find the desperate. \u00a0The place is my home and I\u2019m used to it though the dimming of the lights bothers me. A flicker is explainable but the draining away of light especially late at night, saps the energy out of inspiration. \u00a0I won\u2019t call myself frightened, but it is a new phenomenon in the place and I disliked it. \u00a0\u00a0How in the hell do the supernatural in an old factory cum bohemian apartment building in Chicago dim the damn lights? \u00a0Why bother? \u00a0I always understood ghosts as having some agenda which didn\u2019t coincide with electricity. So I fiddled with the light switch and called maintenance every once in a while. \u00a0The cold spots, slamming door etc., only meant I couldn\u2019t have a dog, I told myself. \u00a0I tried it once, but Bullseye didn\u2019t understand me.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
I wanted to tell her these things as she walked behind me during the tour. \u00a0Hey don\u2019t worry if you get cold it will pass and the lights, I just don\u2019t know, it happens, but I kept my mouth shut on the matter. \u00a0I told her she was welcome to the coffee in the pot (just brewed), and I showed her the hall closet for coats, umbrellas and galoshes. \u00a0\u00a0She had none of that apparatus however because it was a summer day in Chicago. I doubted she would have anything more than a rather seedy overcoat if it was a howling January day in Chicago. \u00a0The economic differences between a storyteller and an editor isn\u2019t fair, I\u2019m the first to admit it. \u00a0One loves the thrill of a turning page the other loves the language in a sick over the top way. \u00a0I left her to become acclimated to working with me and working within my \u2018haunted\u2019 rooms. \u00a0When she shivered, I looked up from my manuscript.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
\u201cYou okay?\u201d<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
\u201cYes, felt like someone just walked over my grave.\u201d<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
\u201cExcuse me?\u201d<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
\u201cOh, that\u2019s something my grandmother used to say.\u201d Her big blue eyes widened and her shocking long blonde hair sort of bounced around her narrow face. \u00a0She seemed to be relaxing. \u00a0\u201cWhen Grandma felt a cold shiver run down her back or over her shoulders, she always said that, \u2018someone just walked across my grave\u2019.\u201d<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
I stared at her a moment, nodded and went back to work; I in no way wanted to encourage past conversations with Grandma. \u00a0It was rude but these Indiana (one can always spot a Hoosier) girls had to keep their back-water statements to themselves. \u00a0Typical of those coming from the sinkhole side of Lake Michigan she got right back to work with no sniffs or huffs; I admired her pluck. \u00a0The girls from outside the city were usually very conscientious, and she was no exception. \u00a0When we broke for lunch, I asked her how long she had been living in Chicago.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
\u201cAbout 12 weeks. \u00a0I was ready to give it up, I felt so overwhelmed.\u201d<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
\u201cWell, I\u2019m glad you didn\u2019t.\u201d I was sincere as I passed her the salt. \u00a0I needed her help and, well, I needed someone around for a while. \u00a0The cold spots were getting worse. \u00a0One night I thought I had heard the sounds of footsteps; The quick tap and click of a woman\u2019s step. \u00a0I turned expecting a stranger, but I saw nothing but a blank apartment. \u00a0I went out to dinner that night and got half sloshed. \u00a0God help me I thought I had heard a few sighs so stopped by Saint Something or Other Catholic church and pilfered some Holy Water. \u00a0I\u2019m a professed atheist. \u00a0Oddly enough things quieted down for a while. \u00a0The experience put me behind and my agent, a steely no nonsense older woman let me know that books like mine, though they sell are forgettable. \u00a0I needed to pick up the pace. \u00a0\u00a0I needed someone who would come every morning, work hard and make human noises, human movement, human scents, and human residue; I had been alone too long.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
\u201cSo this used to be an old warehouse, huh? \u00a0It makes a beautiful apartment.\u201d<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
\u201cIt is nice,\u201d I said \u00a0\u201cI like the view all around. \u00a0I think the realtor thought I should be here because she found out I was a writer.\u201d<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
She nodded as if she understood everyone classified writers as Bohemian by nature; I wasn\u2019t I was just a writer. \u00a0The apartment suited me for other reasons; One the city isolated it and two, the noise of the city didn\u2019t crowd in upon my work. \u00a0The screams of the outside world didn\u2019t penetrate nor did the screams of my inner beast escape the solid brick building. \u00a0I knew from the start that the space was perfect for me.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
We worked together for 13 glorious weeks and the manuscript began to take shape. \u00a0I know how clich\u00e9 my words must sound but she wasn\u2019t like other editors who focused on the rules; She allowed for creativity. \u00a0She didn\u2019t let me get away with anything in grammar but came up with clever ways around rules; She pushed my abilities, made me think through my use of words. \u00a0I began to understand that this work would be something beyond what I had done before. \u00a0I felt triumphant that she had not read my books or she may hint at adding her own nom de plume to my own. \u00a0She may have comprehended my excitement in suspecting that the book was a damn good piece of work for I often caught her give me a worried look.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
One night we made a timeline of the plot and pounded out the conclusion. \u00a0We became so consumed with the work she lost track of the time. I looked up, pinched the bridge of my nose and realized what I was seeing was true, it was 11 P.M. \u00a0After 10 PM Chicago sounded different; the city took on a low rumble and sinister rattle. \u00a0I looked over at her, framed against the windows of the night-time city. \u00a0Her hair began to fall out of its pins and curl down around her neck. \u00a0Her freckles began to glow through her smudged makeup. \u00a0Purplish smudges of weariness deepened her large aqua blue eyes and her wide but well sculptured mouth frowned in a pout. \u00a0My heart started to pound, but I understood we were both tired. \u00a0Time for attraction later, this was business, all business and I couldn\u2019t mix it with pleasure. \u00a0I asked her to text my cell when she arrived at her hovel across town; Public transportation was dangerous late at night. \u00a0I remember feeling nervous as the clock started to tick closer to midnight, and I had not heard from her. \u00a0I had forgotten about the sighs of those forgotten souls within the bricked walls of my apartment. \u00a0At last the soft bell of my phone sounded – she was home safe. \u00a0I went to bed exhausted, relieved and not bothered at all by cold spots and dimming lights. \u00a0It was as if the apartment was holding its breath too.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
One Wednesday evening she was standing in front of the large window that some brilliant soul had installed in the dining room. \u00a0I used the dinning room as my work space when writing. \u00a0It may sound pagan but when I finished a book, I prepared my victory dinner and ate it alone on the long dark table with the city spread out before me.
Looking out toward Lake Michigan, framed against that window she reminded me of a young girl I once knew, we were together for a short time; A short intense time. \u00a0Standing up myself, moving next to her a spiritual sense of communion enveloped me. \u00a0The deep summer heat had passed and the early heat of fall turned into gentle puffs of wind which buffeted the old building prophesying of the brutal winter to come. \u00a0We were nearing completion of the book and I was glad she would not have to face crossing the city in the cold icy extremes. \u00a0The city was clear and gleamed before her, like some promising utopia. \u00a0The setting sun reflected on the building and left the lake, to the east, darkened and moving in blackened waves. Chicago looked alive but in an ancient, sinister way that drew me up taller beside her.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
Standing beside me I admired her body by vicinity; She was so close. She studied the scene as some young virgin just before the sacrifice – perhaps as some young Aztec, pampered for a year of bliss but then feeling the effects of an ancient drug dulling her sense which would make her death easier, she began to tremble. \u00a0I blinked hard and shook my head we were so close to finishing the book I wanted to focus. \u00a0I stepped back and noticed her straight, sky-blue skirt, \u00a0too large by at least one size. \u00a0Her rather bony hips looked enticing through the folds of her skirt and her soft, buff colored sweater cascaded around her narrow shoulders and folded softly around her thin waist. \u00a0Her clothes always seemed a size too large, but she wore it well, oddly enough.
\u201cYou know,\u201d she said a vacant tone resonated from her voice, \u201cI know someone haunts this apartment. \u00a0I heard her crying in the bathroom.\u201d
I stopped imaging her as anybody else but my editor. \u00a0She turned at my silence looking a little perplexed. \u00a0\u201cWhat do you think happened? \u00a0Do you think she died in an accident while this place was still a factory?\u201d
\u201cNo,\u201d I said, relieved she was forming conclusions that didn\u2019t include me.
She looked pouty and my heart beat hard. \u00a0\u201cAre you sure?\u201d she asked. \u00a0\u201cHow do you know? \u00a0When did you realize someone haunted the place?\u201d
The sky darkened into a deep blue and for a moment the surrounding space expanded. \u00a0\u201cSoon after I moved in, it didn\u2019t take me long.\u201d \u00a0I took a deep breath and heaved out a sigh of my own; \u201cHave you ever been kissed?\u201d \u00a0It was an awful question, and I didn\u2019t want to ask but being tired I could not stop myself. \u00a0Her bright blue eyes widened and then she smiled.
\u201cYes,\u201d she whispered, now shy. \u201cI know you think me a bumpkin and maybe I am but I\u2019ve kissed before.\u201d \u00a0Her breath was soft on my face and even with her thin body standing apart from me I felt her shiver. \u00a0I grasped her tiny hips and pulled her toward me, wanting that one kiss not tainted by fear or hatred. \u00a0The kiss was moist and lingering, I felt a soft peace and heavy sagging along my shoulders. I would regret this one, I remembered thinking as I lead her to the sofa. \u00a0She seemed so desperate for touch and I wanted so much for her to trust me, to remain for just a little while within our first kiss, it made the drama to follow so much more enticing. \u00a0Then I heard her whisper in my ear as she arched her thin body under mine, her clothes twisting and pulling around her body.
\u201cI know you killed her,\u201d she whispered softly in my ear. \u00a0\u201cI know you did, I knew her well.\u201d<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
I felt her pull the trigger, felt the bullet rip through my shirt, my skin, my heart my back. \u00a0My weight muffled the rapport of the gun. \u00a0I remember standing next to her, both of us watching my bleeding body. \u00a0She wept and shook and through her sobs she told me she loved someone; I don\u2019t know who. \u00a0I suppose I am to blame for I would have added her sighs to all the rest that echoed through the building.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
I tried to follow her out but stopped at the door inhibited by nothing. I watched her pale face disappear as she quietly shut the door to my apartment. \u00a0She left me here to sigh, chill the air, press down upon the old floorboards and drain the electric lights when anger overcomes me.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n
No one stays for long. \u00a0I think of her often; Clever girl, a very clever girl.<\/p>\r\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
\u201cRoger Caprice. Yeah, that\u2019s a pen name – caprice, thought it would be fun.\u201d Her blank stare made me worry; The resume was concise and well written, perhaps the references were a little vague, but time didn\u2019t allow several hours in conversation about a temporary editor.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":2232,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"nf_dc_page":"","_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[29,43,3],"tags":[36,39,21],"class_list":["post-1132","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-ghost-story","category-horror","category-short-fiction","tag-amwritingfiction","tag-ghost","tag-shortstory"],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"amp_enabled":true,"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/lydiaink.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/08\/Clever-girl.png?fit=1536%2C1024&ssl=1","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/lydiaink.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1132","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/lydiaink.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/lydiaink.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lydiaink.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lydiaink.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1132"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/lydiaink.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1132\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2233,"href":"https:\/\/lydiaink.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1132\/revisions\/2233"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lydiaink.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/2232"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/lydiaink.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1132"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lydiaink.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1132"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lydiaink.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1132"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}