Gloaming Gap

Confidence

GG — Fri, 27 Aug 2010 16:05:59 +0000

“Confidence: A Gloaming Gap Story” by Jeff Burkholder

Some guy once said, “There’s a sucker born every minute.” You ask me, they were being nice.

I learned how to con from my dad. He would wink at me and say, “Cody, the trick is to learn that everyone wants to believe in something. I don’t care if it’s God, the government, or Michael Jordan; they’re looking for something to believe in. All you need to do is find out what that is.”

A lot of people wanna believe that they can be a “good guy”. You see a boy at the Greyhound station, talking about how he just needs $20 for a bus ticket to Cleveland to see his Momma, ‘cause he got on the wrong bus, what’re you gonna do? I tell ya what you’re gonna do: You’re gonna try and make the world a better place; reunite a boy with his Momma. Give him a little extra for food on the way…

Dad bought Tetris for my Gameboy with my first day’s take.

I know he wasn’t the best of fathers. Hell, I bet even so-so dads don’t teach their boys to slip a DVD into some other kid’s backpack, soon after they walk into a store. You keep an eye on ‘em as they do their thing and check out. Then make your way out the door (with your own stash in the hidden pocket of your shirt that looks way too thin to have one) right at the same time. Alarm goes off–and you’re the one walking away, free as you like.

Still, he was my dad. And he loved me. Even during that time when some local sheriff managed to catch up with him. Dad called me from lock-up for my birthday. He never forgot.

Well, until the Pittsburgh job.

I don’t remember whether it was me or Dad who said we should try a Barcelona Three-Card Monte. Normally, Monte’s a pretty low-rent kinda game, but the Spanish version has the potential for a decent payoff. It’s kinda tricky, in that you’ve gotta have not only two who can do a convincing dealer-and-shill setup, but a third one who can sneak around the crowd, pocketing whatever they’ve got. I do know that it was me who suggested we use Squint as the third guy.

See, Squint’s really tricky. So average-looking he can walk past you a half dozen times before you recognize it’s the same guy. Blends in, no matter where he goes. I don’t care if you’re in Detroit or Cabo. Thing is, guy must have lost belief in something or other somewhere along the line. Carries a piece wherever he goes. If he’s not blending, he’ll whip that thing out faster than you can say, “Boo.” When things went south on Pittsburgh and the cops showed, he didn’t even wait that long.

I was the shill on this game and was able to take off with the crowd pretty quickly. So I got a good view of the cops shooting back. Even though Squint was the one with the gun, Dad was the one they hit. In the head. Squint took off; disappeared. Haven’t heard from him since.

They took Dad away in an ambulance. The one bright spot was that, since Squint had the gun, they didn’t find one on Dad. His record showed that he never had been caught with a gun on him, so no official charges were pressed, but he is still the only (known) witness of the situation. Of course, since Dad was in a coma, didn’t make much difference to him, either way.

Still doesn’t.

Last I heard, he was still on life support. I’m his only family, but nobody really knows about me. Since he was turned into a vegetable by a cop, he’s on the government’s dime. That’s the funny part right there; the government wants to believe he’ll know something when he wakes up, so they’re giving him money – to keep him alive.

Me, I learned enough from Squint to stay in the general area without getting caught. Pulled a few jobs, here and there – big enough to get by; not big enough to get noticed.

Today, though, I got noticed. Big time.

I been making my way through Pennsylvania, West Virginia and Ohio, and was heading up to Erie for a bit when I stopped in this little podunk. Was sitting in a diner, getting ready for a dine-and-dash, when this guy walks up to my table. “Corey?” he said.

It was Dad. I’ll be damned if he didn’t look just like him. Even down to the dopey little mustache he keeps on his upper lip. I almost blurted out, “No, Dad, it’s Cody,” but I learned enough to keep my mouth shut if I’m not sure of something.

Dad–the guy looked at me again. “Wait, you’re not Corey, are you?” I shook my head, still keeping quiet. “I’m sorry. You like exactly like my son. I think.” The guy stepped away, looking around the rest of the diner. He glanced at the diner TV hanging in one corner. Some news story about suicide bombers somewhere. He looked lost. Confused.

At this point, my dine-and-dash plan was pretty well toast. No big. I cleared my throat and waved to the empty bench across from me. “Have a seat.” Guy looked startled, but nodded and sat down. As he did, I couldn’t help but size him up.

First off, guy was thin. Thinner than Dad had ever been; like he hadn’t eaten decently in a day over too long. Clothes didn’t fit quite right. His sleeves were rolled up to mid-arm, but the cuffs still hung loosely. Shoes were dusty over top of muddy, and really worn. Given that it hadn’t rained in at least three weeks, meant that either guy worked in a construction site, or had been walking a while. He shook my hand as he sat, and the question was answered. He didn’t have construction worker’s hands. Grip was loose and shaky.

Wallet in rear right pocket. Used to keep cell phone or something in front left, but didn’t have it anymore. No keys, pocket knife, nothing solid in front pockets, though right front might have had a couple of bills folded up. Couldn’t be many.

Pencil-thin mustache and temples graying. Eyes red. Guy hadn’t slept well recently, and hadn’t showered lately, either. Hair lanky and greasy-looking. And a scar. His hair fell over his forehead to cover it up pretty well, but there was a definite scar on his forehead. A recent one. That threw me off.

I must’ve been staring. Guy started to look uncomfortable, and casually ruffled his hair a little bit, hiding the scar. I mumbled an apology and figured I’d get him talking. “So, you supposed to meet your son here? Corey?”

Guy nodded, paused, then shrugged. “I think so. Just got a note that I was supposed to meet him here.” He reached into his right front pocket and pulled out two slips of paper. One looked like a doctor’s prescription. The other was a hand-written note on a page ripped out of a Gideon Bible. The handwriting was vaguely familiar, but shaky and barely legible: “Find Co__y. Son: can help. B___ Diner in GG.” After it was scrawled the day’s date and a time of about a half hour before.

I kept my voice as calm and casual as possible, and asked, “Who gave you this?”

Guy shook his head slowly. “Hell if I know. Found it in my pants, I think.” His voice got rough. “I got, um, memory problems,” he said as he absently rubbed the scar on his forehead.

This was too much. “Look,” I said, gathering my thoughts. “It sounds like you need to see a doctor or something.” I pointed to the prescription. “You need medicine or something?”

Guy looked at me. His eyes were getting redder. “Naw. Just need to find my son. Colby can help. He should be…here.”

As he was talking, a sedan pulled into the parking lot outside. Dark colored Crown Vic. Dude who got out was just a little too tall, hair was just a little too well-parted. Dark sunglasses. Darker suit and tie… Dammit.

I looked around; there were two other people in the diner, along with the waitress. None of them were looking our way. I reached into the liner pocket of my shirt and pulled out my main money clip and shoved it into the guy’s hand. He stared at it blankly. I pointed out the window and said quickly, “See the bus station across the street? Take that money and get a ticket as far away from here as possible. Seattle.”

Guy looked totally lost. Mister “I’m Not Really a Fed” walked in and sat down at the far end of the counter. Good vantage point of the rest of us in there. I lowered my voice even further. “Look, Colby or Corey or whatever sent me.” At this, his eyes focused on me. They were sharper; less lost and more like Dad’s. I grabbed a crayon from a cup on the table for kids to draw on the placemats, and started scribbling on the Bible page. “Take the money and head to Seattle. Find a doctor once you’re there. Hurry. Go now. But do it casually.”

He nodded quickly. Stood up, pocketing the money clip. He cleared his throat, took my hand firmly. Still a little shake, but much more controlled. “Sure, man,” he said in an easy, conversational tone. “Say ‘hi’ to Lisa and the kid for me.” He winked at the waitress, slyly catching sight of her name tag. “‘Later, Gwen.”

I watched him walk out the door and stroll across the street. Just before he walked into the station, he paused for a moment, looking lost again. Then he looked at the paper I had written on. Nodded to himself, then went inside.

I breathed a sigh of relief. The Fed looked like he was reading the paper, making no sign of standing up. Good.

Then the news on the TV caught my attention. Dad’s last mugshot was on the screen beside the anchor lady, who was saying, “…Pittsburgh police said the suspect died of a brain hemorrhage without waking up, leaving them just as in the dark about the March 11th shoot-out as when it happened. Again, suspect and coma patient Ethan Vardoger has died without giving police any further leads.”

The waitress–Gwen–looked away from the TV to hand me my check. “I believe I’ve seen him somewhere before.”

I heard the Fed grunt something about the Pirates losing their last home game. Idiot still believed he was blending in.

I looked over at the Greyhound station again. I’m not sure what the guy wanted to believe. Or wanted me to believe.

But I’ll let him.

The Spinster’s Secret

GG — Thu, 01 Jul 2010 03:10:49 +0000

“The Spinster’s Secret: A Gloaming Gap Story” by Andrea Cumbo

They all think I’m a spinster. Okay, so they wouldn’t use that word; it’s too old-fashioned, all Faulkner and roses for Emily. They would say I’m “lonely.” They would be wrong.

Sure, I look the part. Lady who lives alone in a little cottage, several cats that never go outside but can be seen from their perches on the window sills above the hydrangea, glasses, hair in a bun. If I just carried around a basket full of knitting, they’d have no doubts.

Fairly or not, they base their impressions on what they see of me at the library or school or farmers’ market. I am out most days, picking up packing tape or pressing the soft flesh of the avocados to be sure they’re perfect for the guacamole I’ll take to the church dinner. I go out to book club once a month (next week, we’re discussing Pride and Prejudice; if I only knitted, I would be just like that other book.) Out, I am alone, but I am still not lonely.

The real part of my life is by the front door that I never leave open. No one will see this part of my life as I walk to the art in the park festival in July. It’s much too warm for him in July. He’d swelter.

No, during the summer months he stays in the air conditioned house and reads (he’s very into DeLillo these days – I just don’t get DeLillo) or watches TV. When I come home from school in the afternoons and set myself up at the dining room table to grade compositions, he brings me tea (on Fridays he slips some whiskey into it for me) and goes back to whatever he’s doing, usually Oprah’s on by then.

Sometimes at night we go out for a stroll; we stay to the quiet roads, not so much as a way to avoid people, we say, but because we prefer the quiet. He wears his fedora, suit vest and his khakis, with all the hems run out to make them long enough. Most people don’t even look at us. It seems odd enough already for a couple to be strolling in the pitch of night.

In the cool of the stars, we listen for rabbits tumbling through hedges and hear the howls of cats mating. We hear cars full of teenagers whooping with the unspecified glee that only comes when you are young and crammed into a car with seven of your closest friends. We feel the breeze on our faces. It is this I think he misses most, the coldness of air when it reaches his skin. That almost never happens here, unless he strolls out into the Pennsylvania winter alone (I cannot walk well on snow.). I imagine him standing in a field of purple darkness, his head tossed against his back. I picture him breathing there.

Some days we make dinner together – for a warm-blooded fellow, he oddly prefers to make hot food. I cook the rice noodles, and he makes the peanut sauce with extra chiles. He always lifts the tiniest pool on the end of the wooden spoon and holds it to my lips. I always taste it, wave my hand in front of my lips, and then cram bread in my mouth to stop the burn. I never learn, and I never want to.

Since the first day I met him, I have been fine with being burned. He was sitting in a dark corner of the library back behind the shelves in the young adult section. He was in a suit with a hat and brown, perfectly shined shoes. His head was tucked into his chest, and he wasn’t moving. He was asleep.

I know how embarrassing it is to fall asleep in public – one talent I have always had is the ability to drop to sleep no matter what – so I walked over and loudly cleared my throat with my face turned in profile toward him. I didn’t want him to think I was staring, but I did wonder what this perfectly-clad man looked like. As he jolted awake, his head lifted and I saw what I at first thought was a long white beard. Oh, he’s older, I thought. Oh well. But then, as he turned his boy away from me, I saw his hands – white with slick fur. I turned away quickly.

Then, I turned back and said, “Are you alright?” He was trying to get up, but the low club chair held him tight, his legs far too long to get the proper leverage. I reached out my hand and helped him up. The minute my palm touched the soft down of his fingers . . . well, as they say, the rest is history.

We talked quietly in the library for a couple of hours that Wednesday and then again the next. He told me he liked to sit there because it was quiet, and the kids didn’t pay much attention to him. They were too focused on the computers and their Facebook profiles. He lived in a rented room in an old farmhouse. The old farmer was blind, so his unusual appearance went unnoticed. I was the first person he had spoken to since coming here almost two years ago. I felt gratified.

Eventually, our get-togethers turned into dinners at my house, and then he just moved in. It seemed reasonable since he was sleeping there most nights anyway, at first in the guest room and then with me. It feels like marriage after this six months, like permanence, and well, we couldn’t really marry, now could we? At least, he is sure we couldn’t.

Today, this rather random Thursday, we have decided to go out and see a movie. Citizen Kane is showing at the old theater in the center of town. Tickets are $3, and popcorn is a $1. They haven’t refurbished the seats since the 50s, so the whole place smells of age. I playfully asked him out for a date, and he said yes. Or at least he didn’t say no. He didn’t really say anything, but then that’s nothing unusual. He’s not one given to idle chatter.

I’m on my way home now. I’ve bought a lovely chardonnay for our dinner – I think he’s making spinach lasagna – and we’ll dine together at our oak table before getting dressed for dinner. I hope he wears his glasses; I love him in his glasses. I am going to wear my pearls.

When I turn off the sidewalk and open the gate, I notice the air isn’t on. It’s always on, even in May. He’s just so hot under all that fur. Maybe it’s broken.

I open the door and lay my purse and school bag by the hall tree. “My dear. Are you here?” The silence makes my ears vibrate. I walk into the dining room and see a dozen white roses, delivered from the florist in town. The note says, “Good-bye. Love, Your Yeti.”

Taking a Break From All Your Worries

GG — Mon, 28 Jun 2010 13:54:05 +0000

Dear Readers–

I hope you’ve been enjoying the stories about Gloaming Gap and it’s … erm … residents? … as much as I have. For those who haven’t been keeping track, Andrea Cumbo’s just-completed story, “The Spinster’s Secret”, was our 13th story, marking just over a year since this site came into existence. (By the way, I will be posting Andi’s story in its entirety here within the next day or two; sorry for the delay!) In addition to her work, I’d like to also extend a special thanks to the rest of those who have contributed to our little town: Beth Dombach, George Buss, Susan Pogorzelski, Vicky Burkholder, and a very special thanks to my wife, Jeannine.

We’ve got some significant life events happening within the next month or two, so I decided it might be a good idea to take a little bit of a breather here in July, but fear not: More everyday stories featuring less-than-everyday characters will be just around the corner. In the meantime, feel free to browse through the previous stories. We hope you enjoy reading them as much as we’ve enjoyed writing them.

Until next time…
–Jeff Burkholder, Editor

Have You Seen This Man?

GG — Mon, 31 May 2010 19:57:33 +0000

“Have You Seen This Man?: A Gloaming Gap Story” by Jeff & Jeannine Burkholder

May 1, 2010 8:03 AM – Called my mom two days ago. Weird that she hasn’t called back.
May 1, 2010 9:17 AM – Off to work at the park. Big landscaping project. Excited about greening the place up a bit.
May 1, 2010 9:31 AM – I’m at Gloaming Gap Community Park (4 Cemetery Rd, Gloaming Gap) http://www.gloaminggap.com/ #foursquare

May 2, 2010 10:11 AM – I hate running errands. Anyone want to do them for me?
May 2, 2010 10:16 AM – No takers, eh? Fine, it’s about time to get my ass moving, I guess.
May 2, 2010 10:48 AM – I’m at Rahab’s Apartment Complex (8 Spectre St, Gloaming Gap) http://www.gloaminggap.com/ #foursquare
May 2, 2010 10:48 AM – I have just become mayor of Rahab’s Apartment Complex (8 Spectre St, Gloaming Gap) http://www.gloaminggap.com/ #foursquare

May 3, 2010 4:03 PM – I’m at Gloaming Gap Groceries (15 Lost Highway, Gloaming Gap). http://www.gloaminggap.com/ #foursquare
May 3, 2010 4:29 PM – Dear check-out girls: I should not have to wait to have my groceries scanned while you flirt with the boys in the deli! Sincerely, Me
May 3, 2010 4:37 PM – Went to complain to store manager, who pretended I wasn’t even there.
May 3, 2010 4:38 PM – Guess I have to use the U-Scan. This is ridiculous.

May 4, 2010 12:12 PM – Fuming at Outback Steak House on Route 58 (16 Lost Highway) http://www.gloaminggap.com/ #foursquare
May 4, 2010 12:16 PM – Way to work this morning, guy nearly runs me over and then just drives off.
May 4, 2010 12:19 PM – Seriously, how could you NOT see me there, you F*in’ moron!
May 4, 2010 12:24 PM – Apparently I have a sign that says, “Please, pull out in front of me! Really, I love sudden stops!”

May 5, 2010 7:45 AM – Damn, I need coffee.
May 5, 2010 8:08 AM – I’m at Crystal’s Coffee Shop (23 S. Main Street) http://www.gloaminggap.com/ #foursquare
May 5, 2010 8:13 AM – Okay, if you’re not going to take my order, I’ll just take someone else’s drink.
May 5, 2010 8:19 AM – Cashier shrugged when I threw my money on the counter. Just put it in the register. Asshole!

May 6, 2010 3:00 PM – I’m beginning to get a complex. No one has even noticed me for days. It’s like I don’t exist.
May 6, 2010 3:02 PM – …and, I’m beginning to think my mom hates me. Tried to call again today. Still no answer.
May 6, 2010 3:07 PM – I think this qualifies as the worst week ever.

May 7, 2010 5:11 PM – Stupid idiot threw his burger wrapper on the ground today. I balled it up and threw it back at him.
May 7, 2010 5:13 PM – Hit him on the head. He stopped and turned, ready to yell. Got confused as if he didn’t see me, shrugged, walked away.
May 7, 2010 5:21 PM – This may sound stupid, but it feels like I’m invisible. I mean, *I* can see me, but maybe I’m the only one.

May 8, 2010 12:13 PM – Walked up to a cop this morning, managed to get his attention. Started talking to him, but he walked away in the middle of my sentence.
May 8, 2010 12:13 PM – Looks like I’m not *invisible*…just really, really unnoticeable. ‘Course, if it talks like a duck and looks like a…invisible duck…
May 8, 2010 12:16 PM – I could have a lot of fun with this. I could be…a superhero! I’d tell all of you not to laugh, except nobody’s paying attention.

May 9, 2010 9:41 AM – I’m at Gloaming Gap Community Park (4 Cemetery Rd, Gloaming Gap) http://www.gloaminggap.com/ #foursquare
May 9, 2010 11:11 AM – Something bugging me. There really aren’t any superheroes who were invisible. It’s kind of a villain power, really.
May 9, 2010 11:16 AM – Don’t wanna be a villain. Sure, they laugh the most, but things usually go badly for them. So…hero.
May 9, 2010 11:16 AM – Ooh, *vigilante*!
May 9, 2010 11:39 AM – While pondering being hero, guy tossed burger wrapper. Grabbed it; wiped ketchup all over his suit. Take that, evil-doer!

May 10, 2010 8:00 PM – I have decided I will save the planet, one piece of litter at a time.
May 10, 2010 8:00 PM – I will call myself, Invisible Keith, Earth Avenger.
May 10, 2010 8:03 PM – HAHA! Take that scum-dumping scum of the earth!

May 11, 2010 8:03 AM – I just realized that Invisible Keith, Earth Avenger shortens to IKEA. I may need to rethink this title.

May 12, 2010 5:41 PM – I’m at Charly’s Restaurant (42 Town Square) http://www.gloaminggap.com/ #foursquare
May 12, 2010 5:57 PM – Guy lets his kid throw food on the floor and says nothing. I’m having his steak. …Heroically.
May 12, 2010 6:03 PM – Should see people’s faces when their food disappears. It’s priceless!

May 13, 2010 9:44 AM – But…I have an idea. Will be back later tonight. Need to repaint the bathroom stalls at the park, first.
May 13, 2010 9:46 AM – I’m beginning to wonder the point of checking in with Foursquare. There’s a sort of moot-ness about saying where the Invisible Man is.
May 13, 2010 10:11 AM – I’m at Gartner’s Building Supply (47A High St, Gloaming Gap) http://www.gloaminggap.com/ #foursquare
May 13, 2010 10:31 AM – I’m at Gartner’s Sporting Goods (47B Hight St, Gloaming Gap) http://www.gloaminggap.com/ #foursquare

May 14, 2010 1:04 AM – Waiting in the park… The bait should be irresistible. These guys always wreck the bathrooms right after I paint ‘em.
May 14, 2010 2:16 AM – Car just pulled up. Three kids. This should be fun. Glad I got the aluminum bat.
May 14, 2010 2:28 PM – Very glad I got the aluminum bat. It took out the car windows, no problem. Scared the bejeezus outta those kids.
May 14, 2010 9:08 AM – Keith the Invisible Avenger rules!

May 15, 2010 10:01 AM – …”KIA”? No.

May 16, 2010 2:11 PM – Upside of vigilantism: You get things done. Downside? You don’t get to see the perp-walk.
May 16, 2010 2:55 PM – Major downside: There’s not gonna *be* a perp-walk! Police ignored my note about who’s been vandalizing the bathrooms!
May 16, 2010 2:59 PM – C’mon, what’s it take to get a guy arrested in this town, anyway?!

May 17, 2010 9:17 PM – I’m at Lost Highway Bar & Grill (3113 Lost Highway, Gloaming Gap) http://www.gloaminggap.com/ #foursquare
May 17, 2010 10:36 PM – I’m trying to decide if I’m drunk yet – staring into an empty glass, wondering where it’s gone. How existential.
May 17, 2010 10:48 PM – I’d ask for another drink, but I’m pretty sure the bartender won’t notice.
May 18, 2010 12:04 AM – Just took the keys from our local drunk. He stared at me for just a minute, as if he actually saw me.
May 18, 2010 12:06 AM – He just passed out. The one person who might actually see me just. passed. out.

May 18, 2010 10:27 AM – Back at work, planting trees. Gotta do something to make a difference for the earth.
May 18, 2010 1:55 PM – Thought of a new name. Planet Earth’s Next Invisible Savior. Does that make me a dick?

May 19, 2010 1:40 PM – Landlord just re-rented my apartment. Stared right through me when he said “Nobody’s been here for a month.”
May 19, 2010 2:16 PM – Rescuing my stuff from the dumpster. He could have at least recycled.
May 19, 2010 2:17 PM – Guess I’ll stay with Mom for a while.

May 20, 2010 9:13 AM – Okay, I get that no one notices me. I get that no one cares. But my own mother?
May 20, 2010 9:14 AM – Not a single Happy Birthday.
May 20, 2010 9:20 AM – If I make a wish on my candles, will the Universe even notice?

May 21, 2010 11:02 AM – Peek-a-boo… I see you. Can you see me?
May 21, 2010 11:56 PM – Can you hear me now?

May 22, 2010 10:22 AM – I feel restless. This vigilante thing is boring. Especially when no one even notices!
May 22, 2010 11:48 AM – Yes, I just cleaned up after you, idiot. Do I look like your mother? No. I don’t look like anyone.

May 23, 2010 4:35 AM – Does anyone even follow me?
May 23, 2010 11:12 AM – Are you reading this?
May 23, 2010 4:29 PM – Do I exist if no one hears me? Have you seen me lately?
May 23, 2010 7:45 PM – If a tree falls in the woods and no one is around to hear it…

May 24, 2010 12:01 PM – **tap, tap** Hello? Is this thing on?

May 25, 2010 10:13 AM – It’s getting lonely with no one to talk to. That’s why I tweet. At least my computer screen listens.
May 25, 2010 10:20 AM – I tweet, therefore I am.

May 26, 2010 8:44 AM – Perhaps I’ll just sit on the roof today and throw random junk at people.
May 26, 2010 11:26 AM – No one seems to care.

May 27, 2010 1:33 PM – This saving the earth thing is too hard.
May 27, 2010 1:57 PM – Screw ‘em. Screw being heroic. I’m invisible, yeah? Heroes aren’t invisible. They’re seen. And loved. I’m not. Screw ‘em.

May 28, 2010 9:16 AM – I didn’t really mean that yesterday. I didn’t.
May 28, 2010 9:23 AM – I’m at Gloaming Gap Community Park (4 Cemetery Rd, Gloaming Gap) http://www.gloaminggap.com #foursquare
May 28, 2010 9:24 AM – I’ve unlocked the Local Badge. #foursquare

May 29, 2010 1:55 PM – Jackass sitting at the red light sucking on a bottle of whiskey. These are the worst kind of scum.
May 29, 2010 1:57 PM – Light changed. He flicked his cigarette butt out the window and knocked over the booze, trying to shift into gear.
May 29, 2010 2:06 PM – I didn’t know it was gonna make the car explode when I tossed it back in the window. Serves him right though.
May 29, 2010 2:41 PM – Maybe it’s a good thing no one knows I’m here.

May 30, 2010 2:14 AM – It’s easier to watch people when they don’t even know you’re there.
May 30, 2010 2:18 AM – The world may not notice me, but I notice them.

May 31, 2010 9:17 AM – Should work on drawing up a plan to take over the world.

Those Who Wait

GG — Fri, 23 Apr 2010 13:45:15 +0000

“Those Who Wait: A Gloaming Gap Story” by Susan Pogorzelski

She barely made a sound as she shuffled past the reflective headstones and statues of angels with upturned hands. She knew exactly where she was going, a path she’d made for herself only three months ago on her first trip out here. She’d come with friends to smoke up – “they’re dead, they don’t care,” Bobby had said – but she told him to shut up and inched closer to the plain headstone that had caught her eye. Soon, she found herself returning week after week, weaving the same trail among the plots.

A few feet away, an older gentleman watched from the makeshift seat of his own headstone – Charlie Cameron (1919-1988) – as the young girl slowed her stride and stopped before a simple slate marker. Her fingers – covered in some kind of black nail polish – tugged at the edges of a t-shirt that peeked beneath an olive green army jacket. She didn’t look like the girls in his day – with her leggings and short denim skirt and red converse sneakers. No, in his day the women were feminine and modest and made you wonder what lay beneath their silk blouse and satin camisole.

Classic, was how he always described Maggie. Oh, his dear Maggie. Still bringing fresh flowers every year though he repeatedly told her how much he hated the smell. They got into a fight right then and there a few days ago – “Why can’t you appreciate what I do for you?” she had shouted, holding up the small bouquet. “Why can’t you bring me whisky and a cigar,” he had countered, “instead of a pocketful of posies?” He watched her walk away, a shake of the head and a smile lingering on both their lips.

Even death doesn’t change much.

“Who’s that?”

Charlie turned, glancing at the young man who had walked up beside him. Jimmy Montgomery (1994-2010) died in a car accident three days after his sixteenth birthday when he decided to take his parents’ BMW for a spin out on route 58. The soil hadn’t yet set, and fresh flowers and teddy bears still memorialized his name.

“Her name’s Caitlin.”

“Who’s she talking to?”

“Her grand-dad.”

They watched as the girl fished into her pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a purple BIC lighter.

“Which one’s he?”

“He’s not here. Died in ‘Nam. Just an empty casket now.”

“Shit.” Jimmy paused. “Does she know?”

“She knows.”

“So…Why does she visit if he’s not here?”

“It’s not just us who search for peace here, Son.”

“She back again, Charlie?” A young African-American woman approached, her thick, curly hair peeking out from beneath an ash-laden bonnet, a sleeping baby resting against her shoulder – Lucinda Mayes (1878-1904) and Caleb Whitaker (1904-1904). Lucinda was Caleb’s nursemaid when they both died in a fire started by faulty wiring of the house’s brand-new electric lighting.

“Yep. Sure is.”

“That poor child. All she’s lookin’ for is a li’l guidance.”

“What she’s looking for is answers, and the dead ain’t got any.”

They watched as the girl kneeled down in front of the marker, picking at the blades of grass with her thumb and forefinger before flicking the ashes from her cigarette away from her.

Jimmy took a step forward. “I think I’ll go-”

“You’ll ain’t do nothing, kid.”

“But-”

“She’s the living. You’re dead.” Charlie eyed the young boy carefully.

“Well, what the hell am I supposed to do here for all eternity? I’m a teenager, I have, like, needs, you know.”

“That’ll pass.”

“Eternity ain’t so long, Sugar,” Lucinda soothed, rubbing the back of the sleeping child in her arms. “You’ll realize that soon enough.”

“Hey, Caitlin’s here!” Janie Richards (1952-1961) ran up beside the group, her ponytail bobbing behind her. She passed just shy of her 10th birthday when a classmate dared her to jump into the watering hole from the ridge one hot, lazy summer. They’d all underestimated the impact of the seasonal drought. “Hi, Caitlin!”

“Hush, Sugar, let her visit awhile.”

“So, what,” Jimmy folded his arms across his chest, the defiant teenager in him rising to the surface. “I’m just supposed to hang out and wait for people to show up?”

Caitlin whirled around, a scowl crossing her face. “Will you people shut up! I’m trying to have a moment here.” She rolled her eyes and tossed the cigarette to the ground. “Sometimes I hate living in this goddamn town. Come on, Janie,” she motioned to the younger girl. “Walk me to the gate?”

Charlie stood and watched as the two stepped around statues and disappeared down the hill. “That’s what we do here, Son. We wait.”

Jimmy looked confused. “Wait? You mean us or them?”

“Both. The living wait to die and we wait for them.”

“And in the meantime?”

“In the meantime, you find ways to connect this life and your former life in the best way you know how.”

“That seems like a sucky deal.”

“Give it time, Son. For some of us, that’s all we’ve got.”

All Fall Down

GG — Wed, 31 Mar 2010 20:41:47 +0000

“All Fall Down: A Gloaming Gap Story” by Jeff Burkholder

…And with that, I find that it’s Thursday afternoon, and I’m standing on Main Street. Nothing to do, no place to go. Aimless. Directionless.

It’s not that it was all that great of a job. Frankly, it sucked. But the company-provided housing was handy. Now I need to find not only a job, but a place to live. By Monday.

Crap.

I just start walking. Seems more socially appropriate a thing to do than just standing there, getting cold. Most people I pass largely ignore me, although I caught one middle-aged guy walking with…his wife?…checking me out. Ass.

I feel like I hit the “autopilot” switch. My feet have walked me to my favorite coffeeshop, and I go in. A voice mumbles, “Gimme a mocha.” Money exchanges hands. From the pastry case, the reflection of a woman with mousy, brown hair stares blankly back at me, trying to figure out who I am, who she is. I’ve drunk half of the beverage before I even taste it.

I’m standing in front of the community bulletin board inside the shop. Band fliers. Dance classes. Unwanted furniture. No “roommate needed” posts. But one catches my eye.

“Need help finding the next step in your life? Call today!”

God, do I need help with that. Hope it’s not a cult. Cultists smell funny.

I pull out my cell phone. Punch in the digits. The touchtones play a tune: “Ring Around the Rosie”. A voice answers, prerecorded: “Thank you for calling! Is this Hope Bellicek? If so, say ‘Yes’ or press 1 now.”

I’m startled at the information – no doubt gleaned from Caller ID – and say “yes”. The voice of the woman with the mousy, brown hair sounds soft, distant, disconnected.

“Thank you! Using your telephone keypad, please enter your password. For ‘Q’, press 7. For ‘Z’, press 9. When finished, press the pound key.”

Obviously, I’m in shock: I realize that I should be asking, “What password?” But I don’t. My fingers just start pushing the buttons for my email password. I hover a moment over the pound key. Only a moment, though.

“Thank you! Your call has been processed, and one of our representatives will be working on your case immediately. Have a nice day.”

I blink at the phone’s screen, now announcing, “Call ended”. What the hell was that all about? A man brushes past me on his way out the door. Pretty sure his hand touched my ass. Bastard.

I walk out the door of the shop, drinking the rest of my mocha. I catch sight of one of the security cameras that were recently installed all across the downtown area to help stop crime. I give it the middle finger. Can’t arrest me for that, can they? …I hope not.

Guess I need to pack. It won’t take long; I don’t have all that much stuff. Benefit of not having a life, I suppose. I trudge the seven blocks from the coffeeshop to my apartment. It takes longer than it should. I have no reason to hurry.

As I arrive, the Super comes out the front door. He seems surprised to see me. “What, they forget something?” he says. I ignore him. I do most of the time, anyway. Today’s just easier than usual. I walk past him and go inside. He follows me.

At my door, I reach into my pocket for my key. It’s not there. Not in my other pocket. Not in my coat pockets. Not in my backpack. The Super asks, “You lookin’ for this?” He holds out a key. My key. It’s still got the pink rubber ring around the head of it. I nod, dumbly.

He jams it into the keyhole. “You always been quiet, and didn’t complain none. I’ll give ya five minutes. After that…” His arm and thumb indicate where I should go after five minutes. He throws the door open, but remains standing partways in the doorway. I have to push past him to get inside.

He smells like a cultist.

I look around at the bare walls. The empty shelves. The barren kitchen cupboard. The Super laughs from the door. “Yeah, they did a pretty good job, dinnit they? Best damn movers I ever seen. In and out in 10 minutes, flat.”

I should ask, “Who were they?” or “What did they look like?” or “Which way did they go?” I don’t. All that comes out is “Guess they got everything… Thanks.”

The Super looks at me. I mean, really looks at me. Probably the first time he’s ever really done so. “Hey, you okay? You look…I dunno. You look kinda messed up.” I nod, wordlessly. He looks again, then says, “Alright, don’t tell me. Five minutes are up. Time to get lost.”

I start to go past him, still standing in the doorway, when he shoves a twenty at me. “Don’t tell nobody, yeah?” he grumbles, then stalks off.

I go to put the bill in my wallet, which had been in my backpack. It’s not anymore. I’m not surprised. Instead, I fold the bill up and put it in the pocket which doesn’t have a key anymore.

The wind cuts through my jacket as I walk out the door onto the sidewalk. I stop to try to think of what’s next. I have no idea. It takes a moment for the sound of my name being called to break through my introspection.

“Ms. Bellicek? Can I offer you a lift?” This tall guy in a suit stands beside a town car parked right in front of my building. The building. It’s not mine anymore.

I blink and snark back. “Sorry, buddy. Really not interested in riding in your rapemobile. Although upgrading from the panel van? Nice touch.”

“I don’t think you understand. You made a call about an hour ago, right? Need help with the next step, right?” I nod. “We’re who you called. Get in, and we’ll explain.” The window rolls down and I see a blonde woman with sunglasses behind the steering wheel, smiling at me.

I turn my backpack around to my front and shove my hand around a bottle of pop. “Okay, but I’ve got my pepper spray right here,” I lied, “So, if you really are some sort of whackjob…”

“Nothing to be concerned about, Ms. Bellicek,” he smiles and opens the rear car door. I step in. Nothing to lose, I suppose.

They drive me to the edge of town. The man and woman don’t say a word to me during the drive. I’m not too upset about it. Still have my hand around the bottle in my backpack in case of emergency. Figure I can at least shake it up and spray it in someone’s face if they get handsy.

We stop in front of some sort of sprawling office building. The man gets out of the car and says something about us needing to get the full workup completed. They usher me inside. The place is all glass, plastic and steel. Looks expensive, like something out of a movie set. I’m hoping it’s not “Terminator”.

We walk into some sort of huge, industrial room. No windows. Corrugated steel ceiling. Fluorescent lighting. And my stuff. All my stuff: clothes, furniture, TV, food… All of it laid out on the floor in some sort of grid. Well, it’s not a lot, so it’s just one corner of the large room. I grab my bag of pretzels from grid 2-E. I’m hungry.

The man turns to look down at me. I realize that when I saw he was tall, I had no idea. I mean, I barely come up to this guy’s chest, and I’m not all that short. He says, “I realize that all of this may seem very strange, but we’re here to help you, Ms. Bellicek. And we’re sure that you can help us.”

“Help you? How?” I ask, feeling stupid. I look at the woman, who’s much more normal-sized, but still wearing the sunglasses. She’s working with a rolling cart with two stools that has some sort of device on it. Looks medical, with electrodes coming off of it.

Tall Dude motions me to one of the stools. I sit down and start eating a pretzel. The woman sits on the other stool. He says, “We just need to take a few measurements. Remain calm.”

“‘Remain calm’?” I laugh as he places electrodes on my forehead. “Next you’re gonna tell me that ‘this won’t hurt a bit’, and that’s when you taze me or something, right?”

The man grins slimly. It looks really odd. Like he’s not used to grinning. And then the woman puts the rest of the electrodes on her own head. The man flips a switch on the device, and I feel a buzz inside my skull. A deep, thrumming buzz. I drop my pretzel.

The buzz stops. I’m not sure how long it was. I reach down to get my pretzel… Wait, I reach down to… No, I’m not doing anything. I can’t move.

The woman reaches down to get my pretzel. She sniffs it, then takes a bite. “Kinda gross, lady,” I think to myself, since I can’t talk either. That’s when the lady takes off her sunglasses. And her hair. It was a wig, covering up mousy, brown hair underneath. I do the only think I really can right now: stare at her. At me.

The man looks her up and down, evaluating, studying. Looks at me for comparison. He asks her, “Is the transfer complete?”

The woman nods and starts rattling off a series of dates. My birthday. When my father died. When I got my first period. When I moved to this dumpy little town. When I got the job that I just lost today. She ends by saying, “She has no significant relationships or close family…”

“Aside from my pretzels, bitch!” I can’t yell.

“…Aside from her pretzels,” she finishes, smiling at me. It’s a warm, genuine smile. It creeps me out even worse than the man’s smile. Because it’s mine.

The man nods, satisfied. “Excellent. This human provides us the perfect opportunity to infiltrate human society. She has tremendous, untapped potential. All she needs is direction.”

The woman with my face turns to me. “And that’s what we’ll give them. Direction…straight to ashes.”

“What the hell kinda lame villain line is that?” I think really loudly at her. She points some sorta scifi-ish gun at my head.

“This kinda lame,” she snarks.

FU–

Holding Back the Night

GG — Sun, 28 Feb 2010 02:00:59 +0000

“Holding Back the Night: A Gloaming Gap Story” by Jeff Burkholder with George Buss

Dell hated getting wet. Almost as much as he hated being cold. Right now, he was both, but he hardly noticed it. He didn’t notice the red and blue lights shining off the puddles in the road. Flint’s presence beside him barely registered, despite their years of friendship on the force.

No, right now, he noticed two things. One was the blood. It ran, pooled, and dripped, mixing with the cold rain, and headed into the gutter.

“That makes number five, doesn’t it?”

Dell snapped out of his reverie. “What’s that, Flint?”

“I said, that’s the fifth one since October. Good thing Kiley Fogelsanger had those quintuplets last week, or we’d hafta change the population number on the town sign.”

Dell grunted in response and crouched down to get a better look at the victim. “Certainly looks like the others, yeah.” Dell looked up at the uniforms standing nearby. “Any sign of Spackman yet?”

“Said he’s on his way.”

Flint scoffed. “This is why having one M.E. for the county is a bad idea. Sure, it helps the budget, but if we’ve got a situation here in Gloaming Gap, takes him for-freakin’-ever.”

“I don’t need a medical examiner to tell me how this lady died.” Dell stood up. “I just want to know who did it.”

At that, Flint raised an eyebrow. “Don’tcha mean ‘what’? Isn’t this just another coyote or wolf attack?”

Dell was noticing the rain now. His muscles were aching from more than just the pummeling he had taken at the gym that morning. If it had been a few degrees colder, they would have been standing in foot-thick snow. And if it had been a few degrees warmer, it still would have been a damn cold rain. It wasn’t a few degrees warmer.

“No, Flint. This wasn’t a coyote. Or a wolf. This was a person.” Dell stepped over to the storm drain and reached down. There was a glint of white and gold against his blue latex glove. “This is fresh. Victim’s not missing any teeth. And I don’t think too many coyotes get fillings.”

“Damn,” Flint breathed, staring at Dell’s discovery. “Never woulda thought a human being could do something like this.”

“I said a person. There’s nothing ‘human’ about tearing out a person’s throat. With your teeth.”

***

Flint pulled the car up to the front of the station. “Sure I can’t change your mind, Dell? I know how much you like Max’s cooking, and seriously, the steak tartare we had tonight? Mm-mmm!”

“Appreciate the offer, Flint. I wanna get the paperwork logged on this one pretty quickly. Something’s bugging me about it…”

His partner flashed a smile. “You mean, aside from the whole ‘dead and mutilated body’ thing, right?”

Dell scowled. “I moved away from the ‘Burgh so I wouldn’t have to deal with as much of this. Now, we’ve got five bodies in a season.”

“Five? Dell, you mean we gotta reopen all the rest of those? I thought Spackman signed off on the coyote thing with them.”

“He did. But I’m telling you, he was wrong. This winter’s not nearly been bad enough to force wild animals into town to find food. But we wouldn’t even have suspected it if it wasn’t for that filling.”

“Good catch on that, by the way. You’ve got eyes in ya, old man. How ’bout I run a doggie bag out to ya later? Seriously, Dell, you look like hell. I don’t even wanna know how you get half those bruises you always got on you.”

Dell winced at the attention. “Sure, go ahead and pick on the runner-up middleweight of the northeast corridor. I’m fine, Flint. Take off, and get home. Max already thinks you spend too much time with me.”

Flint smiled again, patting the barely noticeable bump in her abdomen. “Yeah, but he’ll change his tune once I start my maternity leave. You know I’ll drive him crazy being around the house all the time.”

“I can’t imagine anyone wanting to be rid of you, Flint.” Dell got out of the sedan, stepping onto the wet pavement.

Flint called out, “That’s ’cause you’re a sad and lonely old man, Dell!” and drove away with a wave.

It was still cold, but at least the rain had slacked off. Dell walked through the stiff, cold wind up to the front door of the station. There was a connection between these five deaths. More than just the M.O., but they hadn’t yet been able to nail it down.

Dell swung open the door, and was pummeled by a blast of hot air. The blowers were pushing out as much hot air–and noise–as possible. He could see sweat running down the desk sergeant’s face, staining his blue shirt. He yelled over the sound, “Problem with the thermostat, Rotz?”

Rotz nodded wearily and yelled back. “Yessir! I’ve got a call into maintenance, but they can’t send anyone out until morning, unless it’s an emergency. And if I say it’s an emergency, the chief will take the double-time outta my paycheck. I can’t afford it any more than he can!”

Dell nodded in common understanding, then headed back the hallway towards the breakroom. The coffeepot was still on, meaning the sludge that was left over in the pot was now burnt sludge. Still, caffeine was caffeine, and Dell needed a shot of that to clear his head.

As he gulped down some of the swill, his eyes fell on the page-a-day wall calendar, then glanced at the clock on the wall. Dell hated staying up past midnight. It felt wrong for it to be whole new day when he was still dealing with the crap from the last one. He ripped the page declaring it to be JAN 29 off the calendar. Maybe tossing away yesterday would help clear his head. It didn’t, really. Although it did bring a bit of black humor with it.

SAT JAN 30
FULL MOON

“Why is it the crazies always come out on the full moon?” Dell mumbled to himself. He then set his styrofoam cup down abruptly and ran back the hallway to the front desk. “Rotz! You gotta monthly calendar around here somewhere? One that shows the moon phases on it?”

Rotz looked at Dell in confusion, then gestured at the small one on his desk. “Sure…brand new one right here!”

“No, I need one that goes back to last year. We have any old ones lying around?”

Both Rotz and Dell looked around at the desks in the station. Finally, they found one hanging on the wall outside the men’s room that still showed December, 2009. Dell began flipping through his notepad. Fortunately, they were pretty far from any of the air vents, so the noise wasn’t as overpowering. “Okay, last one was… December 31. New Year’s Eve.”

“Full moon,” replied Rotz.

“December first?”

“Um, well, the second was full, but it had to have been pretty close on the first.”

“November second?”

“Full moon.”

“And…October third?”

“Same as the first. It says the moon was full on the fourth, but it had to have been close on the third. A connection to your case, Dell?”

“Maybe, Rotz. Thanks.” Dell scribbled FULL MOON in his notepad, then headed back the hallway again, stopping to retrieve his coffee cup. He wasn’t sure what the connection meant yet, but at least it was a connection. His mind cleared a bit from the small victory, and he unlocked his office door in something that approached a good mood. That evaporated once he stepped inside.

The room had been completely trashed. The desk was upended, his chair was in shreds, and the cushions from his small couch were destroyed. Dell took a closer look at them, noting the massive bite marks on the cushions, and a few tufts of fur, strewn here and there. He continued to survey the damage, noting the window in the back of the room had been thrown open, offering at least a little relief from the oppressive heat of the building. The din of the air vents must have prevented Rotz from hearing what had happened. It looked like a large, ravenous dog had been let loose in the place.

Something was wrong.

Dell always kept his office door and windows locked; a leftover habit from his time in Pittsburgh. Moreover, the desk sergeant, either Rotz, or the guy on shift before him, would have noticed someone bringing a dog back the hallway. Meaning they had to have come in through the window. Dell walked over to the window, and began examining it as carefully as he could. The bright light of the full moon, just coming out from behind the clouds, assisted him in his investigation. Still, his brain was getting fuzzier and slower by the minute; the coffee wasn’t helping in the slightest.

There were no signs of damage to the window, aside from some faint scratches near the opened lock. Meaning that the dog had worried at the latch at some point…after having been in the room. Confusion was really starting to set in. There was no obvious way for a dog to get in, but plenty of evidence that there had indeed been one in there, and that it had gotten out. Dell rubbed his aching jaw, trying to think.

He walked back around the room, passing by a smashed mirror he had on one wall. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw unfamiliar movement. He spun around, pulling his Glock 17 from its holster. Clumsily, he dropped the gun; his fingers weren’t working right. “What the hell’s going on?” he growled.

Looking up from the gun on the floor, he tried to find what he had just barely seen earlier. It didn’t take long; his eyes cleared and he saw it right in front of him. Elongated snout. Gray and black fur. Fangs dripping with saliva that sparkled in the light of the full moon streaming through the window. The vandal, the beast, the killer he’d been looking for was back. Far more than a large dog or a coyote…this was a wolf. Staring hungrily at him.

From the mirror.

Curses

GG — Sat, 30 Jan 2010 15:21:58 +0000

“Curses: A Gloaming Gap Story” by Vicky Burkholder and Jeannine Burkholder

Good afternoon, Gloaming Gap Emporium. Betsy speaking. How may I help you?

I’m sorry. There seems to be some interference on the line; could you repeat that? Perhaps there is a problem with the phone lines.

Okay, Ma’am. You seem to be very distant? I really can’t hear you. Could you speak up?

Oh, right. You’ve been cursed – your voice? Okay… I’d ask you to tell me how all of this happened, but it would seem that would be a problem over the phone. One moment please; let me see what we can find…

Let’s see… voice… voice… changes to… complete removal of… ah… here it is: silencing a voice to a near whisper. Oh my! That’s a serious curse you’ve caught there.

Oh, no, no, no… we can certainly handle that. That is well within the spectrum of our services. We specialize in the finest of curse removal spells. We have several people on staff who are experienced in spell initiation and removal, and there are very few curses that can’t be countered. This appears to be a serious curse, but fairly standard.

Yes, Ma’am. That is our standard going rate. However, with a curse of this magnitude, we’re looking at requiring the deluxe package.

Yes… that’s about two thousand dollars.

It is expensive, but it is guaranteed to work. Now if you prefer a less expensive plan, we can do that. However, I cannot guarantee our work.

Well, you see… occasionally the cure can actually have similar or even worse side-effects. The deluxe package will guarantee satisfaction. Call it a warranty of sorts. We will do whatever is necessary to ensure favorable results.

Right… okay… So, you’d like to schedule that then? If I could just get some registration information…. Let me pull up that screen… one moment…

Okay, let’s start at the beginning…

What?

Oh… yes, yes, ha, ha… Julie Andrews… Well that certainly was fortuitous on my part then to quote from your namesake, eh?

Okay, Ms. Andrews… ah… another fortunate bit for you. It appears that we have your information in the system. You are a repeat client then?

Good, good… and your address and phone number have not changed?

Wonderful… Yes, it is a bit odd how many repeat clients we seem to have in Gloaming Gap, but I can’t say too much about that… confidentiality and all. I’m sure you understand we have to abide by those HIPAA laws too you know.

No, no, no… of course we’re not a hospital. But we are a “personal service,” no different than therapy or a doctor’s office. You have a problem of a personal nature; we take care of it. It helps if you do make the comparison. If you look at your curse as the disease and our services as the treatment.

Let’s look at the schedule then… I see we have an opening on Wednesday. Would you be able to come in at 10:30?

I’m sorry… can you repeat that, please? In-home services? Are you certain?

Well, yes… we can do that, but an on-site cleansing will incur additional fees…

Well… yes, actually, there is something sacred about our facilities. The Emporium is a protected space. We would have to cleanse your home before we attempt to remove the curse. If we fail to do this, there will be a dangerous curse floating around freely, waiting to settle in someone else – or even re-infect you. Think of the liability for us, Ma’am! We’re equipped here, with the “medicines” you will need – the potions and counter-curses. We’re prepared for the possible eventualities and “side effects.”

But if you’re sure… There is a waiver you will need to sign stating that you are aware of the additional risks, and we will need to send someone out 24 hours in advance to assess the environment and give you a preliminary check-up to discern the appropriate treatment. We do want to be as prepared as possible.

Very good then. Now, how would you like to arrange payment? Should we charge the credit card that we have on file or would you like to send a certified check or cash?

Oh, yes, Ma’am, we do require payment in full prior to service. We don’t work with insurance for what I assume are obvious reasons, and due to the sensitive nature of our services, we do need to provide for our own security. We have had too many people refusing to pay after the treatment, claiming they were never cursed at all. You understand how that would be a problem, I’m sure?

Very good, yes. We will charge that card and bring you the receipt when we come out. Now… again looking at the calendar… it looks like there is an opening a week from Friday.

Yes, I’m afraid that’s the earliest we have open for an in-home treatment. They do take longer with the cleansing needs and the travel time. This is a rather busy time of year for us. People seem to get bored after the holidays and start cursing people for having to return gifts or for burned pies or for something that someone said to someone else at the family dinner… you know how the holidays can be. Everyone has problems with something, and what better way to deal with the post-holiday let-down and winter “cabin fever” than a little petty vengeance spell or two…

Okay, Ma’am…. Calm down please. I can almost hear you, you’re screaming so loud!

I understand it is an emergency. Fine, fine… I’ll see if we can juggle things a bit and have someone out there this afternoon for the preliminary inspection. Unfortunately, emergency services will require yet another additional fee.

Well, think of it like calling an ambulance or having to go into the emergency room. With said disease and the additional need to juggle other clients, you understand that an expedited treatment comes at a cost. We’re pulling our employees from other clients, changing schedules, dealing with other impatient clients… It’s all so very complicated.

Yes, now a quick review of the charges, to make sure that we are in agreement: $1000 basic service fee, upgraded to the deluxe package making it $2000, add to that the in-home fee and the emergency package at $500 each and your total is $3000 plus taxes.

Yes, yes, I realize that it feels like highway robbery, but if you would like complete satisfaction and personalized emergency services…

Very good, Carlos will be out this afternoon for the screening and Lois will see you in the morning at 9:00 a.m. sharp.

Thank you for calling The Gloaming Gap Emporium, your place for all things occult. Have a blessed day.

Lois! Oh, there you are. Thank the Goddess. We just got a call for the deluxe package with on-site and emergency options! You’re scheduled for the extraction tomorrow at 9:00 a.m.

Oh, that is so true. This is indeed the best idea you’ve ever had. A cool grand from this one call alone. We’ll keep the Emporium open for a long time with this scheme.

So, have you considered who to curse next? Or what spell to use? It certainly is fun trying out all of these great new curses we’ve discovered. I wonder if we can use the classic “pox on both your houses” too. New and old curses combined and no one will think to suspect us!

Oh, I have to go gather the cleansing items. Do you think you could cover the phone for me for a few minutes? Now… where is Carlos? He needs to get over there and put on his show as soon as possible. Gotta make us look as legit as possible!

What, Lois?

What do you mean?

Oh, that? I was just playing around with what we COULD charge our clients, you know, when we build up our base.

Oh, yes, it does say receipt. Ha, ha, ha… I told you I was playing with the possibilities.

Yes, it does have Julie’s credit card number on it.

Lois… look at me. It’s Betsy, your best friend! Have I ever lied to you?

Okay, well… Good point. Still, aside from that one time in college…

Yes, there was that time too… but Lois…

Okay, okay… I’m skimming off the top… and you’re… surprised? Really? How long have we known each other?

Lois Fairweather! Don’t you dare look at me like that. That look, right there – the one you had right before you cursed me for wrecking your car last year – you don’t want to try it, Lois. I’m warning you…

I have records, Lois… records that implicate you…

You leave me no choice, then…

“Oh Great Goddess Mnemosyne, come and erase, this brief indiscretion with remembrance replaced. Let waters of Lethe come and wash clean, all former transgressions in Oblivion’s stream.”

Now, what were you saying, Dear?

That’s right; there’s a good girl… now take these things to Carlos, and if you cause no further trouble, I might pay you for your services tomorrow.

Speed-Date with the Vampire

GG — Fri, 25 Dec 2009 16:19:16 +0000

“Interview With The Speed-Dater: A Gloaming Gap Story” by Jeannine and Jeff Burkholder

Date #1: Hi, there. Yeah, my name’s Vlad. …No, “Vlad”. It’s a – well, it’s a family name. One of my ancestors was named Vlad, and it’s been passed down. Right, just like “Vlad the Impaler”! That was my ancestor! … Oh, well, nice meeting you, too…

Date #2: Hi. I’m Vl- um, call me… “Dale”. Yeah, Dale. Sorry…a little nervous. What would you like to know? …My occupation? Sure, um, I work third shift as a phlebotomist. No, “PH”-lebotomist. Not a lobotomist. Well, a phlebotomist draws blood for a living. Not the most glamorous of jobs, but it puts food on the table. Ha! No, um, sorry, that wasn’t really all that funny, but if you knew what…um, nevermind. Yeah, um, good luck to you, too.

Date #3: Hi, um…Sorry for saying so, but you’ve got some pretty deadly breath going on there. What’d you have for dinner? Whoa, whoa, you can stop at the “garlic encrusted” part. Yeah, um, I’m kinda…I guess “allergic” to garlic. Sorry, I’ve gotta … whew, is it getting woozy in here, or is it just me? …Just me? Yeah, I guess. Yeah, ‘bye.

Date #4: Hey, there. I’m Dale. Hang on a sec… *sniff, sniff* Okay, you smell much better than that last girl. You’re downright incredible, really. Like polish sausage. …Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to creep you out… Wait, I’m… Okay, mental note: Telling a girl she smells like meat is not the way to win her over…

Date #5: …Interests? Well, I don’t have much of a social life, since I work nights and sleep during the day. Moonlit strolls are cool, yeah. I like flying, too. Feeling the wind in your hair and all… Oh, um… Yeah, *obviously* I didn’t mean in an airplane. I meant, uh, hang-gliding…? Yeah, I’m part of a …hang-gliding club …that only meets at night. That’s cool, right? …Fear of heights, huh? Yeah, that would be a bit of a deal-breaker.

Date #6: Oh, yeah, I love going to the movies. It’s so dark and cold in the theater, usually. Feels pretty comfy, if you ask me. Seen any good ones recently? …Seriously?! That piece of crap? How can that be your “favorite movie”? …Okay, first off, Edward’s nothing but a stupid, abusive stalker guy; number two, that whole “sparkle in the sunlight” shtick? Total crap. We do NOT sparkle. Third… What? No, I didn’t say “we”, I said…um, “they”. Yeah, if vampires were even real. No, of course I don’t think we…they… Great.

Date #7: “Do I have the time?” Seriously? I have all the time in the world. Do you? Really, that was a pretty lame opening line, if you ask me. Why not just ask me about the weather? Or how the Steelers are doing this season? I mean, time? Time is meaningless to me; it doesn’t matter one… What? …Oh, um, sorry. I thought you were part of this speed-dating deal that’s, um… Yeah, sorry, it’s about 9:30.

Date #8: Yeah, hi, I’m Edward. No, I’m not. I’m Vla-dale. No, just Vale- um. Yeah. Sorry, a bit nervous. Call me Dale. Yes, that’s my real name! Had it for 70 years, so I should know! …No, I’m not 70 years old! That’d be pretty incredible, huh? Ha. Yeah, I’m in my … 20s? More-or-less? Yep, I’m 24, and you can call me Ed- Dale. Yeah, nevermind. I’d walk away, too. …I hate Edward.

Date #9: Wow, you have fantastic skin! No, I’m serious; I’m a pretty good judge of skin tone and yours…just wow. Particularly on your neck, there. Not too many people take good care of their necks, but it’s obvious that you pay attention to that area… Wait, um, is that a necklace? Oh, a silver cross? Heh, yeah, I’m sure it’s …um, very nice. Wow, hey, look at the time, it’s … um. 9:35? I think it’s time to move on to the next… yeah.

Date #10: What?! No, I don’t want a stake! What kind of sick…? Oh, you meant “S-T-E-A-K”. Yeah, I guess the hors d’oeuvres are okay; they’re a bit overcooked, if you ask me. No, I thought you said “S-T-A-K-E”. Freaked me out a little bit. Why?…um, ‘cause I used to be a … lumberjack? Yeah, yeah, a former lumberjack. I’m always kind of afraid that the trees are gonna come back and chop *me* down. No, that was a …lame joke. I’m not really afraid of… trees…

Date #11: Right, let’s get this stuff out of the way. My name’s Dale. I hate monster movies—especially the more recent teen-oriented ones. I have a bit of a sensitive nose, so strong odors are a definite turn-off. And, I have both the work schedule and apparently the social charisma of a fruit bat. Oh, you’re okay with all that? How do you feel about moonlit strolls? …What’s wrong with full moons? …Oh, crap-on-a-stick! Don’t tell me you’re a werew-?! Okay, okay, sorry. I’ll keep it down. No, I’m a … one of the guys with a blood deficiency, okay? Yeah. Um. Well, given that your people and my people aren’t exactly on the best of terms, and that if either of us tries anything here we’re both in a heap of trouble, let’s just pretend this never happened, okay? Okay, good. …So, have you seen any good prospects…? Ow. I’ll take that as a no, I suppose.

Date #12: So, hi, my name’s… What? Oh, the fork in my arm? That’s from the last girl. Didn’t like my pick-up line, I think. Yeah, I should probably pull it out. Hang on a sec… Ungh! There. All better. …Erm, yes. Sure. Ow. Oh, does that hurt, those holes in my arm. Ow-ow-ow. The pain is intense. No, no, I guess it’s not that bad. …Yes, I suppose it should be bleeding; I’m probably just down a quart or two… No, I wasn’t about to make any jokes about my “dipstick.”

Date #13: Okay, lemme level with you. I’m a vampire. Yes, I’m serious. Yeah, yeah, I bite people on the neck from time to time, but it’s rarely ever fatal. No, that’s a big misconception perpetrated by the not-undead media. Typical; they never check their facts out. As long as you don’t get greedy, and make sure there’s some OJ or cookies around for the victim afterwards, it’s really not that big of a deal. Anyway, that’s the scoop. As for why I’m here, I’m not looking for anything too serious. Maybe just a little “necking.” Ha, get it? Sorry. Vampire humor. So, whaddaya say? …No, who’s “Ashton Kutcher?”

Date #14: Hi, I’m Dale. Nice to meet you. Oh, um, you’ve got a speck in your teeth there; spinach, or something. No, the other one. No, the other… Look, can I just help you out, or would that be rude? Okay, sorry. Um…no…I don’t think there are any mirrors around here… Oh, yes, of course, “except for the wall made of mirrors behind the bar there in front of us.” Kinda forgot about that one. …Yep, I’m still here. Too smoky in here to see clearly, right? Um, but even with the ban on smoking in bars, it could very well be hazy from all those years of smoke, yeah? …Would you believe I became a master of camouflage during a stint with the CIA? …Okay, not so much, then.

Date #15: Wow, you’re scrawny. Oh, a supermodel? Sorry, your figure is just screaming “anemic” to me. Some iron supplements would probably do wonders for you. Yeah, sure. Figured.

Date #16: No, I have no idea who you think I look like. …Really. Well, you know what? That’s funny, ‘cause that’s my name. Yep, sure, my name’s Edward. …Oh, your name’s Bella? Ha. Yeah, that’s…um, great. Sooo hilarious. …Have you tried the steak? It’s pretty good if you get a piece that’s kinda raw.

The Interview

GG — Wed, 25 Nov 2009 03:20:59 +0000

“The Interview: A Gloaming Gap Story” by Jeff Burkholder

Can I help you? Oh, Mr. Parsons, from the newspaper, is it? Yes, I have you on the schedule to speak to the mayor at 3:00. You’re quite a bit early; if you’d like to take a seat, the mayor’s currently in a meeting.

What is that, young man? Oh, my lamp? Yes, yes; an heirloom from the late 18th century. I had it refitted a while back so that it takes regular bulbs on the top, and a long-life LED in the lower part. Unfortunately the wiring for the bottom’s a bit off, which is why it just turned on like that. Still, I find the glow comforting.

While you’re waiting, perhaps there are some questions that I could answer for you. It’s been quite some time since His Honor has been interviewed by the press. Frankly, it seemed a bit odd. The relationship between your paper’s editor and the mayor has been quite close… How is Sandra these days, anyway?

Oh, I see. Not to worry, not to worry. What Sandra doesn’t know certainly won’t hurt her. I take it, then, that your visit is not to publicize Hickory Days? The mayor is so very excited about this year’s parade; the grand marshal’s car is going to be completely covered in hickory nuts! …No? Oh, a shame.

Forgive my boldness, Mr. Parsons, but may I ask as to the true nature of your visit then? It all seems so very mysterious… The “truth” about our town? Oh, my. My, my, my. Ha! It’s so exciting to see a young turk such as yourself, out to uncover mystery, truth, and danger to the world! Ha!

…Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Parsons. I did not mean to make light of your quest. It felt so “cloak and dagger” there, for a moment. …I gather you’re not native to Gloaming Gap, then? Most of our residents have long family histories here, and have grown somewhat accustomed to our…shall we say “eccentricities”? Just moved here from Pittsburgh, eh? Lovely town, lovely town, if a bit obsessed with iron and steel. People surrounded by all that metal, just not right, if you ask my opinion.

So, what has brought up this personal quest for information about our little hamlet? What sort of recent “incidents” do you mean? …

Oh, ho! I think you’ve been reading a bit too much of the supermarket tabloids, Mr. Parsons! Monsters under the bed, haunted apartments, nefarious cults, a mummy at a restaurant? Halloween’s over by now, I should think! Of course, I’m just a secretary, but I believe you’re putting far too much stock into these rumors and whispers. I’ve lived here my entire life, and I’ve certainly never seen or heard of anything that’s not easily explainable. I would think the parents of a nice young man such as yourself would know better than to allow their child… Oh, terribly sorry, Mr. Parsons. I meant no offense. May they rest in peace, dear.

The time? Ah, still a little before 3:00. His Honor prefers not to be interrupted during his meetings. One of the privileges of his office, I suppose. Of course, you realize that there’s not much that the mayor actually does do, yes? He’s responsible for addressing the town council once a year on the state of our financial district, and he’s the primary liaison between the council, the police chief and the fire chief. Not much else to do, except ride in the car for parades. Have you thought about doing an article on Hickory Days? …Ah, already mentioned that, have I?

Perhaps a change of topic is in order, eh? What brought you to our quaint little town? There are just so many places a smart man such as yourself could go, fresh out of college. A talent scout from Lamashtu, eh? How delightful! The owner’s a close personal friend of mine; Ms. Lilith and I go back quite a ways, let me tell you! Keep this strictly off-the-record, Mr. Parsons, but we had a reputation for being a bit on the “heck”-raising side in our younger days! We met because we were both fighting over the same boy, and we’ve been inseparable ever since.

…Miss Namath? Oh, you mean Karin? Yes, she’d been working for Lilith for quite some time, even longer than I’ve known her. It’s a shame she’s gone; once upon a time, she was one of Lilith’s best managers. No, no one has suggested that she’s “disappeared”. As far as I know, she just moved on to greener pastures. If you ask me, it was time; her work had been suffering of late. Too focused on herself and not enough on the needs of the organization, if you follow. Her “disappearance” as you call it is one of those things that are easily explained. Nothing mysterious or nefarious at work, here. You seem to have a bit of a one-track mind, but I won’t hold that against you!

Oh, silly me. Here I am, giving you the third degree, when most of my questions about you are probably answered in your profile. Oh, yes, Lilith often passes along information about prospective talents to the mayor’s office. Easier to build a strong community when you know who’s joining it, yes? Let me see, it should be over here in the filing cabinet… Parsons, Parsons… Oh, would you mind turning on my lamp for me? That’s a dear boy, thank you.

*BEEP*

Ah, one moment, dear, I should answer that. Yes, Mr. Eby? Yes, your 3:00 appointment, Mr. Parsons is here. No, sir, not parsnips, Parsons. Yes, sir, I agree, parsnips do tend to taste like carrots that have gone feral. (It’s best to agree with him on things like this, Parsons.) …Of course, sir, I’ll be sure to wake you shortly. Thank you, sir.

What’s that? Oh, the mayor’s a bit overtired at the moment. He’ll be with you shortly, of course. Oh, yes, he’s completely daft. If he misses his afternoon nap, he starts in on the most fascinating non-sequiturs. He once spent a half-hour over the intercom regaling me about the fundamental differences between Katherine Hepburn and a jar of mustard he is particularly fond of. Or perhaps it was Hepburn that he was fond of? Ah, regardless, the comparison was hardly fitting. Sit down, please, Mr. Parsons.

I said: Sit. Down. That’s better, thank you.

Now, where was I? Ah, yes, your profile. Let’s see… Graduated near top of class, so intelligent, good… Oh, cross country runner, eh? Very good. Endurance is key in these things, you see. Good genetic stock, excellent. Ah, that’s what I like to see. No reports of any significant relationships with the opposite sex. I suppose that naturally segues us into my next question for you, Mr. Parsons. Or at least as naturally as this question can be asked. There’s really no delicate way to put this, and at this point, tact is somewhat pointless, so: Are you a virgin?

Answer. Now.

Yes, thank you. That’s fine, fine. My lamp already indicated as much to me, when you walked in, but I like having verbal confirmation of that point. Makes it feel much more secure to hear it straight from your delightfully youthful mouth.

…Very astute, Mr. Parsons. I think it’s a bit grandiose put in those terms, but I do more-or-less “run this town”. You see, I was here when it was founded, and due to my own errors, I plan on being here through the end, whenever that may be. I dabbled with a number of ways of gaining immortality, and I’m afraid it’s my own fault that the barriers between our world and the realm of … well, shall we say “the other side”? It’s my fault that the walls broke down. I didn’t mean for it to happen, but Lilith showed me both what I had done, and the consequences of my choices. So, it’s been up to me to “correct” for my errors by serving our various mayors, however bereft of sanity they may be at any given time. Meanwhile, I allow Lilith a bit of a commercial foothold on this side. Naturally, the arrangement has been quite mutually beneficial.

Now, part of protecting this town is to ensure that stories of strange events and bizarre activity do not get out. Sandra’s in my employ, and the police chief’s a former member of the conclave, here, so he’s just as interested in keeping things quiet as I am. I’ve managed, through generations of work (not to mention some choice additives to the local water supply), to subdue the population to a certain extent, but consequently, dear boy, I can’t be using them to maintain my own health and well-being. No sense pissing into the wind, eh?

Which brings us to you. Thank you, by the way, for turning on my lamp of your own volition. It makes things so much more pleasant than having to force someone to touch it. Oh, and I know how you young people think these days: Once the “bad guy” reveals her plans, then the hero gets away, right? Except I’m not a bad guy. And you’re hardly feeling like a hero right now, are you? No, I didn’t think so. Now, please remove your clothing. Yes, all of it, thank you.

My husband gave me this letter opener as a wedding gift. He was a blacksmith. Wonderful man. This has gotten significantly easier since him. Now, this may sting a bit, but only for a moment…