My name is Helli Barcus and and I live all alone in a little house on a steep and rock strewn hill on Avana Street.
The houses on my street don’t have numbers by their doors and there isn’t even a sign to tell you that you are on Avana. It’s doesn’t matter. Nobody comes out here and as for my neighbors, we don’t talk to each other.
To coin a phrase, we’re dead to each other.
I have a Chestnut Tree just outside my bedroom window and when the wind blows the tree creaks and groans and scratches at my window. Sometimes I think that it wants in and sometimes I stand at the window and scratch back because sometimes,
I want out.
The houses on my street don’t have numbers by their doors and there isn’t even a sign to tell you that you are on Avana. It’s doesn’t matter. Nobody comes out here and as for my neighbors, we don’t talk to each other.
To coin a phrase, we’re dead to each other.
And we are pretty much dead to the rest of the world too.
For Fandango’s Flashback Friday, I thought I’d repost a fun thing I wrote about telling ghost stories at Christmas back in November of ’22
Last week my day job has expanded a bit, so I’ve been focused on learning some new things- which is okay but it is NOT okay for my writing time ( which has suffered ). This post is going to get me back on track so I thought I’d share it with you just in case anyone needs a little creativity boost themselves.
amm
Earlier this month I posted a story about my family telling ghost stories at Christmas- it’s a Victorian Tradition and one that I really enjoy taking part in. I’ve posted some links here for a little inspiration and if this Winter you have that feeling in your bones ( that can only be a ghost story trying to make it’s way into the world ) then you might find these useful too.
Tree Shadows on the Park Wall, Roundhay John Atkinson Grimshaw
Cilla Breck works as receptionist in a Funeral Home, her husband is a Gravedigger for the County and Cilla’s only other living relative beside her husband is distant cousin named Georgina who until her appeals run out will be sitting on death row in a State that has never executed a woman before.
Cilla wakes up hoping that the world will not start paying attention to next and so far it hasn’t.
She stood alone at the bus stop where she waits for the S-4 where sits alone in the back of the bus.
Cilla does not say hello to the driver she does not from left to right and it’s debateable that she actually focuses on anything in front of her as she makes her way to the last seat.
Like most nights, Cilla set her backpack on her lap and looked out the window and began to wonder what she should make for dinner, or maybe she should have a Pizza delivered when she felt something bump her elbow.
She looked over and sitting there right next to her was a man in a blue suit.
He smiled at her.
She did not smile back.
“ Chilly tonight, isn’t it?” he asked.
She did not answer.
She was busy thinking, he didn’t look familiar so he wasn’t a regular rider. She guessed he was a new rider.
And a chatty one.
Cilla hated chatty bus riders.
She was looking out the window when a thought crept up behind her and tapped her on the shoulder.
It said.
“ Cilla, did you see this guy at the bus stop?”
No, Cilla told herself.
“ Did you see him when you were walking to the back of the bus?”
Can’t say I did.
“ Doesn’t that bother you Cilla?”
Does what bother me?
“ Well, first of all that you don’t seem to focus on anyone-which seems to be something a lot of people are guilty of. But look at this awful position you’re in because of that. Some guy came out of nowhere and touched your elbow. He got that close to you Cilla. He touched your elbow. And he’s talking to you”
Cilla ended her one sided conversation and looked at the man from the corner of her eye and then she looked out the window.
She saw him sitting next to her.
He was looking out the window and that’s where their eyes met.
Cilla turned back to him and stared into his face for moment.
And then she turned back to the window.
She never saw him coming.
He got close enough to touch her.
And now he was staring at her.
“ I don’t think I’ve ever seen you on this bus before.”
“ I ride it every night. “ he told her.
“ This bus?”
“ This bus.”
Cilla pulled her shoulder away from the man and she said bluntly. “ I’ve never seen you before.”
“ I’ve seen you.” He said.
Cilla did not doubt that.
“ I’ve even sat next to you a few times. “
Cilla looked straight ahead.
“ I’ve even gotten off at your stop with a couple of times.”
Cilla wondered if anyone noticed the two of them talking.
“ But mostly I get on at the stop on Second and Washington.”
Cilla clutched her backpack to her chest.
Nobody used the stop on 2nd. Cilla didn’t even use it,
That stop was located by the Southwall- back in the old days that’s where the John and Jane Does were buried.
The women were buried in simple dresses and the men…
In Blue Suits.
I am sitting next to a ghost, Cilla told herself. I am sitting next to the ghost of a dead man.
He knows that I know what he is and people are looking right at us and they don’t know what they are looking at.
She looked ahead as the bus pulled up to a stop and when she turned to look at the Dead Man in the Blue Suit…
He was gone.
She looked out the window and she saw him at the bus stop standing next to a woman talking on her phone and a man reading a book.
They were looking around the Deadman and right at the Deadman and Cilla guessed they weren’t actually seeing the Deadman.
For Fandango’s Flasback Friday I decided to repost a story I wrote in September of 2007 called ” Floaters”
Floaters is one of those true life stories that nobody will ever believe is true so I just say ‘yep- it’s just a story’.
But between me and you, every word of it is true.
amm
Down the street from where I work is the waterfront.
It’s interesting for a variety of reasons.
Like there’s a couple of mummies in one place, a great fish and chips place in another and did I mention the mummies already?
” Sylvester “ Photo bY A.M. Moscoso
Hands down one of my favorite things to do is to stand there, looking out at the water and when there’s a small group of people eating snacks and taking selfies I’ll turn to a friend ( this only works if someone I know is there ) and say
” So you know what they have to do here every morning?”
No my friend will say on cue.
” The City has to get out here early and look for floaters.”
” What’s that?”
” You mean who. Dead bodies. See the tide comes in and they get pushed up here and wouldn’t you know it?” There’s always a tourist looking down and there’ll it will be. A big juicy floater hitting the pilings. I heard when they hit it makes a weird knocking sound. Anyway. It’s bad for business. So the City gets out here early and fishes then out with a big giant hook
” Oh my God. That cannot be true. ” my friend will say.
I take a quick look around and at this point my little audience-and there always is one because people are nosey and eavesdroppers by nature. Anyway the little crowd is clearly on my friend’s side and I can tell the image of a bloated water-logged corpse being fished out of the water is something they can’t unsee- unless of course they can convince themselves that this is absolutely not true.
” Well they can’t walk out. They’re dead you know.”
” You made that up. It’s not true.” My friend will say for the little group.
” Fine it’s not true.”
” Really? It’s not true. You were just kidding. Admit it.”
” Sure. ” I’ll say clearly not meaning it. ” I’m just kidding. Really.” I’ll say as unconvincingly as possible. ” I’m just kidding.”
