Nearly Departed by Max Schlienger (read novels website .TXT) 📗

and most of the time, it is. But if you’re in the right place, and you do the right thing, it’s something much more.” He held his hand steady, waiting for the watch to come to standstill. “Not moving, right?” he asked. There were several murmurs of agreement. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, Jim raised the lighter until it was only an inch or two from touching the watch, and flicked it on.

The effect was hardly instantaneous, but it was noticeable nonetheless. The watch began to spin on its chain, slowly at first, then faster and more violently. Dennis watched the ghost hunter’s hand carefully, straining to see a clue as to how the trick was accomplished. If it was indeed a trick, he couldn’t see how it was done, and he resolved to ask Jim directly after the tour was concluded.

“If there’s one thing you all take away from here tonight,” the man said, stifling the lighter and pocketing the watch, “it should be this...” His voice suddenly jumped in volume, and the playful aspect returned. “Don’t play with matches!”

Laughter broke out as the tension was alleviated, and the short walk to the next stop was filled by discussions – some muted, others not – of what everyone had just witnessed and how it might have been accomplished. Luke had come up with a wholly unlikely method involving a magnet and some fishing line, but he seemed to be one of the outliers amongst a group of delighted (if cautiously so) believers.

The tour continued for the better part of two hours, with each new location providing an interesting and occasionally unpredictable story. Every so often, Jim would produce another allegedly haunted object, and try as he might, Dennis couldn’t ever seem to come up with a reasonable explanation of what might have been happening behind the scenes. Even Luke’s sarcastic attitude had softened, and Dennis could tell that he was grudgingly enjoying what he probably saw as a piece of performance art.

When the last story was concluded and the crowd began to disperse, Dennis hung back and waited. A couple of tourists from Florida had felt the need to detail their own supernatural experiences to Jim, who listened to their stories with a warm smile and occasional nods of the head. Finally, when Luke and Dennis were the last ones left, they approached the ghost hunter.

“Uh oh, here comes the funny man,” Jim said in a sing-song voice. “Oh, and the writer, good, I wanted to talk to you.”

“I remember,” answered Dennis. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you, too.”

“I’ll just sit here and talk to myself, then,” Luke interjected. “Maybe go find a ghost to talk to...” He strode down the street, whistling loudly, and stopped under a streetlight, where he paused and examined his nails.

Dennis cleared his throat. “Sorry about him. Believe it or not, coming here was his idea.”

“Oh, I could tell,” Jim laughed. “The loud ones are always embarrassed about actually wanting to listen to me.”

“Yeah, that’s Luke alright,” said Dennis with a nod. “Anyway, uh... Okay, look, this is going to be rude, but I really have to know...”

“Uh huh?”

Dennis swallowed. “I just wanted to ask, you know, how much of that was real. If any of it.”

A knowing smile crossed the ghost hunter’s face. “You have a few ghost stories of your own, huh?” Technically, Dennis thought, he only had the one ghost story, but it still felt like a gross understatement.

“Something like that, yeah,” he said. None of the evening’s tales had even come close to mirroring the situation with Evy Palin, and he was hesitant to describe it. In fact, Jim had led the tour group to believe that most ghosts – at least in his experience – did not often manifest as easily-recognized figures or apparitions. Most of them, he had explained, were little more than motes of light or unexplained cold spots in a room.

Jim rummaged in his bag, pushing aside sheets of photographs and folders full of laminated newspaper clippings. “While I’ve got you here,” he said, “I was wondering if you could do me a favor.”

“Uh, maybe,” replied Dennis. “What do you need?”

“I was wondering,” Jim repeated, “if I could get you to sign this?” He pulled out a hardcover book with a missing jacket and opened it to the title page.

“Oh, wow, definitely,” Dennis said. He scrawled a cursive approximation of his name into the book, which he noted was dog-eared and worn. “I take it you enjoyed it, then?”

“Actually,” replied Jim, “I haven’t read it yet. I’ve been carrying it around for months.”

Dennis shook his head quickly, trying dissipate the fog of bemusement that had clouded it. “Anyway, I did have something I wanted to ask you. Suppose you had a ghost, like the ones you talked about, only it was haunting a piece of furniture.”

Jim nodded. “What kind of furniture?”

“An armchair.”

“Okay. Why is it haunting an armchair?”

“Well, that’s the thing,” answered Dennis, “I don’t know.”

The ghost hunter shrugged apologetically. “I can’t really help you then, sorry. I mean, without knowing about your ghost’s history, there’s not much to go on.”

“You don’t know of any kind of sure-fire exorcism technique then?” Dennis’ last shreds of hope were fraying, despite the encouraging tone in Jim’s apology.

“Every ghost is different,” he said. “You have to understand that some of them don’t want to leave. Those that do usually have a reason for hanging around, but even then, you might not be able to find out what it is.”

“I see.” Dennis sighed. “Well, thank you. I had a great time.”

“My pleasure. Thanks for the book.”

“Not a problem.”

Both men stood awkwardly until the ghost hunter extended a hand. “Well, have a nice evening.”

“You too,” replied Dennis, shaking it. Then he hurried down the street to where Luke was waiting, fully expecting another barrage of derisive commentary. He wasn’t disappointed.

Chapter Seven

It was well past ten when Dennis arrived at home, and he was somewhat surprised to