So it's become a sort of tradition for me to supply this blog with my finished (and I use that word lightly) stories from my creative writing classes. Though there are some I'd like to keep locked up in the metaphorical Disney Vault for the time being, I have enough meek, fragile confidence in this one that I'll deign to show it to the internet at large. Besides, its been two weeks since an update and for normal people that constitutes an update drought. For me it constitutes a slight lull in the rampaging rapids of overflowing update-water, but that's besides the point. The point is, hopefully you'll enjoy this short story.
***
I won’t pretend I wasn’t nervous
when I walked up to the building, the last of the sunset starting to dissipate
from the entrance to the alley. There in the cramped, messy neon glow, I almost
convinced myself to walk away from the whole enterprise. Burton’s Exotic Brews and Spirits, the sign said. Although
technically it said Burt-n’- Ex-tic Br—s
an- Sp-ri-s, as the remaining lights clearly thought this place wasn’t
worth waking up for. No one would ever guess from the dingy exterior, from the
dirt on the doorstep to the smears on the lazily wiped windows, what lay inside
this place. Hell, I almost stopped believing it myself for a moment, but I
suppose that was the point. I could only distract myself for so long though,
and I had promised myself I would go through with this. I took a deep breath
and walked inside.
I had intentionally dressed casually
for this expedition, and I still felt out of place inside the bar. Cobwebs hung
from the rafters, there was enough dust to see footprints on the floor, and the
tables seemed to be competing over which could collect the most colors of
stain. The bartender on the other end of the room was absentmindedly polishing
a glass, which I had up until now doubted was a thing real bartenders did. I
tried to cross the room with a casual nonchalance, so I’m sure I looked
conspicuous as hell. Carefully selecting a stool with a relatively intact cushion,
I sat down and held my hands in my lap, away from the filthy countertop.
“Uh, so...” I said meekly, trying to
avoid eye contact before remembering that was weird but then not wanting to suddenly
make too much. “Nice weather. We’re having nice weather, that is. Recently,
there’s been nice weather. That’s what I meant.”
“...’spose” said the bartender, his
expression still notably neutral.
My vast reserves of small talk thus
expended, I realized I would prefer doing anything else than let this silence
stew, so I got to the point. “I, uh...” I paused, intoning in a more rehearsed
voice. “I always like a good drink, but even better is good company.”
“Ah, figures” snorted the bartender,
a small smile finally breaking over his face. “You know,” he continued as he
rose up off his elbows, “for future reference you might want to buy a drink
before saying the code phrase, so you’re not so damn obvious to anyone else in
here.”
I glanced back around the interior.
“When do you get more than one customer?” I asked with a raised eyebrow.
The bartender winked at me as he
opened the door to the back room and then gestured for me to follow. “First
time for everything”, he said.
It was my friend Stephen who had
tipped me off to this place, weeks ago. Had he told me more recently, I
wouldn’t have believed him. Not that he could have, us not being on speaking
terms since we had that argument over programming languages. Actually, the
argument may have been about economic reform. Or renewable energy. Or The Lord of The Rings movies. I admit we
had a lot of arguments, all of which seemed to escalate due to Stephen being
completely unreasonable. It would help if it he stopped having such stupid
opinions. The point is it that even though I didn’t want to think of anything
to do with Stephen right now, I couldn’t shake my curiosity for this. After
Stephen spoke to me the thought of it wrapped its way around my brain and
refused to let go. I had to visit this place.
And so I stood in the back room of Burton’s Exotic Brews and Spirits, still
not sure if I believed what I saw in front of me. In stark contrast to the
front room, the back was fancy to the point of poor taste. The cushioned walls,
interspersed with inlaid gold-leaf patterns, gave way to rows of spacious
shelves adorned with curious, glowing bottles. The bottles weren’t stored as
you might expect, instead each getting their own little miniature shrine
complete with a tiny pillow and descriptive placard. As I inched across the
appropriately elaborate carpet to one such shelf, I could see glowing green and
blue liquids eternally swirling within their containers. I could also read
descriptions such as “1844 – 1908; Civil
War Veteran”, “1643-1711; Vague Acquaintance
of Isaac Newton” and “1842-1864;
Civil War Participant”.
“First time here, yeah?” said the
barkeep behind me, startling me out of my thoughts. “Do you want any
recommendations, general advice?”
I just kind of awkwardly shrugged in
his direction, out of my depth and not even sure what I was doing here. “Uh...I
guess so...?” I said, rubbing the back of my neck.
“The vintage is the most important
thing of course”, he said. “Well, next to country of origin. But I only keep
English speaking stock here, these days. Used to keep some foreign ones but was
more trouble than it’s worth. People get the emotions but there’s not much
direct communication, which always disappoints. Oh, and do you have a price
range...?”
I drew in breath between my teeth,
giving him a bit of a grimace.
“Cheap end it is then”, he said,
nodding and starting to amble towards the other side of the room. “Can’t really
blame you, first timers are never too sure they’ll like what they see...well, what
they experience that is.”
After some searching through the
slightly less well-maintained shelves he’d directed me to, I found a bottle
that seemed reasonable enough, in description (“1859 – 1937; No Notable Events”) and in price. I wasn’t here for
an expensive history lesson, I was here for...well, a unique experience. This
had to be better than spending another night alone in my apartment. Lost in my
own thoughts, I started to reach for it when the bartender loudly cleared his
throat.
“If you’ve made your decision,
sir...” he said, putting a hand on my shoulder and pulling up a piece of paper.
“You’ll just have to sign here...and don’t worry,” he continued amiably as I
nervously skimmed the waiver he handed me. “It’s just to cover all, ah, interesting eventualities that might
occur due to circumstances; nothing dangerous likely to happen.”
I gulped and realized that if I
didn’t do this now my fast fading courage would abandon me. “...Screw it”, I
murmured to myself and signed the waiver. I handed him the waiver. He handed me
the bottle. I uncorked the bottle. I took a deep breath. I drank the bottle.
The liquid was chilly and honestly,
kind of refreshing. I otherwise tasted watery and surprisingly unremarkable, until
I finished drinking and it reached my stomach. A strange coolness started to
spread in waves through my body, as though my organs were becoming air
conditioned. I tried not to freak out as it spread through my legs, my arms,
and finally, my head. It was at this point I had a strange sensation pry open
my mouth, and I experienced what I can only describe as a slow yawn in reverse.
Then everything popped for a second, and I had to stagger and reorient myself
as normal feeling returned to my body.
When things returned to more or less
as they were before, I couldn’t help but wonder if it had wor – “Of course it worked, you idiot!” interrupted
a creaky old voice in my head. “Now hold
still a minute and let me get my bearings.” It was at this point that I
noticed that my arm was moving on its own, twisting and turning while the
fingers flexed about independently. I did my best not to fall into absolute
panic, but wasn’t doing well. “Pah, with
all this fuss you’re making you must be new, ‘aint you?” drawled the voice
in my head as my limbs continued to stretch themselves of their own accord. I
wasn’t sure how to respond. “Ugh, course
you ‘aint” said the voice in my head. “No
one ever is, wish I didn’t have to go through all this nonsense every time I
enter a new cranium.”
Suddenly a voice outside my skull interjected.
“Everything satisfactory, sir?” The barman stepped into view as he took the empty
bottle from my hand and placed it back on the shelf.
“Oh,” I said, “er, I suppo –“ suddenly my lips twisted and
turned, pursing mid-sentence. Startled, I paused and they abruptly spoke of
their own accord. “Seems fine, Phil” said my mouth, in a voice similar to mine
but with an unnervingly alien affectation. “Obviously be a bit before we get
chummy or whatnot, but seems he’s not a loony, at least.” I wasn’t really
comfortable with this man using my mouth like this “But you’re gonna’ put up with it anyway because you’re the one who
signed up for sticking a ghost in your noggin” interrupted the man. “Name’s Nathan Crawford, by the way.”
While I was still struggling with
the oddness of having my own thoughts cut off, my mouth started to move without
permission yet again. “Anyway, you know me, Phil, gonna’ get right to it while
I have time”, I said. My legs then, with some difficulty, started to turn me
around and walk through the door; starting like the haphazard twitches of a
puppeteer and gaining traction and balance the further I went. Wait... I tried vocalizing my thoughts
more clearly. Can’t we talk for a minute
before we go running out into the streets?
“Nope!”
replied Nathan with the cheery carefree air of a man who didn’t give a
shit. “I don’t come out just to chew the
rag, and you ‘aint gypping me out of my eight hours. If you MUST, we can talk
on the way to the nearest bar, boy. Nearest real one, of course.”
I considered trying to stop Nathan’s
increasingly smooth leg movements past the front of the bar, but realized at
this point it was probably more trouble than it was worth. I could feel Nathan’s
approval of this line of thought as we, together in one body, walked out into
the night.
***
At this point, I should establish
some context. There was once a rather brilliant young scientist named Jennifer
Westworth, who came to hypothesize that ghosts were real. The notion was
laughed out of the academic community for obvious reasons. But Jennifer ignored
the academics, who said she was a crackpot. She ignored her family, who said
she was a crackpot. And she ignored existing ‘ghost hunters’, who said she
could be making more money off this angle. After years of study, she created a
device which she believed would capture the essence of a ghost and condense it into
physical form. She spent months traipsing about supposedly haunted vistas with
it, until finally one day, it actually worked.
With a flash the device revealed a
humanoid outline hovering in the air, which immediately collapsed into a pile
of greenish blue liquid. Jennifer called it Posthumous Emergent Corporeality
Fluid. Non-academics just call it ectoplasm. Ecstatic with her discovery, she collected
the fluid and headed home. Having been out until the wee hours of the morning
on her hunt, she decided to catch a quick nap before the next day of tests
began. At this point her brother, who had been out drinking at even worse
hours, stumbled home barely cognizant and fairly thirsty. Dramatic irony can
tell you what substance he blearily grabbed off the counter and drank.
Jennifer awoke the next morning to
her brother and a gentleman from Victorian England confusedly arguing over the
same mouth. She eventually calmed the two down, and they found that the ghost
could leave her brother’s body. But when he did, he became just as impotent and
incorporeal as he was before, until another flash from Jennifer’s device.
The scientific community was taken
by storm. Copies of Jennifer’s device were disseminated, more ghosts were
found, tests were performed, and the ghost hunters of the world were seriously
put out. Jennfier’s family was very proud, but also curious from a
more...business-oriented perspective. And so the idea was put forth: possession
as a luxury product. A unique experience found nowhere else! Share a head with
a ghost! Experience another person’s thoughts and feelings! Get first-hand
experience of past events!
There was, of course, an incentive
for the ghosts as well. Having a body and being able to interact with the word
again had obvious advantages. But the only other place ghosts could be allowed
one was in a laboratory, testing the day away. Here they got to experience
corporeality all the time, so long as they agreed to leave their hosts when the
duration they paid for was up. Of course some tried to take their bodies and
run at first, but stealing a shared body was difficult enough that none ever
got far, especially considering they shared that body’s thoughts, pains and
emotions.
But a final snag struck this
burgeoning business. Too much was still unknown to the world about these ghosts
and their possessing. Any given religion was a ceaseless maelstrom of conflict
in regards to what these ghosts were and what they meant. The medical field was
likewise baffled as to the effects of these possessions on people’s health. Health
in general was thrown into question upon the realization that some rare
circumstance lets you just keep ‘living’. Was this wise? Was this safe? Was
this natural? No one knew, and so most governments played it safe and banned
the practice to varying extents until further notice. But something this
monumental wasn’t about to just disappear, so private establishments kept the
industry alive beneath a veneer of legitimate business. Burton’s was one such
place.
I knew all of this, some from
Stephen’s descriptions but most from the news when it had started several years
back. I also knew that no one, alive or otherwise, who could explain why some
people came back as ghosts. In spite of this, I put the question to Nathan as
he was walking us to a nearby bar. He told me what I already knew with
exasperation, and then told me to stop asking stupid questions everyone asked.
When I pressed him on the matter to be sure, I learned that you can, in fact,
get a headache from shouted thoughts. I packed away questions about the
afterlife from here on out.
***
And, and then you know
what happened? I thought. And then
the son of a bitch says, he says that I cut HIM off! Based on some of the
odd looks other patrons of the bar were giving me I think I may have mumbled
some of those thoughts aloud, but I wasn’t in a fit state of mind to worry
about that right now.
It was several hours later and Nathan and I were now at our
second bar. We hadn’t intended to leave the first bar at all, but things just
got a little...out of hand. No amount of drinks could get me to agree with
Nathan’s desire to chat with the ladies in our current state. But we eventually
drank enough where we both agreed to show onlookers some ‘sweet dance moves’,
as I think I put it. Ignoring the fact that this wasn’t a bar where dancing was
going on, there was the more obvious issue of two drunks in the same body
trying to dance without consulting one another. Luckily there were only a few
minor casualties, but we were ejected from the establishment regardless.
Nathan was much better drinking company than the software
engineers I worked with, and I didn’t have many friends outside of work. He
also didn’t get annoyingly argumentative like they all did, as when
disagreements popped up we instantly understood where the other was coming
from. I had learned that Nathan had done this possession thing many times
before and I didn’t need to go through the tedious process of explaining the
last hundred years like he was a doggone moron. It also happened Nathan had
almost as little to say about his regular life as he did about the afterlife. I
asked his job, he said accountant. I asked about the turn of the 20th
century, he said it was even more boring than it was now. I asked about what he
did for fun, and he said he talked about more interesting things than this. It
was only after I shifted topics from his personal life that he got more
talkative. We had since settled comfortably in our most mutually enthusiastic
topic, types of people we hated.
“Ugh, I HATE people like that!” responded
Nathan. “I hate, I mean, I know EXACTLY
the type of blowhard who would try that type of thing! And the fact that you –“
I know! I
intercepted, the two of us sharing thoughts long enough to often understand each
other before we’d finished thinking out loud. Because it’s like, that’s so ru –
“SO rude, yeah!“
But you know, you know
what’s even worse than guys like him? People who waste your time!
”Ugh, you got that
right! Nothing, no NOTHING worse than some uppity little piece of crap trying
to give me the run-around!”
Exactly, dude! It’s
like, it’s like why d’you gotta’ waste MY valuable time? And the thing is, it’s
like, I seem to get so unlucky. I meet SO many assholes, so many, y’know, those
type of people.
“THOSE type of people, yeah! I can’t stand the
shmucks, and that’s not, not like an old man thing or anything. I couldn’t
stand ‘em before either! And they’re all I ever met! ‘slike God just said, just
said here, have all the windbags, the boneheads, the grousers...ex-wife was all
three and more, haha...”
I offered my cheery feelings of consolidation (which are much
more concrete when you share a head) but couldn’t comment much on the specifics
of that one, so our mental conversation trailed off. After several more minutes
of drinking in silence, sharing nothing but soft, nebulous emotions, I mentally
vocalized another thought.
You think it’s about
time to get out of here...? I said.
“Naaah, we can wait it
out a bit longer, boy”, said Nathan. “In
my experience, these outings are best ended only after we vomit on something.”
In my current state, I somehow thought this was a reasonable
idea. We didn’t have to wait long.
***
Soon I was stumbling back into my
apartment and over to the fridge, stepping over a stack of pizza boxes. If
Nathan noticed the mess, the varying detritus of half-finished snacks and
garbage that gravitated mainly around my computer and television, he didn’t
care enough to mention. As I opened the door to the fridge Nathan spoke up
again.
“You
got any room mates, boy?” he inquired as I started grabbing the nearest
edible solids within arm’s reach. I let him know that I did not.
“Good”,
said Nathan, releasing a wave of approval. “Trust me, they’re alright for a while, but you got the right idea.
Nothing like being your own man, living on your own. You ‘aint got to answer to
nobody, boy, NOBODY. A little bit of other people is fine, but too much...”
I didn’t quite like where the
conversation was going, and Nathan could tell, and consequently I knew Nathan
could tell, so we awkwardly moved on and I asked him what he wanted to do now.
“Hm...you
got one of those doodads where you press the buttons and you can shoot people
through the television?” he said.
The next few hours into early
morning were spent with the two of us amiably murdering strangers on the internet.
As virtual bullets were exchanged, any self-consciousness I would have normally
felt yelling at bratty teenagers was completely absolved knowing with certainty
that someone agreed with me. Hell, sometimes it was a toss-up of who got
control of the mouth first to exclaim our drunken frustrations.
It was all going fine until a while
later I was reminded of how I typically did this type of stuff with Stephen,
which of course brought to mind the fight a couple days ago. I tried to hide
those thoughts from Nathan for about half a second until I realized how
impossible that was. I got the clear feeling that he didn’t want to broach the
topic, but I was stuck on the thought now and he realized it would only get
more awkward if he didn’t bring it up.
“So...what
were you two fighting about...?” he finally thought aloud.
I told him that it was nothing much,
really. In all honesty, there wasn’t even a reason for the argument, it had
just sort of...happened.
“Yeah,”
replied Nathan. “I know exactly what
you mean.” And I knew he did. I knew with utmost certainty that Nathan was
very familiar with the situation.
Yeah,
I thought, I mean it’s frustrating,
right? How sometimes other people just...
“Absolutely,”
said Nathan. “I had that problem all
my life. How other people always make something out of nothing. Other people,
they always just...y’know. OTHER people...”
It was at this point that the line
of thought we were spiraling down became too depressing for us to continue, so
we did our best to abandon it and focus on shooting people in silence. But it
wasn’t quite the same as before, with the looming specter of that conversation
hanging over us. The weight of Nathan and I considering what type of people
others were, and what type of people, deep down, we suspected we might be.
Eventually we silently agreed we’d
had enough, got up, and turned the video game console off. We just sat there,
blearily looking at the skyline as the first pinpricks of the sunrise winked on
across the horizon.
“Don’t
let my...situation get to you, when I’m gone”, Nathan said eventually. I’d
ask what he meant, but of course I got the gist. I let him know without words
that I didn’t really mind; that he was, in fact, worth the consideration.
“Thanks
and all,” he said. “It’s just that
I...I ‘aint worth worrying yourself about, you know? I mean...no sense getting
bothered about a battle that’s already lost.”
That
was a sobering thought, and though it hurt us both to consider, I think the
mere fact that it did let Nathan feel valued. I didn’t want to end the night on
such a downer, but I could feel our time was just about up.
“...maybe
try and talk things out with your friend, eh boy?” said Nathan.
I
will, I said. I probably would’ve anyway, but I didn’t mind him mentioning
all the same. I need to thank him for
introducing me to this, after all. I could tell Nathan appreciated that
one.
“Well
then...” he said, as I felt something strange in my chest. “See you later, boy...”
At this, I yawned and a stream of
cold...something flowed out of me, which with a brief flash of bluish green
light turned into a mere ripple in the air. It flowed and spiraled outwards
towards the general direction of Burton’s bar.
“...yeah” I said softly to myself,
as I watched him go. “I think you will...”
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