A Series Of Legal Correspondence With Squirrels

What follows is a record of the legal correspondence between me and the lawyers representing the squirrels that live in my yard.

Joseph Harkles

79 Clover Circle

Coopersville, PA 18064

March 18, 2016

Dear Mr. Harkles,

Let me start off by saying on behalf of my clients, the squirrels that live on and around your property located at the above address, that we are very grateful to you for providing us with copious amounts of nuts, seeds, and corn over these past few harsh winter months.  Without this sustenance, our clients would have had a much tougher time of it, scrounging for food and trying to remember where they buried things last summer.  Ah, summer, it was a heady time for my clients, spent mating, raising children and running around like crazy chasing other squirrels out of their territory.  Oddly enough, the same squirrels always seemed to be chasing the same other squirrels away everyday, but the purpose of this letter is not to discus the effectiveness of my clients territorial disputes.

To get right to the point, your constant supply of food placed on your second floor balcony has resulted in my client’s morbid obesity.  While they are not complaining about the morbid obesity itself, this condition has made it nearly impossible for them to make the trip across the yard, let alone climb the trees and wires to the balcony and get the food. 

It is for this reason that we must insist that you provide motorized scooters for my clients, as well as ramps and any other constructs to make the balcony and thus the food readily accessible. 

I have enclosed copies of the ADA guide, with special attention drawn to Title III: Public Accommodations.  I’ll think you’ll find you are legally responsible, not only for my client’s health issues, but to provide special accommodations to your residence in order to comply with federal law.

We await your swift response,

Jeffrey Abrams, esq

Dunham, Abrams, and Jones

Attorneys At Law

85 Cobblestone Ave.

Pinesville, PA 34550

Jeffrey Abrams, esq

Dunham, Abrams, and Jones

Attorneys At Law

85 Cobblestone Ave.

Pinesville, PA 34550

March 24, 2016

Dear Mr. Abrams,

I am dismayed that your clients would threaten me with legal action after I have provided them with so much free food for so many months.  I feel that it is the responsibility of the squirrels themselves to monitor their own food intake and weight gain, and eat accordingly. 

I am also upset that they did not just come to me with their concerns directly, and had to drag legal representation into this at great expense to both of us.  Of course I have noticed them chattering loudly outside my balcony door, so maybe they did try to address these issues and I just misinterpreted their behavior as a reaction to my cat, who likes to watch them with keen interest.

At any rate, I do not see that it is my responsibility to provide any sort of handicap access for your clients, as

1. I do not see that obesity is listed as an official handicap. A quick perusal on the internet shows that most courts have rejected “general obesity” as a “disability”, without showing some direct underlying medical condition as the cause,
2. While I am not a lawyer, I must question whether the ADA actually applies to squirrels

So let me close in saying that I see no reason for me to affect the changes you seek. 

Sincerely,

Joseph Harkles

Joseph Harkles

79 Clover Circle

Coopersville, PA 18064

March 30, 2016

Dear Mr. Harkles,

Despite what you claim in your letter, (which was not really very well written in a legal sense, trust me on that, I did go to law school), you could not be more wrong.  While it is true that some courts have rejected obesity as a disability, there are still many cases in the system right now challenging that interpretation. 

As to whether or not it applies to squirrels, do you really want to spend years of your life and untold sums of money being a litigant in the test case to see if that’s true?  My clients have deep pockets, thanks in part to you and the over abundance of seed and other food stuffs you have supplied them with. There was so much that they managed to sell a lot of it off to other animals in the neighborhood at a tidy profit.  Don’t worry though, they were much more responsible and made sure they never gave too much to any one chipmunk or possum, so there will be no legal cases brought against them. 

It is really up to you if you want to face fiscal ruin fighting this in court.  We are very good lawyers, and we know lots of tricky law stuff to drag this out for years and years. Really tricky, scary stuff, so just build the ramps and get them scooters already. 

Hopefully yours,

Jeffrey Abrams, esq

Dunham, Abrams, and Jones

Attorneys At Law

85 Cobblestone Ave.

Pinesville, PA 34550

Jeffrey Abrams, esq

Dunham, Abrams, and Jones

Attorneys At Law

85 Cobblestone Ave.

Pinesville, PA 34550

April 6, 2016

Dear Mr. Abrams,

I spoke to my lawyer about this matter, and the first thing he mentioned was that he had never heard of your law firm.  He advised me that I probably had nothing to worry about and that I was in no way obligated to provide your fat ass squirrel clients anything in the way of handicap access to my balcony or any other part of my property. 

I then took it upon myself to look up your address on Google Earth and found that it was the address for a Dunkin Donuts. I’m beginning to wonder if you are even a law firm at all.

Please inform your clients that I will not be acquiescing to any of their demands.

Sincerely,

Joseph Harkles

Joseph Harkles

79 Clover Circle

Coopersville, PA 18064

April 12, 2016

Dear Mr. Harkles,

Okay, look Joe.  We are trying to work with you, but you don’t seem to want to this matter resolved in any timely or cost effective manner.  We will be forced to file a lawsuit in the coming days if you do not agree to our demands.

We are a law firm, a very successful and litigious one.  What do you think, we’re just a bunch of squirrels that got a hold of a typewriter or something?  Haha, that’s ridiculous. Who would even think such a thing.  Certainly not us. 

We’re big, expensive lawyers, and we’re also very good at getting into birdfeeders. Not birdfeeders, ignore that last part.

Come on already, just build the ramps and give us scooters,

Jeffrey Abrams, esq

Dunham, Abrams, and Jones

Attorneys At Law

85 Cobblestone Ave.

Pinesville, PA 34550

Jeffrey Abrams, esq

Dunham, Abrams, and Jones

Attorneys At Law

85 Cobblestone Ave.

Pinesville, PA 34550

April 16, 2016

Dear Mr. Abrams,

I’m beginning to think that you are just squirrels with a typewriter.  As a matter of fact, I notice that there is a typewriter missing from my garage at this time.  I bet if I went out and searched the squirrel’s residence in the tree in my backyard I just might find it there.

Joe Harkles

Jeffrey Abrams, esq

Dunham, Abrams, and Jones

Attorneys At Law

April 25, 2016

Joe,

Really, you don’t want to do that.  Seriously, there’s no typewriter there.  Besides, I think you need a warrant or something for that.  How about just one ramp and one RC car from the hobby store and a bunch of batteries?  That’s not asking too much.

Please?

Jeff

Jeff,

I’m sorry, but I’m not about to spend any more money on your “clients”.  How about if I just put the food on the ground so you don’t have to climb the balcony?

Joe

Joe,

Really? On the ground?  With all the other vermin?  We got used to eating on the balcony, it seems so much more refined.  I mean my clients.  Oh, who are we kidding.  Of course we took your typewriter.  Just help a brother out.  It’s murder hauling our fat butts up trees and across wires to get up there. 

Jeff

P.S. I know I already admitted that I’m a squirrel, but my name is actually Jeff, so…

Jeff,

I’m sure you noticed that today I installed a rose trellis on the side of the house adjacent to the balcony.  Hopefully this will make it much easier for you to get up there.  I’m sorry I can’t do more, but I spend more money than I already should feeding the local wildlife. 

Respectfully,

Joe

Joe,

I guess that will have to do.  We really do need to lose some weight anyway, what with summer coming.  Hope we didn’t make you too nuts with all this.  Haha, get it? Nuts?  That’s some squirrel humor.  As a token of our thanks, we will try to resist chewing through your TV cable this year.  

Looking forward to seeing you on the balcony,

Jeff

P.S. Can we keep the typewriter?  We have some angry letters we want to write to some crows and starlings that have really been pissing us off.

Excerpt From A Ghost's Diary Part 3

Part one, go here

Part two, go here

August 12th, 2004

Hello diary.  My only constant it seems in a vague, shifting existence.  It’s summer now, and while I never much cared for the warm weather when I was alive, I do like seeing people enjoying the outdoors.  So alive, out in the light and the warmth of the sun.  Of course, I can’t feel the warmth of the sun anymore.  If I had known how cold the rest of eternity would be, I might have made more of the opportunities I had to get out and enjoy it.  People picture ghosts rattling around in old, deserted places, late at night and forlorn, but for the most part we are right there with you, at the beach, watching you play sports, laughing as you miss that three foot putt.  We surround you as you live out your lives in the light, and we try to live through you, but we can’t fool ourselves.  We will never feel the sun on our skin, we will never feel the touch of another living being.  We just coexist alongside you, and what you think is the breeze is simply our lonely sighs.

October 30th, 2004

Well, tomorrow is Halloween, so I guess everyone assumes it’s a big deal for us ghosts.  It really makes no difference, to be honest.  Most of the other things you associate with the holiday aren’t real.  No vampires, or zombies or werewolves and such.  As far as the ghosts go, I think we’ve already established that they are nothing like we imagine them in movies or books.  I don’t think I ever explained our appearance though.  We are often dressed in the clothes popular to the period we died in.  They change from time to time, did you know that?  I think our outward appearance(even though most of you never see it, we are very rarely visible to the living and much of what you think are ghosts are simply tricks of the light or your imagination) is based on how we saw ourselves when we were alive.  The clothes change slightly as our memory becomes fuzzy, but our appearance reflects how we saw ourselves in life.  That’s why so many ghosts look like hideous monsters.  We are an amalgamation of all of our insecurities and self love or hatred, and the result is rarely pleasing to look at.  Most of us still look the way we did in life, but many times all of our perceived flaws and faults are magnified through our own psyche and we present ourselves to the world as we truly saw ourselves.  Whenever one of us ghosts comes across a particularly attractive and normal looking ghost, we are all jealous and feel sad about the way we thought about ourselves when we were alive.  On Halloween, instead of being frightened by imaginary monsters, be frightened of the way you see yourself.  The you that exists in your mind’s eye is usually the scariest monster of all, and like most monsters, they don’t exist at all.  

March 17th, 2005

Hello diary!  I know it’s been quite awhile since I’ve written.  It’s not easy getting my thoughts together and jotted down.  As it is, I have to write this on foggy mirrors and in centuries old dust that accumulates far from other’s eyes.   I don’t even know if anyone is seeing this, and I don’t remember where I wrote the last part down.  Basically everything I’m doing here is pointless, but wasn’t most of the stuff I did while I was alive just as pointless?  We attach so much importance to so many trivial things while we are alive and we often make decisions while in the grip of fear and uncertainty that we seldom get it right.  The good news is that there are no right and wrong answers most of the time.  Some moves set us back a little, some push us ahead, and most of the time we end up going nowhere.  We just think we are because the scenery changes around us or we get swept along whether we’re ready or not. Being dead only lets you replay it all over in your mind again and again, but the time to make a decision is long past.  Sadly, it seems that the more time you have to think, the more jumbled your thoughts become.  That’s because there is no end game to examining and reexamining a problem or an idea.  If you are afraid of something, the more you think about it the more frightened you become.  If you are confused, the more you think the more confusing angles you will start seeing.  If there is a tiny bit of doubt in your mind about anything, thinking will only ever increase that doubt.  We are blessed with this amazing brain, capable of wondrous things, yet we only seem to use it to torture ourselves with worry and fear.  We all want to imagine immortality, to picture an afterlife that goes on for eternity because we can’t accept that our minds and our consciousness won’t live on.  Well, the good news is, it does. For all eternity, floating around wondering what might have been and realizing that all the time in the world does nothing to erase the fears and indecision you felt all your life.  The only difference is, when you’re dead it doesn’t really matter at all, mostly like it didn’t really matter when you were alive, and that fact only makes it worse.

Beyond My Front Door

       I hate venturing out into the world.  It’s not the world I have a problem with, it’s the people that inhabit it.  It starts before I even leave the house.  I’ll be putting my shoes on and I already start thinking about the slack-jawed idiots and abrasive jerks that will come between me and my destination.  Oddly, my destination is ultimately home again, a fact which more often than not makes me take my shoes back off and decide I can live without whatever it was I had to go get or do for another day.  My laundry can always wait awhile longer.  I have a whole separate store of clothes that I don’t really like to wear, but I will if I can put off conversing with someone at the laundromat for a few more days.  So what if my reserve underwear is a little binding?  I can endure the discomfort.  Who cares if I have to wear my threadbare Frankie Say Relax t-shirt to work? Who am I trying to impress?
     Also, I don’t need to like the food to eat it.  If I only have some crackers, an old pack of French onion mix and a jar of capers, I can whip up something to eat so I can put off going to the supermarket today.
      Alas, sometimes I cannot put it off and I have to go out. 

  One of the things I do, which is probably very common, is to make little stories and scenarios up about the people in the stores or in their cars.  I invent a little backstory for them.  Woman in a troubled marriage or on her way to a first date, man worried about his job or thinking of how he’s going to propose to his fiancé later, old married couple just waiting for each other to die so they can get some peace, that kind of thing.  I really shouldn’t do that though.  It just humanizes them and gets in the way of me realizing my dream of being a serial killer.
      Well, not a dream, really.  More of a destiny.  I don’t really feel like killing people, I just don’t know how else this life can end for me.  The way I see it, I’m either going to kill myself or everyone else, and I might as well try to kill everyone else first.  It's like people who wish they were dead. Why punish yourself? I just wish everyone else was dead.  Hence the killing everyone. Who knows? Maybe I could do it. 
      Probably not, though.  Someone would figure it out.
     With my luck, some real life Columbo will follow me around everywhere, pestering me and annoying me more than the people I murdered in the first place.  The joke will be on him when I confess in the first five minutes, anything to get me away from him and into a nice, empty jail cell.
      Ugh.
      It already sounds like too much trouble and too much interaction with people, and again, there’s the having to leave the house thing in the first place.  So you all are safe, by virtue of the fact that I already know I would just end up home again afterward, so why bother?  Plus, I wouldn’t be able to tolerate even the minute or so of dealing with you before I could kill you.  Talk about a dichotomy.  The very thing that makes me want to kill everyone is the same thing that prevents me from doing it.    
     There is a certain beautiful balance in the universe.  I hate it so much.  

     I have a cat.  I call him Diogenes, and I hope you don’t know who that is and what the significance is and the irony is lost on you and I hope it makes you feel stupid.  I do like the cat though, and it’s not his fault that I gave him a convoluted name that makes you feel like an asshole, so don’t take it out on him.  
     I like most animals, especially in comparison to humans.  Yeah, I know, humans are animals too, aren’t you clever?  If you’re so clever, what the fuck did you name your cat?  Yeah, I thought so.  Now shut up.
     So most days I spend telling my cat why I like him better than people.  It’s a very long list, but he is patient and sits and listens, and loves me unconditionally.  At least as long as I’m the one feeding him.  Sometimes I think he might be happier living with some old woman that has a cheery outlook on life and smiles all the time and talks about flowers or cookies or whatever the fuck old woman talk about to take their minds off dying.  Then I realize that he would rather know the truth, even if it makes him unhappy.  He still purrs, so I guess he’s made his peace with the absurdity and futility of life.  Besides, he’s a cat, it’s his job to look annoyed.
     Some people look at their pets as their children, but not me.  I look at my cat like an equal but misinformed creature.   Sure, he really has no use for most of the information I give him, but I like to think that he at least gets the general idea that people are useless.  At any rate, I would rather have a hundred cats than a child. 

      How people can have children is beyond me.  People full of self hate having little versions of themselves.  That’s going to end well.  Children are just little humans with a lot less self control or sense of decency.  They are selfish, disgusting and have no empathy or concern for anything but what they want now.  Actually, they are not that different from most adults.  
     Parents do their part to try to mold them into better human beings, mostly through guilt and shame, bribery or to deprive them of something they love.  This teaches them nothing but the feeling that they are bad or a freak for having perfectly ordinary urges and feelings, so they grow up to be dishonest, and they better hide who they are or they will suffer and be ridiculed.  
      Or you could hit them, and they will grow up thinking that love is pain and the solution to every problem is violence.  Or you can never hit them, and they will grow up and be shocked that the world is hard and no one cares about their precious feelings and they will spend their lives in an indignant huff and throw tantrums and feel no one is good enough.
     You can’t really blame people, there’s no good way to raise a person correctly, and most parents give up by the time their kids are teenagers.  They just point them out the door at eighteen, whether to college or a job, and wash their hands of the whole mess and finally get back to having disposable income to spend on drugs and pornography and whatever hobby they have talked themselves into to help pass the slow passage of time until sweet death embraces them.

     Anyway, getting back to going out.  For the most part, we have some say about where we will spend our time.  For instance, I still enjoy going to the movies.  Well, sometimes, but most of the time the movie is a horrible disappointment, made for a general population of morons that read at a 4th grade level and still think selfie sticks and rap music are a good idea.  If I go to a movie though, I go at 9am on a weekday, and there is usually about three other people, misanthropes like me, and we space ourselves as far apart as the theater geometry allows.  
     Sometimes I wish I could start a support group for other people haters and me, then I think about the absurdity of that and just go back to wishing everyone dead, even the other’s that wish I was dead.  You have to be careful with that.  Sometimes you find yourself caring about others that might feel exactly like you, but you have to remind yourself that they are most likely just friendless because they are insufferable, not just a clear thinker like myself. 

     At any rate, there are things that you have to do and places you have to go, and the supermarket is one of those.  It is life’s cruelest joke that I have to still go to the grocery store once or twice a week.  Even if you go to the movies, or a museum, or a concert, you are usually there with people that at least have some of the same interests as you.  Everyone has to go to the supermarket.  They are all there, all wandering around in a fog, all IQ levels, all classes and cultures, all stumbling about trying to buy food to get them through another few days.  
     It’s like a constant reminder, played out every four or five days, smacking you in the face with the reality that most of the people in the world are being propped up by the whole of civilization and cheating the quick and lousy end evolution should visit upon them.   
      They continue to live on, blissfully unaware that they are dragging the rest of us down like a sacks full of dead mutant kittens that should have just died at the teat.  
     Please don’t misinterpret what I’m saying to support some racist or class based form of social Darwinism.  I don’t care about race or poverty or social status, I just hate idiots.  The world is full of them.  You see them everyday, standing in line for Kevin James movies, filing in and out church, shopping at Whole Foods, driving around with NRA and Donald Trump stickers on their cars, flailing at a 4-way stop because they forget what order they arrived there in.   
     Morons are everywhere, and they all have some wacky opinion about things they know nothing about.  Gay rights, drug laws, what women should be doing with their bodies, the world economy, global warming, whatever.  Back and forth everyone goes on issue after issue, and never resolving any of it while the powers that be continue to manipulate the population based on what one group of dullards believes.  These issues either shouldn’t be issues at all, or should be addressed rationally based on the evidence at hand.  What do you do then when one side just refuses to believe the evidence?  How do you convince a stupid person that they are stupid when they are too stupid to understand that they are indeed stupid?  And we all think the other person is the stupid one, so it’s nearly impossible.  Worse yet, many times the stupid one knows they are the stupid one and that just makes them fight harder.  

     For example, obviously the climate is changing and obviously it’s because of us, but some people just aren’t going to listen to facts.  The entirety of human civilization is some segment of the population ignoring what’s really happening and then waking up one day to find  themselves slaves or cannon fodder or buried in lava.  When they suddenly find themselves under 10 feet of water, then they will wring their hands and wail about how no one did anything to stop it as they try to swim to higher ground.  Hopefully they will sink from my view before they make it and I will watch them all go under one by one.  
     Or not.  That implies that I am still alive and presumably on some smaller, more crowded patch of earth.  If surviving means coming into contact with even more people I would just rather wash out to sea with the rest of them and eventually be devoured by hagfish on the ocean floor, finally happy and at peace.  

     Back to people that deny the obvious.  There is a huge division between people in this country these days.  Mostly it seems to be between people that accept facts and people that chose to believe that facts are dependant on whether you believe them or not.  What’s worse, everyone seems to care about whether someone that is obviously in the grip of cognitive dissonance agrees with them or not.  So some idiots spend their time badgering some other idiots, explaining to them why they are an idiot and what they should believe.  
      You are never going to get anywhere trying to explain something to someone that doesn’t want to hear it.  You will hit them with some irrefutable fact, something so dire or shocking that it shake them to their core and have them on their knees, struggling with the sudden realization that they have been wrong all the time.  That never happens.  They will shrug it off like it was nothing and go on believing whatever wacky thing they believe.  
     As much as I hate people, they should all just stop trying to convert everyone into thinking like they do and making their lives even more miserable.  All it does is break up friendships and family, start holy wars, and make for terrible “news” roundtable discussions on Sunday morning television.  Let everyone go on in their ignorance and let them find out in the end who was right and who was wrong.  Don’t deprive them of that one moment we all get.  The one where we die realizing that none of that ever really mattered and now the end is here and we wish we had one more minute of life left, regretting all the time we spent arguing over what was better, Apple or Android.  Or as they die by direct result of the thing they did their best to ignore.  That’s really the best one.  Not for them, mind you, but I find great joy in thinking about the comical look on their face as they react with utter shock that their house slide into the sea just like the house that was on the same spot a few years ago did, or when the new dictator they just supported in the coup gases their neighborhood to make room for his palace. Point is, people are going to do what they want to do, no matter what you want.  
     “You cannot wake a man who is pretending to sleep”  
     This is apparently some Indian quote.  Yes, I know they are now referred to as “Native Americans”, but I find it funnier to call them Indians to remind people of the fact that as great an explorer as Columbus might have, he was too stupid to know that he wasn’t in India.  Following some faulty map halfway around the world and not even questioning why he got there in half the time it was supposed to take, not to mention the fact that the people and culture, as well as the whole environment he found there didn’t match any known description of the place he was looking for.  It is only fitting that the guy that discovered America was suffering from his own stubborn delusions.  
     I can’t really say one way or the other whether that is a wise Indian saying or if Dr. Oz said it and markets it on baseball hats.  I know it is way too coherent to be Deepak Chopra, who is the other kind of correctly named Indian.   The internet is full of lies and confusion, and people have a lot of time and money invested in staring at glowing screens and believing what it tells them.  
     So speaking of sleeping people, the supermarket is full of ugly and badly dressed humans, shuffling along, staring blankly at all the mass produced garbage made by the same three companies that supply us with our food.  It’s not quite Soylent Green yet, but it might as well be.  The day is coming soon when we will just grind up people and make food out of them.  We grind them up and make everything else out of them, why not food?  That’s the day I stop eating though and just get in line at the factory to become food.  Not because I wouldn’t want to eat human beings, just because l’m hoping I’ll  make a lot of people sick.   

     So the confused and slack jawed population meanders the aisles, and I try to get around them and get my shopping done and get out.  I firmly believe that the reason zombie films and TV shows are so popular right now is because we are living vicariously through the people that get to blow the heads off of lumbering, brain dead people that are making their lives a living hell.  Just like in real life, but you’re not allowed to shoot real people with a shotgun or hack them up with a machete when they’re taking too long at the deli counter.  
     They take too long everywhere, doing anything.  I am not insane or delusional.  I realize that everyone is different and approaches everything in their own way and handles it with their own tool set, for better or for worse.  That said, there is no discernible rhyme or reason to the way most people do anything.  Most people seem to stumble through life with no forethought or idea why they are doing anything that they happen to be doing at the moment.  They drive with little regard to the minimum or maximum speed limit.  They seem to have no sense of others or the world around them.  You can find them standing outside their cars, looking at the door like they forgot how to get inside them.   They might be looking at a slip of paper they are holding with a perplexed look on their face, like they are an amnesia victim that just came across a photo of someone they don’t recognize in their pocket.  You come across them everywhere, just seemingly stopped dead in their tracks like their battery ran out, or they are rebooting.  
      Mostly you come across them in this state in the supermarket.  Clogging the aisles with their meat and skeletons, their guidance system apparently down for a spell, so they just wait for a signal from high command to start moving again when everything is up and running again. 
      I used to sometimes get lunch at the salad bar.  No more.  If you want to see how far human civilization has regressed, just look at the state they leave a salad bar.  Tongs everywhere, all the choices mixed together, dentures left in the olives.  Well, maybe not that bad, but I’m sure it happened at least once.  I’m not even sure why the grocery store has a salad bar.  It’s like they looked at the operation and asked themselves how could we make the grocery shopping experience even more annoying and baffling?
     When you look at the people using the salad bar it’s very strange.  I assume people eating salads for lunch are at least trying to be healthy, yet I hardly ever see anyone that looks the least bit in shape picking over the greens.  People dressed in hideous clothes that can barely contain them, with their kids screaming and putting their hands all over the food, then in their noses, then back in the food.  The parents don’t seem to notice, they are too busy scanning the bins for the items that are least likely to be in a salad bar, but there they are!  They always seem to load their salad with cheese and eggs and pepperoni slices, bacon bits and croutons, and then drown it in the creamiest, most fattening choice of dressing available.  It’s like they are getting a snack to hold them over for the two minute ride to McDonald’s, where they can really get down to eating.   
     The salad bar is also loaded with things like macaroni salad, or egg salad or potato salad, and these are not really salad, people.  They somehow paid off the salad association for the right to add the name to the end of whatever thing they decided to load down with mayonnaise or some other fatty cream, and because the name contains the word “salad” people think it’s healthy.  I’m not sure what other countries are like, but I’m sure we’re the only one that has come to think of loaded, foot long sandwiches as health food.
    
     Eventually I will make my way through this war zone and get to the end where I can check out and go home.  I used to get mad when the self checkout lanes first appeared years ago.  I got indignant, and asked the manager if I would receive a discount for scanning and bagging my own groceries.  Of course, you don’t.  I refused to use them because I saw it as a way to eliminate jobs, and I didn’t think it was right taking away people’s livelihoods.  I soon  realized though that checking my own groceries meant less interaction with people, and really, what did I care if some idiot I can’t stand loses their minimum wage job as a checkout clerk?  
      Early in life I didn’t care about anyone but myself.  That’s typical.  You haven’t learned about others and developed a strong sense of empathy.  Once I learned of the horrors of the world, I started to care about people’s suffering and I tried very hard to do the right thing.  This included deciding where I spent my money and not giving it to companies and corporations that used slave labor and poisoned the environment, or had political, philosophical or theological positions  that I couldn’t support.  When I met people with problems, people that suffered real trauma in their lives I did everything I could to help them and to show them that love made a difference.
      These days I am back to the state where I don’t really care anymore.  Everything I did, every time I tried to help, everyone I stood up for seemed to let me down.  Nothing seemed to matter.  After a while I started to realize that if the very people I was making a stand for didn’t care, why should I?  Besides, nothing changes.  Nothing I do matters to a billion dollar corporation or an oppressive government halfway around the world.  Nothing I do even matters to those that claimed to love me. 
       Getting involved means getting hurt, and I have had enough of that, thank you.  
       It always strikes me funny though, that as disgusted and put upon as I am, whenever I encounter someone with a baby or small child, that child always looks at me and smiles.  It’s like they can see something I can’t even see in myself.  I stand in line behind them, or try to navigate around them and their stupid parents to get at the fresh produce.  I try to glower harder at them, as if to let them know what they’re in for.  A lifetime of pain and misery, disappointment and heartbreak over and over again until they wind up like me, broken and alone.  
     It kills me that they keep on smiling though, and sometimes they try to say something to me, but usually I can’t understand them and that’s even more frustrating.  The worst part is, that usually I end up smiling back in spite of myself, and that seems to make them happier.  It’s like they get joy out of turning me into a mockery of myself, and try as I might to hate those happy laughing babies for it, I still can’t help the smile that creeps across my face.  
     Sometimes their mother notices, and she smiles too.  Now I have inadvertently brought joy to two people, and it sickens me.  Why do they do this to me?  Why do those babies with their innocent smiles and untainted happiness have to remind me of what the world could be like, and that it’s too late for me? 
    I hurry out of the store and leave the mocking babies behind.  I’ll be damned if their faces don’t stay with me though.  

      Out in the parking lot, I always notice that no one returns their shopping carts to the holding pen.  Fucking people and their inconsiderate ways.  Just leaving their carts in the middle of the lot to get in the way.  Probably some harried mother just trying to get the shopping done and struggling trying to balance a home and job and she probably has her mean spirited baby with her.  Like that’s an excuse.  Or is it?  
      What the hell was my point anyway?  
      I don’t want to do this anymore. 
      I need to get back home.

Excerpts From A Ghost’s Diary Part 2

For part 1 go here 

January 21^st, 2004

     Hi there diary.  I haven’t written in you for a few weeks, what with the New Year and all.  The holidays are a busy time for ghosts.  All the family atmosphere and remembrances of the past really get things stirred up in the ether.  All the ghosts can seem to do during this time is circle the living and blather on about past glories and how much someone misses them or talks about them. 

     Not me.  There were people in my life I loved and cared for, but that part of my existence is over now.  I try not to dwell on my memories, it just makes me nostalgic and melancholy, and I don’t want to turn into one of those wailing, hand-wringing, walking the parapet type of spirits I run into all too often.  They never moved on, never grew, never discovered new and interesting things about the world and themselves.  You can be chained to the past when you’re alive and when you’re dead, and it’s an unfulfilling existence either way. 

     Of course, when I was alive I never really took advantage of all my opportunities.  Often I was held back by laziness, or more often fear of the unknown.  Well, not really so much the unknown, more like fear of looking foolish, or appearing that I didn’t know what I was doing.  Anxiety held me back from doing so much in life.  I missed out on countless adventures, romances, a million little joys I could have experienced but didn’t. 

      I missed out on some injuries, to my body and self esteem, and some heartbreak, I’m sure, but that stuff goes with the territory.  The bad things that happen along the way are lessons you can learn from, or sometimes scars to be proud of.  Some of the emotional pain can be debilitating, but if you learn to let it go and leave it in the past you find you can live with it there.  Rather than keep revisiting the past and reliving the trauma I should have moved on to the next thing to see what that might bring.

     When you’re dead you can really see how much of your life you wasted while you were living.

     That’s why I want to move on and do more interesting things now that I’m dead.  I have nothing to fear, from physical harm or the opinions of other spirits.  Strange though, that I still feel a little uncomfortable for a moment whenever I realize another ghost is watching me or when I float into a new place.  I guess that never completely leaves you.  I suppose that’s because even though I’m not human anymore I’m still not a sociopath.  I still have empathy, even if it manifests itself in negative ways at times. 

     Not like poltergeists.  Some of them are just mischievous, but most of them have lost whatever humanity they may have possessed when they were alive.  They care about no one and no thing, and have no understanding of the consequences their actions have on the world around them.  They just tear through the spirit world, selfishly not caring who they hurt or upset.  In one respect I’m thankful in that ghosts really can’t do too much to affect the living world.  There are some spirits here that would make the worst serial killers in history look like amateurs. 

     Fortunately for people, most ghosts are just sad, self-absorbed wretches wandering for eternity, reliving the past again and again, harmless and no more dead now than when they were alive.

February 2^nd, 2004

     I was thinking about what I wrote a couple of weeks ago about doing new things.  I have found something that brings me a little joy, but I admit it’s rather trite. 

     I have taken to messing with parapsychologists.  Ghost hunters, they call themselves.  I hate to break it to you, but no one is really any better than anyone else when it comes to detecting ghosts. In fact, a lot of things you associate with ghost behavior has nothing to do with us. 

      Sure, we can sometimes manifest a faint apparition of ourselves if the conditions are just right and we exert a lot of effort.  Most ghosts either don’t know how or can’t be bothered.  I don’t even know how, but I am trying to figure it out.  I have asked a few other ghosts if they know how to do it, but they all just look at me like I’m crazy.  Be thankful they can’t all appear to humans.  You would live your life in an eldritch fog, everything obscured by all the barely opaque beings crowded everywhere. 

     I really haven’t gotten anywhere with it and I will probably just quit trying.  One thing I have learned to do is manipulate the ether so it produces vibrations in the air that the living interprets as sound.  I can’t make any intelligible words, but that doesn’t matter.  The bozos with their ghost equipment will hear whatever they want to hear. 

     They get so excited! They try to give me commands, things to do to let them know if I can understand them.  The trick is to never do anything exactly the way they request.  That way no one is ever really sure.  That’s the fun of it, at least for me.

     Of course, we probably can’t do what they want. Interacting with the physical world is really hard and takes a lot out of you, and there is no real precision involved.  Besides the faint noises, I have only ever managed to manipulate anything physical once or twice, and even then it was barely noticed.

     Swinging chandeliers, slamming doors, all that stuff is not us.  Once in a while a really determined poltergeist might make something fall off of a table, but that’s about it.  None of us are speaking through anyone, none of us are making tables float or moving Ouija boards.

     In many ways we are just like most of the living, floating through life hardly affecting the world as we pass through.

February 14^th, 2004

     Today is Valentine’s Day.  If you think it was depressing when you were alive, imagine how it is when you’re dead.  Anyone you ever loved has moved on.  They are in new relationships and while they may think of you from time to time, they don’t really care anymore.  In that respect, it’s a lot like when you’re alive, I suppose. 

      I see a lot of things in relationships that you people never get to see.  I see how couples act when they are alone together, and then I also see how those people act when that other person isn’t around.  I will tell you this, and I’m not saying it to make you nervous or to feel bad about your relationship, but you never really know another person.

     Never.

     You think you do.  You tell yourself that you are someone’s soul mate, that they complete you.  You believe everything they tell you because you have to believe it.  You couldn’t be in love if you didn’t.  The majority of it is nothing very devastating.  Everyone wears some different masks for different occasions.  Little white lies to spare someone’s feelings, just keeping quiet because you think the other person couldn’t handle some weird thing you feel. 

     Every single person has someone outside their relationship that they bitch to constantly about their significant other.  You expect that. 

     I see most people deceive their mates on a regular basis though.  I’m not talking about little things.  I see people cheating, lying, sometimes having a whole other life that their partner doesn’t even know about.  Sex, drugs, sometimes even things that are just hobbies or activities that are relatively harmless, but they never let the other person know about.  So many people do these little (or big) things behind their lovers backs just to prove that they can.  I think all lovers carry around a little resentment for each other.  Perhaps it’s because even though they are happy and in love, they had to give up a little of their freedom, a little of themselves to get it.

     It’s a way of making them feel that they aren’t being controlled or told what to do, even in instances where no one is doing those things.  Of course, many times they are.    

     From my invisible vantage point I can see how so many things people say to each other carry undertones of insecurity and suspicion.  Most of the things people talk about are very self-serving, and it’s just them crying out “don’t leave me!” but never really telling the other what they really need to hear. 

     Mostly people don’t want an answer to a direct question.  You want to be reassured while not digging any deeper than you have to lest you learn something you don’t want to know.  I spent much of my life wondering what the people I was with really felt about me and if any of them ever truly loved me.
     Then one day you're a ghost and you realize that you knew the answers all along.

© David Ferraris 2015

Responsibility

     The video starts playing.  A man sits down in front of the camera he has just turned on and looks squarely at the viewer.

     “Hello” He begins, “my name is Brian Cole.  I am making this short video to explain my actions to any people that I leave behind so that they understand why I am doing this.”

     He seems scared, clearly agitated as he sits in his bedroom, uncomfortable even in the midst of all his possessions, things meant to bring him comfort.

     “ I want it known that I am doing this for the better good, so no more have to suffer because of  my pettiness and lazy attitude towards life.  So you will see the tragedy I have caused on a whim, the pain and suffering I have inflicted on people for the tiniest of desires.”

     He looks as if he might cry for a moment, and he stops to compose himself.  He takes a deep breath, exhales loudly and continues.

     “I didn’t realize what damage I was causing until recently.  Thinking back now, the evidence was all there, I just didn’t see the big picture until now.  The first incident I can think of was in third grade.  Anthony Buscianno was a bully that started picking on me when the school year began.  He picked on several kids, but I seemed to get the worst of it.  Two or three times a week he would embarrass me in front of the other kids, take my lunch money, give me wedgies or just tease me mercilessly.”

     “This went on for months, and I hated him.  School was becoming a nightmare, my grades were suffering, and I was starting to fake illnesses just to get out of going.  I would lie in bed at night, wishing Anthony would move, or get sick or just die already.  I felt it was wrong to wish those things on someone, but I couldn’t help it, he was making my life that miserable.”

     “I was thankful for Christmas vacation that year, more relieved that I wouldn’t have to see Anthony for almost two weeks than excited to get presents.  When vacation was over and I returned to school I was happy to see that Anthony was not there, out sick with some illness he caught over the holidays.  A couple of days later school was cancelled for three days, and it turned out it was because it was discovered that Anthony had contracted meningitis.  School resumed when it was determined that there was no danger to any of the other children, but Anthony never recovered and he died in his hospital bed.  I felt guilty, not because I thought it was my fault, but because I was so happy he was dead!”

      “When I think back on my life as I was growing up there were plenty of other times things just like that had occurred.  My sister broke her leg after I had been so mad that she would get to go skiing with her friends and I couldn’t go.  My aunt dying soon after my cousin got a mini-bike and I wished something bad would happen in his life.  Coincidences, I assumed.”

      At this point in the video he stops talking and puts both hands on his face and runs his fingers up through his hair, then rubs his eyes with the heels of his palms.  He moves his hands to the back of his neck, laces his fingers together, and sits that way, his elbows framing his face, pointing towards the camera.  He keeps them there as the narrative continues:

     “Then there was my girlfriend Susan while I was in college.  Things hadn’t been going well after 6 months and I really wanted to break up with her, but I didn’t have the courage.  I would find myself wishing that there was any other way to move on without having to deal with the hassle of ending the relationship, without being the bad guy and breaking her heart.”  His hands now drop back down to his sides, out of the frame.  “Any way to avoid that uncomfortable feeling I would have to endure.”

     “Then, while she was home visiting her parents she died.  The bathroom in her parent’s house was situated over the garage and they had some kind of heater that malfunctioned and produced carbon monoxide fumes that filled the bathroom and killed her.  Just like that.  Tragedy for her and her family; but an easy way out for me.”

      “There were many other times that my unspoken wishes caused people hardships and misery.  Many times, I simply didn’t want to go somewhere or do something and occurrences would come up to alter plans and get me out of it.  Rain ruining an outdoor event I wanted to get out of, someone’s car broke down and they couldn’t make it, a sickness or death in someone’s family that cancelled plans for something I didn’t feel like doing.  Sometimes big, sometimes trivial but they would happen, and I would get out of fulfilling my social obligations due to unhappiness inflicted on a person I cared about after I wished for something to get free of my obligations.”

     “And then there was yesterday.  Last week my boss informed me that I would have to fire one of our workers.  Joe was not a great employee, he seemed to do the minimum amount of work possible, and what work he did manage to get done would always be done in the most inefficient manner.  He was a decent guy though, and I was not looking forward to firing him.  I had never had to let anyone go before.”

     He was looking very distressed now, as if he might start crying any minute.

     “I mean, the guy had a wife and kids …” Now he was crying.  “So of course the night before I lay awake in my bed just wishing I wouldn’t have to do it, that there was some way I didn’t have to call him into my office and fire him.”  He paused to blow his nose and wipe the tears off his face.

     “So when I get to work yesterday, no Joe.  So what, he’s frequently late, another reason he needed to be fired.  Two hours later the news comes to me that Joe died in a car accident on the way to work.  It suddenly dawns on me that it was my fault, just like it has been my fault my entire life.  So many times I wanted to get out of something the easy way, and so many times other innocent people had to suffer.”

     He takes a very deep breath.

     “So I have decided to end it.  I can’t go on causing all this pain and suffering on others.  I can’t live with the pain and suffering I’ve already caused.  I just wanted you all to know why I am doing this.”

     With that, he gets up, exits the frame to the left and you hear the gunshot that kills him.

    

     That was my best friend, Brian Cole.  He killed himself needlessly, just for a string of occurrences that he had no control over, but he assumed it was all his fault.  It was not his fault, of course, that would be ridiculous.

     You see, Brian and I were supposed to go to a concert the night after he committed suicide.  I really didn’t want to go, and I wished that something would come up so we could skip the concert.  Now Brian is dead.

     I now see that everything that happened in Brian’s life was a complex machination to arrive at the point where he would kill himself the day before a concert that I wished I could get out of seeing.  I killed Brian, and all the people for whom he thought he bore the responsibility. 

     I cannot live with this knowledge, please forgive me.

     I found this note with the body of a suicide that I responded to the other night.  My name is Jerry Haring, and I am a police officer here in Los Angeles.  Everyone knew about the Brian Cole suicide, he posted the damn video on Youtube.  Now here was his best friend, hanging from a rope.  Tragically, he was also dead for something that was out of his control, something that he was not responsible for but his confused mind told him he was.  It’s so very sad.

     You see, like many other people in L.A., I am an aspiring screenwriter, and for so many years I have been struggling to come up with a story idea good enough that I could sell to a movie studio. I have spent the last year hoping and praying that I would get a call to a murder or accident that I could turn into a screenplay, a screenplay that would make me famous.

     I know realize that I am the one responsible for this man’s death, as well as Brian and all the people he left dead or maimed in his wake.  All of it was leading up to giving me a great story for a movie script.  So many people dead because of me!

     To my family, and especially my loving wife Cindy, I am sorry, but I cannot live with this any more than the other two could.  Goodbye.

 

   I found these papers along with my husband Jerry’s body when I got home today.  He shot himself with his service revolver.  He was a good man, and like the others, he died needlessly, for some delusional idea that he was somehow responsible for the death and suffering of so many.

     Jerry was a good man, and a good cop and he deserved so much better.  You see, I have been having an affair for six months now.  We had our troubles in our marriage, but I won’t go into that here.  Last week I started to catch myself thinking that if Jerry died, got shot on the job or something it would make everything so much easier.

     So you see, I am the reason al these good people are dead.  My selfish, petty thoughts killed so many, and now I will join them.  Goodbye.

   

 A white Persian cat, Snowball, sits looking at his owners bodies.  Jerry, who he had watched shoot himself in the head a few hours ago, and now Cindy, bled out from the cuts on her wrists, laying next to him on the floor.

     In his small but acute feline mind, he remembered how they got home late the other night, two hours after his feeding time.  They cooed and apologized to him, and gave him extra treats with his regular food, but he still wished they were dead.  And now they were.

       Snowball assumes it was all his fault, all of it, even the deaths and pain he doesn’t know about. 

      “Oh well,” he thinks as he goes back to licking his own ass. “I wonder which one I’ll eat first.”

© 2013 David Ferraris

In Praise Of Older Women

It's always weird when I hear guys my age refer to a woman their own age as a MILF.  MILF implies that it's a woman in an age group or category that you wouldn't normally have sex with but you would make an exception for a particular one.  When you're pushing fifty it should be MIHF, as in Mom I Have to Fuck,  because you're no prize yourself and its' not like 20 year old girls are beating down your door to have sex with you.  It's odd that men use acronyms that demean women and somehow think it's a compliment.

Men have always felt entitled when it comes to women.  I’ve heard countless guys sitting around talking about women, be it someone they know or a movie star or model. They always say things like “I’d fuck her” or “She’s not that hot, but I wouldn’t kick her out of bed” in a tone that implies that they would be doing these woman a favor.  Do they really think they would have a chance with any of these women they’re talking about?  Do they think Angelina Jolie is sitting around waiting for the chance to have sex with some middle-aged, out of shape guy that spends his time talking to other guys about imaginary sex partners?  Forget Angelina, do they think some random woman they see in the supermarket would want to drop everything and hop into bed with them because they decide she’s good enough for him?  

I think men also believe that if a woman is older that she’s desperate enough to take what she can get, but I assume it’s the opposite.  Older women are not scrounging around for sexual bread crumbs, indiscriminately bedding down with any man pathetic enough to have her. When a woman is older she realizes that there are more important things in life than fulfilling men’s selfish fantasies.  In most cases I’ve found that people grow and change as they age, and their priorities change in regards to sex.  Well, women do anyway. 

If you have sex with an older woman and you’re not cutting it in the sack she won’t waste her time showing you what you’re doing wrong, she doesn’t have that kind of patience anymore.  If you’re a really hot, young, go all night kind of guy, then yeah, she’ll have the patience.  If you’re her age you’re expected to know what you’re doing and if you don’t … well, there’s a million more that look like you that do.  Older woman have shit going on in their lives and they don’t have time to waste on your sorry ass.  As much as you may think you’re doing her a favor, it’s really the other way around, trust me.

Don’t get me wrong, women my age enjoy some no strings sex also.  I always seem to notice that whenever one of these aging Lotharios go out with a woman for a fling, they are the ones that never seem to be able to handle it when it turns out to be just that.  They’re a mess when the woman doesn’t want something more, and the next thing you know they turn into borderline stalkers. 

Older women hold all the cards.  Nowadays they have even been marketed to younger guys as “cougars”.  Society has convinced young guys that they would really rather be sleeping with women twice their age than other twenty-somethings.  This, like everything else, is playing to men’s insecurities.  The whole cougar phenomenon is telling young guys that older women are desperate, a sure thing, prepared to do all kinds of wild and kinky stuff on the first date because they have to work harder just to get you to have sex with them.  That, of course, is ridiculous.  The only thing any woman has to do to have sex with any guy, regardless of age, is to let them. 

If you are a cougar, just remember: odds are that the younger guy is looking for you because he thinks you need him.  That means he is actually the one with the self-esteem problem, which means you are in the driver seat.  I think most older women understand this, and if they don’t and they’re reading this, then the cats out of the bag.

Personally, I would much rather go out with a woman my own age.  I have dated women 10, even 20 years my junior and it gets very old really quickly.  In most cases, I can sit and talk to a woman half my age for about twelve minutes before I want to stick a screwdriver through my eye and into my brain.  It’s nothing against them, but I cannot relate to their world anymore, nor can they relate to mine, and that’s how it should be.  If it were just sex and no talking that would be one thing, but I guess that would be prostitution.  Also, it wouldn’t be any fun. 

When you mature, you realize that sex isn’t only about just the physical aspect.  That part is still fun, don’t get me wrong, but it’s not the only part.  Sex that only consists of the physical act and only that gets old after awhile if that’s all you have.  Sure there are people from time to time where the sex is great, but just talking to them is like nails on a blackboard.  You can try to reconcile the two, but in the end no amount of great sex can sustain a relationship if you don’t like or respect who the person is. 

As a person gets older they come to realize that having someone you can trust, or that makes you feel comfortable and sexy with who you are is a much bigger part of the equation than just getting off.  It’s all a very tricky thing for most people, which is why I suppose there are so many people still out there looking for MILFs or cougars, or boy toys or whatever. 

Maybe it’s the labels that get us into these messes in the first place.  Keep in mind, the term “older woman” is a relative term, it can mean just about anything depending on the age of the person using it.  To a 20 year old, it could mean a 32 year old woman, to a 30 year old it could mean a 36 year old woman.  To a 40 year old, it could mean a 41 year old woman. I notice that the older a guy gets the smaller the age difference he’s willing to put up with, another relative aspect.  A big part of it is that the older a guy gets the less he wants to be reminded of the fact that he’s old, I guess. 

It’s ridiculous of course.  To think that going out with a woman that’s older than you are makes you old is to ignore all the things that actually mean you’re old.  Losing your hair, your physique, dribbling when you pee, etc means you’re getting old, not dating a woman that’s your senior.

Senior.  There’s a word nobody wants to deal with, so lets just ignore that for now.

It’s even more ridiculous to think that going out with a younger woman will make you feel young.  If you really want to feel old, try going out with and keeping up with a young girl.   

I just think people for the most part would be happier dating in their own age group, if they’re serious about it. If you are attracted to an older woman that’s fine, if you are attracted to older women, you might have some esteem issues.

Of course, you can all do whatever you want.  I think we’re all just a bunch of psychotic apes that are hurtling through life with no idea what we’re doing or why we’re doing it.  We should just take care to try not to hurt the other apes feelings along the way.

© 2013 David Ferraris

A Haunting

Chapter one

     Jack Riley stood outside the drab white building, wondering what the hell he was doing there.  This whole thing was ridiculous.  The building was the Ridgeway Hospital for the Mentally Insane, and it had been abandoned for years.  Unfortunately for Jack, it also sat on a prime piece of real estate right in the middle of a tract of land that his company wanted to build high price condominiums on.  He was finally on the verge of obtaining the property, but for one condition the current owner insisted on for the sale to go through.

     He had met Mortimer Tokkett, the very old and apparently very senile man that held the deed to the property a few days ago.  He was a strange old guy, hard to track down.  He had to meet him in his dark old house, with lawyers and real estate people in tow.  The creepy old guy would only sell the property to someone that was willing to spend a night in the building, and if they still wanted to buy it in the morning they were welcome to do it.

     Sure, there had always been rumors that the place was haunted, but any old building in any town always had that mystique about them.  This Mortimer guy seemed pretty sure about it though, but Jack would be damned if some bullshit urban legend told by a senile guy with one foot in the grave would keep him from getting the land.  So he agreed.  He was allowed to bring four other people with him, so he gathered some people that supposedly knew a thing or two about ghosts.  Plus, his assistant Audrey.  He was waiting for them now.  Audrey was already with him.

     Audrey Trent was wondering what she was doing here also.  She had been Jack Riley’s assistant for five years now, and it could be a very demanding and thankless job.  The long hours didn’t matter much, she supposed. She didn’t have much of a life anyway.  Only her cat Norton relied on her, and he didn’t rely on her that much at all when she really thought about it.  Jack Riley relied on her for everything and all she usually got for her help was a meager paycheck and a lot of demands and insults.  She never spoke up or stood up for herself.  She had always been that way; quiet, trying to avoid confrontation. 

     She didn’t think she was very attractive or special in any way, so she usually just went about her life, not expecting anything and not getting anything.  She wondered if Norton would even miss her tonight while she stayed in a haunted mental hospital. 

     The thought of staying here frightened her, but Jack wanted her here and she couldn’t say no to her boss.

     Jack looked at Audrey with contempt.  She wasn’t the best assistant, totally useless with other people, but she was good with errands and paperwork and didn’t cost him much money.  Plus, she continued to work for him while most people would have gotten fed up and left a long time ago.  If he had to waste a night in this place, he might as well have her here and get caught up on some work.  ‘Where were these ghost experts?’ He thought to himself, standing in the cold October air.

      Harry Watkins was running late, but wasn’t he always?  He had stopped at the convenience store to stock up on some snacks for the night and it had taken longer than he thought.  Harry was no stranger to snacks.  He couldn’t help it, when he was nervous, he ate.  When he was depressed, he ate.  Unfortunately for him his life was an endless cycle of depression and anxiety, so he was quite obese.  So he had stood in the store aisle, feeling guilty for all the high calorie snacks in his arms trying to talk himself into putting them back while simultaneously trying to justify buying them. 

      The justification won out, but now he was late getting to the building where he would be spending the night.  He wasn’t even sure why he was doing this.  He had gotten a call from some woman named Audrey, and her boss wanted to pay him $100.00 to spend the night in what was rumored to be a haunted insane asylum.  They had found him because of his website, which was all about paranormal activity in the area, with a good deal of it devoted to the Ridgeway Hospital for the Mentally Insane.  It had been closed in the 60’s, and ever since it had been the source of many stories and supposed sightings.

      They seemed to think he was some sort of expert on it, but in reality he was just a geek in his mid thirties, living with his parents and blogging about cool ghost stuff.  Well, if they thought he was an authority on the place, let them think it.  He could use the money and it would finally get him access to the place so he could get some good pictures for his site.  He pulled up in front of the building, got out of his car and made his way to the front door to meet Jack Riley and his assistant Audrey.

     “You’re late Mr. Watkins.” Jack told him, sounding annoyed.  Harry sensed he seemed quite comfortable being annoyed.

     “I’m sorry, Mr. Riley is it?  I got tied up with something, but I’m here now and it’s still a while until nightfall.”

     “I didn’t ask for an excuse, I was simply stating a fact.” Jack shot back at him.  “So you know all about this place, huh?  Enlighten me.”

     “Well, basically it was an insane asylum built in the 1920’s.  It was originally meant to be a place for frazzled housewives and people suffering from nervous breakdowns, but as society changed it came to be used to house the criminally insane.  It got quite a reputation for cruelty and some claimed they were doing experiments on the inmates by the time public outrage had it closed down.  Of course the most famous inmate was Henry …”  Jack cut him off abruptly.

     “That is entirely uninteresting Mr. Watkins.  All I care about is spending the night so I can buy the property and build my condos.”  Jack glanced down at his smart phone and started checking emails.

     “Okay Mr. Riley,” Harry said, “but you should also know that it’s said the spirits of some of those insane criminals still reside here, angry and demented, wanting revenge.”

      “Yes, I’m very frightened Mr. Watkins.”  Replied Jack, not even looking up from his phone.  “That’s why you’re here, to save me from the bogeyman. Now where are these other two ghost chasers?  Miss Trent?”  His voice was sounding more impatient.

     “I gave them the address and told them the time to be here Mr. Riley,” Audrey said, “I don’t know why they aren’t here yet.”

     Jack stared at her for a moment. 

     “So why aren’t you calling them to find out where they are, Miss Trent?”

     “Oh, of course.” She answered, fumbling for her phone.

     Harry didn’t like the way Riley spoke to her.  She seemed very nice, and he gave her a smile as if to let her know he was on her side.  He didn’t particularly like Jack Riley.

     Audrey hung up her phone. “They didn’t answer Mr. Riley, but I’m sure they’ll be here soon.”

     “Uh huh.” Muttered Jack, more interested in his emails. 

     “I’m not even going to answer it.” Frank Newman told his wife Susan.  “How is it going to look if they know we got lost getting there?”

     “We’re ghost hunters, not explorers.  Who cares if we made a wrong turn?”  Susan snapped back at him.  “You worry about the stupidest things.”

     “Me worrying about stupid things is the only reason we have a business at all.”

     “Some business,” She said.  “A small store that sells ghost detecting supplies and an occasional job checking out supposed hauntings, and not one of those ever produced a ghost.”

     “Look” countered Frank, “We both decided to go into this line of work, don’t make it sound like it was all my idea!  Let’s not argue about this now.”  His voice trying to sound calm.  “We need to get there.  There’s 300 dollars in this for us.”

     “I still say you could have gotten more.  Why did you take the first offer?”

      “300 dollars was more than we made all last month!”  Frank shot back, “I wasn’t going to take a chance on losing out.  Now where are those directions I wrote down?  What street am I supposed to turn on?”

     Susan fumbled with some papers.

     “Left on Locust Valley Road.”  She said, “With all this electronic ghost equipment you couldn’t have gotten GPS?”

     “Just let it go, Susan!  Let’s just get there.”

     They pulled up to the building just as the sun was starting to go down.

     “Here they are Mr. Riley!”  Exclaimed Audrey.  “Now everybody’s here.”

     Jack, Harry and Audrey watched the Newmans, obviously arguing in the parked car before they finally got out and started unloading equipment from the back seat and trunk.

     “That certainly is a lot of junk you brought with you.”  Jack Riley told the Newmans once they made it up the walk to the building.

      “It’s a lot of sensitive electronic equipment Mr. Riley.”  Frank said, “We are very professional and want you to get the most for your money.”

     “About the money,” Started Susan, “It might cost a bit more than my husband agreed to on the phone, after all professional parapsychologists are not chea…”

      Jack Riley cut her off abruptly.  “You will be paid the amount originally agreed on Mrs. Newman, not a penny more.”

      Frank and Susan glared at each other, but neither said another word about money.

      They stood staring at the front door of the building until Jack cleared his throat.

      “The key, Miss Trent?”

      “Oh, of course Mr. Riley.”  Audrey had completely forgotten she had the keys to the building. She was always doing scatterbrained things like this.  No wonder Mr. Riley was always getting mad at her.  She approached the door and tried several of the keys, fumbling as she did.

     “Give me those!” snapped Jack, snatching them from her hands.  He started trying the lock, but seemed to have as much trouble as Audrey.  Harry smiled at her, but she quickly looked down at her feet, and he felt an urge to put his arm around her.

     Jack managed to get the door open and they all stepped inside.  They found themselves standing in a large entrance area, with long hallways going off in several directions, their doors long gone.  Light was still coming through the tall grated windows, throwing shadows across the trash and debris that was scattered on the floor. Rodents and other animals had obviously been residing here in the years since it became abandoned. 

      “Alright, there are cots and blankets and lanterns in the truck outside,” Jack stated “let’s get them in here and get set up before it’s completely dark.”

      They got all their belongings and set themselves up in separate rooms, other than the Newmans who set up at a desk in the entrance of the wing containing everyone else’s quarters.  They had a huge array of meters and cameras setting on the counter top.  Harry asked what they were for.

      “Well, we have basic cameras, still and camcorders.  We use them to document the area and try to capture any activity that might occur.”

      “Have you?” Harry inquired.

       “Have we what?” Frank seemed confused.

      “Have you ever captured any activity?”

      “Well, no.” Frank explained, “But cameras are just a small part of it.  We also have digital recorders to try to pick up any disembodied voices that we can’t hear normally.  We have thermal scanners to pick up on any cold spots, and of course we have an EMF meter.”

     “EMF meter? What’s that?” Harry asked

     “An EMF meter measures fluctuations in the magnetic field.  These fluctuations could be the result of paranormal activity.”

     “So have you found any fluctuations with it?”

     “Well,” Frank said, “We’ve noticed some stuff.  It’s hard to say exactly what caused it, but it’s very exciting.”

      “Perhaps you’ll get lucky tonight and we’ll see some sign of Henry.”

      “Henry?” Frank was confused, “Who’s Henry.”

      “Henry Givens.” Harry explained,  “The worst criminal occupant ever housed in this hospital.”

      “Why, uh, why the worst?” Stammered Frank.

      “Henry’s crime was that he killed several children in his neighborhood.  When the cops searched his place they found the children’s dismembered body parts everywhere. What really made them gag was that some of the flesh was in pots on the stove.  Henry had been eating them.”

      “Eating them?” Frank repeated, shocked.

      “Yes, eating them.” Harry confirmed. “They put him in here after the trial.  They say that the parents got together and paid a guard to kill Henry for what he had done, so after lockdown he slipped in Henry’s room to do him in.”

     “…And?” prodded Frank

     “In the morning they found the guard dead in Henry’s room, with half of his organs eaten.”

      “Oh my God.” Said Frank, visibly shaken.  “Well, unpleasant as that may be, Henry is long dead now, right?”

      “Yes,” Harry confirmed, “But in the 70’s some kids were in here partying and one of them passed out and the rest left him here sleeping.  The next day they found him dead, his eyes and most of the flesh on his face missing.”

      “Come on, now. That has to be an urban legend.”  Frank said, laughing nervously.

      “Perhaps it is,” Harry replied, “But legends usually have a grain of truth somewhere in them.  Well, happy hunting!” 

     He made his way back to his room, but on the way he passed Audrey’s room and stopped at her doorway.

     “Have you got everything set up okay Miss Trent?” He asked.

      Her back was to him and she jumped, startled.

     “Yes Mr. Watkins.  I didn’t see you there.”

     “I’m sorry.”  He told her, feeling foolish.  “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

     “It’s okay.” She reassured him, “I guess we’re all a little on edge.”

     “I guess we are.” Harry agreed.  They stood there looking at each other for a moment, then it started to get uncomfortable.

     “Well, let me know if you need anything.”  Harry finally said, and hurried off to his room.

      ‘He’s a little strange’ Audrey thought to herself, ‘but he seems nice.’

      A little while later Jack called them all out in the hallway.  He stood up in the dim light from the lanterns and addressed them all,

      “Listen people, I just want to get through this and leave at dawn and go sign the papers that say this land is mine.  Do whatever you have to do to make sure nothing happens that might upset that plan.  I don’t know about ghosts or spirits or maybe some shit that Mortimer Tokken might have planned, but I don’t care.  Again, I just want to get through the night and leave in the morning in one piece.”  He looked one by one at each of their anxious faces.

        “Okay boys and girls,” Jack Riley said, “Let’s get to it.  I have a feeling it’s gonna be a long night!”

Chapter two

     The night passed without paranormal incident, as there is no such thing as ghosts.  Harry and Audrey had a brief, unsatisfying sexual encounter in an out of the way room that gave a momentary anomalous reading on Frank and Susan’s EMF meter, but nothing else interesting happened.  Jack was free to obtain the property as he fulfilled the odd stipulation of Mortimer Tokken, who died a few weeks later and left everything to his small dog Mr. Scruffs. 

© David Ferraris 2013