Christopher Lee Kneram<\/p>\n
The clock struck midnight and I was still hard at work in the bistro. We had closed hours before, but the paperwork involved was tremendous, and this was neither the first nor the last night I would be there so late. A silence had descended upon the place, broken only by the scratch of my pen, the turn of a page, and a gentle swish-swish as time I had allocated for sleep vanished into the night.<\/p>\n
The restaurant was dark. An intermittent, unreliable light streaked through the front window, the half-hearted work of our defective streetlamp. Each burst of light cast monstrous shadows upon the wall — only the chairs, upturned onto the tables. Only the salt shakers and the pepper grinders. Only the —<\/p>\n
A man was outside the door. I glanced upon him only briefly and from a distance, for my office offered a poor view of the front of the house. I put down my pen and went to see who it could have been. The floorboards creaked slightly.<\/p>\n
At the front I found nothing. No one. The street was abandoned in both directions. The pub to our right was silent, near empty at this hour, the music store to our left closed and vacant. Across the street, the graveyard peered out from within its envelope of darkness, watching quietly, unmoving. Outside, the sign of the Sleeping Duck groaned in the breeze.<\/p>\n
I closed the shades and checked the door to make sure it was locked.<\/p>\n
KNOCK. My heart seized, my stomach churned, my blood froze. Impossible! I had been looking out the window only seconds before. For someone to have come up to the door so quickly and quietly was —<\/p>\n
KNOCK. Hand trembling, I opened the door a crack.<\/p>\n
\u201cHello?\u201d I called out, head tilted down, eyes averted. \u201cCan I — can I help you?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHello my good sir might I inquire about a drink?\u201d A voice, pleasant but slurred, came through the crack. A friendly neighborhood drunk, nothing more. I opened the door wider.<\/p>\n
It was a ghost. He was a rather disheveled man, past middle age but not elderly, unlike any other man walking the Earth. He was at once translucent and incandescent, and the eyes beneath his sooty bowler hat glowed blue-white. He was dressed for an occasion, though his suit had seen better days and a handful of worms crawled slowly in his waistcoat pocket. He carried a neatly folded newspaper under one arm and clutched a tattered umbrella in his hand. Despite the heavy chains draped and wrapped around his body, he floated neatly half a foot off the ground.<\/p>\n
\u201cEr…Maybe you want the pub next door,\u201d I said. \u201cWe do sort of a rustic continental menu here.\u201d<\/p>\n
Chains jingled as the spirit floated past me into the restaurant. He seemed to shuffle lazily despite not really having to move his feet. \u201cMany\u2019s the long night I\u2019ve dreamed of cheese, toasted mostly,\u201d he said with a hiccup. \u201cAnd I think, I think, maybe you didn\u2019t neither. Where\u2019s my hat? Have you taken my hat? I were buried with it an\u2019 I\u2019d like to keep it with me if only the, the…You know. Where are we on that cheese?\u201d<\/p>\n
I was glued to the spot by the door. It was ludicrous to think that I might choose to be alone in the dark with this specter, yet his slurred speech and the way he wobbled slightly as he moved evoked feelings of pity. Also, I couldn\u2019t shake a feeling of familiarity, as though this ghost were known to me somehow. The apparition continued on straight through a table and chairs and then after three or four attempts sat at the counter. I stuck my head out the door and looked each way. Nothing out there but the slight pitter-patter of the rain as it started to fall. I shuddered involuntarily and shut the door.<\/p>\n
My stomach growled.<\/p>\n
\u201cI suppose I could do us up a little fondue. I haven\u2019t had a bite to eat all day,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere\u2019s a good lad. What\u2019ve we got to drink around here?\u201d the ghost said, waving an arm and a chain.<\/p>\n
He began to sing as I went in the back, though what song it was I hope I\u2019ll never know. It was horrible, discordant, hellish, but at the same time not really well-coordinated or even well-remembered, seemingly. I rubbed the goosebumps from my arms and grabbed a bottle each of Neuchatel wine and brandy, a couple of chunks of cheese and a head of garlic.<\/p>\n
\u201cHere,\u201d I said, taking a place behind the counter, where there was a row of burners. I opened the brandy and poured a glass, then gave him the rest of the bottle.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere\u2019s a good, a good, a… there\u2019s a worm in my pocket have you met him?\u201d The ghost let out a quiet burp. \u201cThat\u2019s the ticket,\u201d he said, holding up the bottle and squinting at it with one bright white-blue eye.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo what brings you to, er, the mortal realm?\u201d I asked by way of small talk as I busied myself grating the cheeses.<\/p>\n
\u201c\u2019S all about the haunting,\u201d he said. \u201cCan\u2019t go about not haunting things my good man, Lord, that\u2019s fine brandy.\u201d The ghost drained half the bottle. I wondered where the drink was actually going. \u201cI reckon life wasn\u2019t all that, all that, you know what? You know, you work hard, all your life, only to fall off a pier an\u2019 drown, like some…what kind of a pub is this?\u201d He glanced about, his glowing eyes casting an eerie light wherever he looked.<\/p>\n
I poured some of the wine into a pot to boil and chanced a look up. I could see straight through him, all the way through the bistro. If I were a drinking man it would have been a great opportunity for a large whiskey.<\/p>\n
\u201cThis isn\u2019t a pub, it\u2019s a bistro. Like a cafe.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAh, a ristorante. Back when I was young and fit I used to like a little place like this. Toasted cheese, like they say, it warms you up — \u201d he stopped to hiccup. \u201cIt warms, it…because sometimes it\u2019s so cold on the other side. People think it\u2019s hot, but what do they know anyway? They don\u2019t know, they don\u2019t…because of the cold.\u201d<\/p>\n
I selected a nice loaf of Tessiner bread, Swiss, very authentic, and started to cut it up.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd they just let you come back here any time you want?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell,\u201d the spirit said with a wobble, \u201c\u2019s not that easy. You have to have, to have business, you know I really miss the legs, women have such nice legs, and sometimes on the other side everyone jus\u2019 floats around, you never see the legs. Unfinished. That\u2019s the business. Have to have some reason to wanna haunt a place. Usually if you wanna haunt a place it has to be you haunted it when you were living, you know?\u201d He chuckled, a warm, jovial, ominous, hellish sound.<\/p>\n
\u201cExcuse my saying then, sir, but I\u2019ve never seen you here before,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, no.\u201d The ghost finished the bottle, and his chains clinked as he tossed it aside. I only just managed to catch it as he continued. \u201cBut yes! I come to this pub all the time! It\u2019s, well, the decor has changed, but how long have I been gone? Ha! I\u2019m always gone, you know. Gone right now. \u2018S the only way to forget. Where can I find some nice legs this time of night?\u201d<\/p>\n
The bread went into the oven to toast and I started to add handfuls of cheese to the wine. \u201cI think you\u2019re haunting the wrong place, sir. The pub\u2019s next door.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIs there? What has happened to my hat and to the brandy? Have you met my worm? I think he\u2019s around here somewhere…\u201d Chains rattling, he looked around. \u201cI had dreams, you know. Mostly of trying to give a speech while in my underwear.\u201d<\/p>\n
I popped a bit of Gruyere in my mouth. \u201cSo what\u2019s your unfinished business?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDunno, never finished it. Could be I wanted one last drink, could be I — you know, it was all going fine until it stopped. Started I mean. Started with the drinking, that was the problem. Any of that wine left over?\u201d<\/p>\n
There was still half a bottle of Neuchatel. \u201cHere you go,\u201d I said as the specter unfolded his newspaper.<\/p>\n
\u201cLooks like market\u2019s taking another bloody dive,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
\u201cEr…I think this is about ready,\u201d I said. \u201cLet me just finish it off.\u201d All it took was a dash of brandy and a quick stir. I took the bread out of the oven and put it into a bowl, then retrieved two fondue forks from the back. Sliding the bread and the cheese to his side of the counter, I sat down next to him.<\/p>\n
\u201cEn guete<\/em>,\u201d I said. \u201cIt won\u2019t stay melted for long.\u201d The ghost folded up his newspaper and speared a bread cube.<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re out of wine again,\u201d he said. \u201cAn\u2019 I don\u2019t reckon I like the way that salt shaker is looking at me. I mean, you work, an\u2019 you work, an\u2019 you… for what? It all falls apart, and you never have time to talk to that woman, what was her name? She had a graceful what-do-you-call-it, neck…\u201d<\/p>\n We ate in silence for a moment, the pure cheesy goodness of the fondue overwhelming the last remnants of my terror, which had mostly been chased away by the spirit\u2019s easy demeanor.<\/p>\n \u201cI had it, used to be I had it all once you know,\u201d the ghost said. \u201cAnd this cheese is really, is really good. You\u2019re great. The food is terrible on the other side. \u2018S all eye of newt an\u2019 tail of bat an\u2019 wing of dog. Lemme ask you this,\u201d he took a grimy and decayed handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped the corners of his mouth. \u201cDid you ever have a bacon sandwich that was ether — that was see-through? Or a haunted leg of lamb? Had a, a, a nice job. An\u2019 a income. But what did I spend it all on you ask well I\u2019ll tell you it was booze. An\u2019 cheese now an\u2019 then, have you priced a good Sbrinz lately? It\u2019s criminal.\u201d<\/p>\n Sbrinz. My favorite. My mouth was suddenly very dry. I got a glass and turned my back to the ghost to fill it up at the tap.<\/p>\n \u201cYeah,\u201d he said, \u201cI had a good ol\u2019 time running the place. But then it all started it all went downhill. Lost everything. Had half my liver stolen by the mob, took a beating from the mayor, an\u2019 in front of everybody that one. Spent a couple o\u2019 years in a third world prison cell and never did wind up feeling up a really good pair of, pair of…where\u2019s my drink?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m afraid,\u201d I said, a knot growing in the pit of my stomach, \u201cwell, I\u2019m afraid of many things at the moment, but chiefly I\u2019m afraid it\u2019s time to cut you off. How about a hot cup of coffee?\u201d<\/p>\n The ghost looked around. \u201cI say man, this isn\u2019t the pub. Supposed to be haunting a pub, do you know where I can find a pub?\u201d He dug through the pocket of his waistcoat, dislodging a number of ghastly translucent worms, which hit the ground and faded into nonexistence. A grubby scrap of paper, as insubstantial as thought itself, drifted from his pocket and landed on the stool next to him.<\/p>\n \u201cThere\u2019s a pub next door, sir, I think you mean to be haunting them.\u201d<\/p>\n The ghost finally succeeded in taking his watch from his pocket. \u201cAh, yes, I\u2019ve always loved the pub next door. Started going there roundabouts when I was your age. Speaking of haunting, I think I\u2019m a bit early,\u201d he said, squinting at the watch. \u201cQuite a bit early, now I look, nigh on fifteen years! Why\u2019ve been haunting the wrong place and the wrong time.\u201d He hiccupped again and wobbled to his feet. Lifting his hat, he said, \u201cGood day to you my fine sir.\u201d Under the glow, there was a look in his eyes which I recognized, having seen it in my father\u2019s eyes, and in my grandfather\u2019s eyes.<\/p>\n The apparition, booze-addled and sad in all the wrong ways, dragged his chains back through the restaurant and straight through the front door without stopping. I glanced at the scrap of paper; even as it began to fade I could make out the writing on it.<\/p>\n It was a to-do list. Among other things (howl at the night, lament a life of regret, endure an eternity of torment), there was this one item: \u201clook up tombstone inscription: SUM QUOD ERIS.\u201d<\/p>\n More than scared, or frightened, or terrified, I was stricken, completely immobilized in both mind and body. The terrible implications of the spirit\u2019s existence pummeled, crippled my nervous system. My extremities were pins and needles, my stomach a tiny ball of fear.<\/p>\n Glancing out the window, I could see that the pub next door was still open.<\/p>\n I needed a drink.<\/p>\n CHRISTOPHER LEE KNERAM is much like you, but from Ohio. In his spare time he reads, he takes walks, and he teaches underprivileged children to speak Chinese, which is something they don\u2019t really need, and hate doing, besides. When no one is looking he pens absurd fiction, some of which can be found around the internet.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Christopher Lee Kneram The clock struck midnight and I was still hard at work in the bistro. We had closed hours before, but the paperwork involved was tremendous, and this was neither the first nor the last night I would … Continue reading