Nearly Departed, Max Schlienger [the gingerbread man read aloud txt] 📗

his throat again. Then, as an afterthought, he dug into his pocket and pulled forth the crumpled napkin that he had scrawled on earlier. “Ms. Palin,” Dennis began, hoping he had correctly deciphered his own handwriting, “I would like to meet with you in person. I feel that there is much I could learn about your situation upon conversing with both you and your sister.” He held his breath. That was always the final test: Whether or not people – other than the ones who called him – could interact with the alleged ghost. Nine times out of ten, they would hastily explain that it either could not be seen, or could only be seen by them. The answers really didn’t matter, since Dennis had a prepared response for any of them.

“Fine,” the woman replied. “Shall I give you my address?”

Dennis blinked. “Yes, please, go right ahead,” he said quickly. He carefully transcribed the address onto the napkin. “Would this evening be an agreeable time for me to visit?” he asked.

“Just use the knocker when you get here,” the woman responded. After a short exchange of goodbyes, Dennis ended the call and sat, his eyes staring at the computer in front of him but his attention fixed somewhere beyond it. Only once before had he met with someone who claimed that others could see their haunt, and that particular individual had been spectacularly deranged. Still, she had become a regular patient of Harding’s, and was evidently doing well. It had been tough to sell her on the idea of visiting a psychiatrist, but Dennis felt confident that he could pull it off again.

This time, though, he’d keep a close eye out for tuning forks…

Regardless of how often he did it, Dennis could never seem to get his makeup right on the first try. He regarded himself carefully under the glow of his bathroom’s lights, determined as he always was to break the habit and be finished after only one attempt. He nodded once and set about with the necessary preparations. From a cabinet beneath the sink, he pulled out a metal box. He took a moment to unlatch it and unceremoniously removed various vials and packages from inside. First came a small bottle of spirit gum, the tacky glue he would use to affix his disguise to his face, followed by a disembodied beard in a plastic bag. Next he removed a can of spray-on hair dye and what appeared to be a short wooden stick, half of which was caked with a thick white substance. Dennis eyed the implement suspiciously, having learned recently that the material in question was little more than common soap, although it did the job of coloring his eyebrows quite well. Finally, he pulled forth several palettes of tinted face makeup, which he lined up according to their color.

His materials thus prepared, Dennis set to work on transforming himself into Doctor September. The process was strangely involved, especially considering the relatively minimal change in appearance. In another thirty years, Dennis mused, it wouldn’t even be necessary. He dabbed at his face with the makeup, adding muted highlights and shadows designed to give him a more aged appearance. After he was mostly satisfied, he pulled at his hair and sprayed the dye into it, paying special attention to where the roots met his scalp. Some of the color left a trail of sickly-looking fluid on his forehead, and he quickly dabbed it away, muttering under his breath. His eyebrows came next, their color altered by the soap-dipped stick, and then, admitting defeat, he applied a second round of makeup and covered the blemishes he had inadvertently created along the way.

The final touch was always Dennis’ least favorite, but perhaps the most necessary. He unscrewed the bottle of spirit gum, and using the brush attached to the lid, applied a thin coating to his chin. After giving the glue a few moments to begin drying, he carefully pressed the false beard into place, forcing his lips not to wrinkle into an expression of distaste at the feel of it. The task finished, he replaced all of his various implements in their box, leaving only a container of makeup remover, which he would be only too glad to make use of later on.

Unfortunately for the sake of his comfort, Dennis discovered that his overcoat was still slightly damp from the evening before. He shrugged into it, snagged the chain of his pocket watch, and spent an irate moment trying to realign his pants. He had occasionally wondered if all of the bits and accessories were strictly necessary, even though he had taken great pains to assemble, and at times, create them. They definitely added to the character, but the process of removing his watch, silencing his phone, and tugging the silver ring off his finger always left him feeling more naked than dressed up, and the replacement items felt somewhat alien. Also, the wire-framed glasses made the bridge of his nose hurt.

Dennis took a moment to examine himself, glancing as he did at the place where his watch should have been. He rolled his eyes and checked the time on his phone. If he left right away, he would arrive at the house while it was still light out, and he preferred it to be past sunset before he went out to meet people. Not only did the presence of shadows help create the desired mood, but it kept people from examining his face too closely and discovering the nature of his charade. Unfortunately, he couldn’t very well visit any of his usual hangouts dressed as he was, and he was not particularly keen on the idea of sitting around while in full costume. That left only one place where he could pass the time both inconspicuously and without too much boredom. After a final check of his makeup, Dennis grabbed his briefcase, donned his hat, and walked out into the evening.