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

Several rounds of liquor and a package of stale chips later, Dennis was feeling moderately better. Luke had managed to juggle his bartending duties with frequent attempts at jovial commentary, following each new witticism with another offer of free alcohol. It seemed pointless to wave him off, and Dennis had – not entirely unwillingly – imbibed far more than he was accustomed to. The effect was both pleasant and disconcerting, especially when the room seemed to spin each time he moved his head. A crowd of blurred faces rushed through the room, as though Dennis was watching animated frames from a slide show of time-lapsed photographs. More than once, a patron recognized him from the picture above the bar, but on each occasion, Luke was quick to distract the inquisitive customer and rescue Dennis from the impending threat of intoxicated conversation.

The evening rush rolled in just after five, and suddenly the tavern was a fashion show of suits and business wear. The change in pace also heralded the arrival of another bartender, a spry young man whose name Dennis had never managed to catch, leaving Luke free to dedicate himself to bothering Dennis full time.

“Here’s an idea,” Luke said, plopping himself down in the chair adjacent to Dennis’. “Why don’t you bring Alena along with you tomorrow? She can meet this Ellen lady –”

“Elspeth.”

“Yeah, her. She can meet this Elspeth lady, see that you’re not up to your old tricks, and you can accept any further payments with a clean conscience.”

Dennis shook his head and immediately regretted it, the motion having disturbed his increasingly delicate equilibrium. “Bad idea. Alena doesn’t believe in ghosts.”

“Neither do you, dude.”

“Well, I do now,” snarled Dennis. He played with his eyelids, alternating between blinking, squinting, and opening them as wide as he could manage. Around anyone else he might have been more wary of making such bizarre expressions, but he was confident that Luke had seen far stranger staring at him from across an empty glass. “Yeah, I believe in ghosts now, and I don’t know the first thing about killing them.” He pointed a finger in Luke’s general direction. “Don’t say it.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Because I know that ghosts are already dead. You know what I meant.” He suppressed a burp and adopted a serious expression. “I think,” he added thoughtfully, “that I may throw up.”

“You’ve been doing that a lot lately, huh?” Luke was smiling, but Dennis didn’t share his good humor. Apparently sensing as much, Luke tried a different tactic. “Well, look, I still don’t have the whole story here. Maybe I can help.”

“She’s a memory-impaired ghost haunting a piece of antique furniture,” Dennis replied. “What more is there to tell?”

“Are you sure you’re an author? How about why she’s a ghost, or something about what makes that chair special?”

“I don’t know. And neither does Elspeth.”

Luke seemed ready to respond, but a sudden look of realization crossed his face. “Oh, shit, I forgot about that. Hang on a second, okay?” He stood and rushed towards the bar, where he pawed through a drawer beneath the cash register. When he returned, he was carrying a birthday card-sized flyer emblazoned with bold, dripping text.

“What’s this?” Dennis asked, looking over the paper. “‘The Golden Gate Ghost Tour?’”

Luke nodded enthusiastically. “Some guy dropped it off the other day. Apparently you get taken around to all of these haunted mansions and stuff. Good thing I didn’t throw it away, huh?”

“Why? Are you out of toilet paper?”

“Come on, dude!” Luke flicked the top of the flyer. “It says the guy in charge has been hunting ghosts for thirty years. I bet he’d know how to deal with a possessed armchair.”

Dennis considered. He was skeptical, to say the least, that any self-proclaimed ghost hunter could possibly be legitimate, but he had seen things at Elspeth’s house to make him doubt his original assumptions. Not everyone, he reasoned, was necessarily a con artist, and if there was even a chance at finding some information that was actually useful, he would probably do well to pursue it.

“Alright, fine,” he said finally. He dug into his pocket and pulled out his keys. “But you’re driving.”

The so-called “ghost tour” was advertised as starting at an ancient hotel just outside of Japantown. The building was unimpressive from the outside, but a single step through front door revealed a breathtaking interior done up in red draperies of Victorian design. Gold mirrors and vibrant portraits adorned the walls, and the soft, welcoming lighting was provided by a series of simple chandeliers and wall lamps. The layout seemed strange for a hotel, being more along the lines of what one would expect from a family-run bed and breakfast, and Dennis suspected that the building had once been an expansive mansion.

He followed Luke through an adorned archway into what could only be a common area, furnished with hardwood chairs and ornate cushioned benches. A group of about twenty people had already congregated at the far side of the room, next to a large stone fireplace. Near the back wall stood a man, and even had it not been for the ink characture on the flyer that had brought them there, Dennis would have immediately recognized him as the ghost hunter. He was likely in his late fifties, and the clothing he wore seemed to have been carefully chosen to match the Victorian theme of the hotel, although the ankle-length leather trench coat was somewhat at odds with the rest of the ensemble. The man’s long silver hair curled outward from beneath the brim of a black top hat, and the wispy beard surrounding his lips gave him the air of a storyteller from centuries past. Whether he proved to be useful or not, Dennis decided that he liked the man.

“You should have worn your September outfit,” Luke whispered jovially. “You’d match.”

“Wrong kind of hat,” replied Dennis. Their hushed exchanged drew the attention of the ghost hunter, who called out to them