After David left, Sara sat alone in the kitchen with a cup of coffee and her shattered dreams. Would she ever be able to win back her friends' approval? The loss weighed heavily with her to the point of pushing aside the idea Margot claimed to have seen the ghost. The frightening intrusion became lost in the crushing disappointment of Margot and Brigid's untimely exit. Now, alone in the house, the reality of Justin's spiritual presence struck home.

Had Margot really seen him? Apparently so, considering how she had freaked and left in fear and anger. Unless, their ghost stories had simply activated her imagination.

Don't be silly. Of course, there's a ghost. It's all you've been talking about.

Justin! Whispering in her ear again. "Oh my God!" she murmured. Her heart raced. He was here. In the house. Alone with her. Justin was presenting himself more and more each day, first being just an idea in her mind, an inspiration of sorts. Then the necklace went missing. She had the dreamy episodes stepping back in time, and now the whispers in her ear. What next?

Sleep. Maybe she should sleep. A nap in the living room. Perhaps the commotion had frazzled her, and when she woke up, all would be fine again. Making her way to the sofa, she stroked her neck remembering the necklace, the one that gave her moral support with her writing. The one that made her feel whole. What confidence the jewelry always brought, inspiring confidence when she wore it. During her turbulent teenage years, it made her a social butterfly; now as an adult, it propelled her as a writer. She would clutch it each time the page stared back, empty and white. While wearing the necklace, her fingers danced across the keys spinning stories of wonder. It made her believe in herself.

Sara wished she had that necklace now, just to feel it around her neck, to draw from its powers. To be a person who would cope with this situation better. Someone who would be curious, inquisitive, seeking out this entity to know him, to find out his secrets.

You could be that person.

The voice again! Was she losing her mind? Lying on the couch, she grabbed a pillow and clutched it to her chest. Could sleep obliterate her fears? Or would her pounding heart chase away slumber? But she slept. She slept to avoid the inevitable, for a while at least.




David called later while she sat in the kitchen sipping tea, his voice a welcome interlude from her thoughts. She'd been having the sensation of being watched.

"Hello, Sara! How are you?"

"David! I'm so glad you called. I'm so nervous I don't know what to do."

"Relax, Sara! Do you want me to come over?"

She eased back in the chair. That would a relief, to have company. With Margot and Brigid leaving in a huff and her fears about Justin, Sara never felt so alone. "David, could you? Would your wife mind? I realize I'm dragging you over here a lot lately."

A pause, and then he answered. "She'll understand. I can be there in 20 minutes."

He arrived wearing his characteristic smile and toting a pizza with a bag of drinks, straws protruding from the sack. "I figured you didn't need to worry about dinner," he announced heading for the kitchen with his usual energy. Sara raced to catch up, her heart fluttering in relief for the company.

As they finished the last morsels, Sara eyed him and stated, "David, this house, I feel like I'm being watched."

"Oh, Sara! You poor girl! Has it been hard for you?"

"I should think so. I don't even feel like I have privacy in my own home." She leaned closer. "I'm afraid to go back upstairs, after Margot saw him up there."

"I see." The older man pondered before responding, stroking his chin. "Sara, how can I make you understand I don't think this ghost is dangerous. I really don't."

"That's easy for you to say! You don't live here by yourself."

"I know. But I think I know a little something about ghosts. And I don't sense any rancor in this one. Honestly, the vibes I get are from a lonely heart...a lonely heart, indeed."

Sara didn't reply.

"I wish you would just give him a chance. Be a little more accepting. I think you might be pleasantly surprised." David sat back, waiting for her to answer. Sara glared at him while her heart pounded and her pulse raced against time. How could he expect her to do that? The ghost could be a killer, like Margot said.

Margot didn't know me. David does.

Justin! Whispering in her ear again.

"I can try," she stammered. The answer came from outside of herself.

That night they chose to sleep in the parlor, with David slouched on an overstuffed chair by the fireplace and Sara sprawled out on the sofa, a crocheted afghan draped over her. She snuggled under its warmth, more to hide from her problems than the cold. It provided a psychological cover from all that had happened. Lying in the darkness hearing David nearby and snoring, brought comfort as her thoughts dared to peek out from under the blanket. The clock in the hallway ticked in its monotonous rhythm with the accompaniment of creaks and bumps typical in old houses. All such sounds obscured during the busy day took center stage at night, giving the Victorian personality. Sara listened, feeling removed from the present as the house spoke for itself in the nebulous aura of its past and present movements. A sudden loud thump brought her back to reality. It was just the furnace, but nervousness made her jump.

What was happening? How did she ever get into all this ghost business? It all began with the decision to buy this house. Maybe she shouldn't have. And yet she couldn't resist. Or was that all part of Justin's plan, manipulating her? Thinking of the ghost sent her thoughts flying into another world, as if propelled into one of her fiction books, and it was science fiction at that. Surely none of this could be real.

And yet, there was David, encouraging her, pushing her forward, telling her not to worry. This aspect of the man was new to her. As a ready friend both in the chat room or as a chum about town, he had never given away his belief in or experience with spirits. Or perhaps she had never asked. Well, now she knew, that was for sure. With a sigh, she rolled over and covered her head with the afghan.

In the morning, soft light filtered through the lace curtains, marching a trail across Sara's face. She woke first to its warmth, then to its glare as opening weary eyes, the light assaulted her in a bombastic glare. At least they had passed the night without incident. Struggling she sat up, stretching, glancing over to see David still asleep. Sara yawned and stretched, rubbing her chin and neck, her skin itchy from the afghan. Her fingers stopped at the cold, hard object around her neck. With a trembling hand, she touched it and strained to look down. Her necklace was back!


"David! The necklace! It's back!" Sara shook him by the shoulders as he opened weary eyes and sat up in alarm.

"Sara?"

"David, I woke up and the necklace was around my neck! Look!" She lifted the chain up. It glittered.

"You didn't put it on last night?"

"No! I lost it. I haven't seen it for days ... until now."

"Oh yeah. I remember." He paused, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "What do you think happened?"

Sara sat across from him and clutched a pillow close. Her heart was awash with a disturbing sense of longing. She felt Justin. She sensed his presence. Her mind swirled in an eerie daydream of being in the Victorian long ago. The intricate petal design on the fireplace blazed out with electrified familiarity while its swirling vines echoed loneliness in sorrowful sweeps around a skinny stem. How could she be feeling so much emotion looking at a fireplace?

"David ... I think ... Justin may have taken the necklace."

"What?"

"The necklace. I have it back now, but I feel him. I feel him in the room and I think he is communicating his emotions to me or something. I think he had something to do with the necklace's disappearance."

David leaned over and took her hand. "I didn't want to say anything, but I sense a presence here today, too."

"David, what should I do?"

"First of all, relax. Let him connect with you. He is taking the path past your logical mind straight to your emotional core. Justin wants something. Let's find out what it is."

"Oh my God! David!"

"It will be OK, Sara. I promise."

The Moonlight Sonata broke into their conversation as David reached in his pocket to retrieve a cell phone. He murmured a soft hello. "What? I'm at Sara's. I told you I was staying over ... What? OK. I'll come home."

He frowned at Sara and picked up his jacket. "Sara. I've got to get home. It's daylight now. You'll be OK."

"I hate to see you leave. But I guess I need to understand you have a life beyond helping me all the time," she replied, walking him to the door. She watched David go while thinking, I may have a life beyond even your help.

After she dressed, Sara couldn't stand to be in the house. Grabbing her laptop and purse, she went out and closed the door on her fears. Coffee and a donut. That was a nice, normal thing to do, part of her world, something she did as a ritual. Writing at the coffee shop in its busy atmosphere always inspired.

The Donut Hole was within walking distance, cozy, well lit, and warm. One of her favorite places. But she always went out of her way to speak to no one, needing the peace and quiet to work. If she made friends among the regulars, her work time would be sacrificed to idle chit chat.

On the outside, the shop was white brick with pink trim around the windows and a pink door. The gay colors continued indoors with powder blue and pink booths lined up along the white walls while a busy counter area was dressed up in a matching blue. In that candy room setting, the white walls reminded Sara of powdered sugar. She didn't think it was possible to be out of sorts when addressing a steaming cup and a powdered sugar donut. Ordering exactly that, she made her way to her favorite booth in the corner.

Sara sipped her steaming cup and studied soft white rays of sun streaming through the windows. It was a cheery place and most mornings blessed by sun. Excited voices hummed as customers greeted each other to start the day. Sometimes Sara regretted her aloofness. It would be nice now and then to chime in with a hello or how are you doing.

As if to allay her regrets, a voice sounded over her shoulder. "Sara McNeil, is that you?" The high shrill voice was not at all familiar.

Sara turned to see a woman her own age gawking at her. Something about the frizzy haired lady seemed familiar.

"Sara, don't you know me?" The woman stood with her hands on her hips, faking aghast reaction to Sara's reticence.

"Uh, no. I'm sorry ... "

"It's me! Diane Wojakowski, from high school!"

Sara studied the other woman. The name rang true, but high school was a long time ago. She's seen that smile before, and the placement of the eyes and nose. The face had beamed back at her many times in the past, of that she was sure. Their eyes met, and the old connection reinstated itself accompanied by the old warmth. Yes, this was her old chum from Sister Mary's home room.

"Diane!" Sara ran to hug the other woman. "Join me, won't you?"

The other woman settled in and motioned for a cup of coffee, then turned to study Sara, folding her hands on the table. "You know, I thought I saw you around a couple of times." An expression of intense concentration crossed her face. She stared.

Sara flushed with embarrassment. "I've probably seen you, too." Really, this meeting was becoming bizarre. Running into someone after so many years is strange enough; now Diane's scrutiny seemed to have no end.

"Did I see you lately with David Martin? You know, around town?"

Sara flinched. Was there an accusatory tone to the question? "Yes, we meet for lunch now and then."

"Yes." The word came out elongated, lingering in the air. Diane made a face. "You do know that he is married, don't you?"

"Yes, of course!" Sara's hand shook as she stirred her coffee. "We're just friends."

"Well, all the same. It doesn't look good."

Sara flushed again. She hadn't done anything wrong.

"Oh, look at the time." Diane dabbed her mouth with a napkin and rose to go. "When I saw you, I just thought maybe I'd better say something ... for your own good."

For my own good, indeed! "Well nice to see you again," Sara said. Yeah, real nice!

She and David were close friends with much in common, nothing more. Sara knew his wife, Brenda, and the woman and she were friends, meeting sometimes at the market and exchanging kind words. There was no reason for anyone to think she and David were having an affair! Hopefully, she wouldn't run into Diane again!


The days blended together in a gray monotony as Sara got back to work on her novel. With the necklace now strung around her neck for inspiration, the words came without resistance. It was a happy time, especially since the ghost, Justin, had not bothered her for several weeks. She wondered if perhaps that spirit had found his way home to the mysterious ever after.

No word had come from either Margot or Brigid, a fact Sara found troubling. She emailed each lady to no avail, and they no longer appeared in the book lover's group on line. Sara confided in David, but he had no solution since both women lived far away and remained unreachable by normal means, except to call which Sara found she didn't have the courage to do. David offered to make the call, but she declined. He hadn't heard from the ladies either, indicating Sara had already estranged the ladies from him, as well. She was left with a hurt, empty feeling.

Finally, Sara worked up the courage to sleep in an upstairs room, the parlor couch being an uncomfortable place to stay long term. The room where Margot stayed with its windows and big soft bed proved the most comfortable. Recalling Margot's vision, Sara felt uneasy; but with the recent calm, she relaxed about it.

Christmas was fast approaching, and Sara kept busy making preparations. She bought gifts for the few friends she had, including an elegant pen set for David and a designer scarf for his wife. She baked date nut loaves and sugar cookies covered with red and green sprinkles, preparing baskets of goodies to go with all the gifts. The baking took a long time since Sara was not the handiest in the kitchen. But she was determined to bake from scratch, measuring out cupfuls of flour and spoons of butter over and over for the baked goods. If she worked in the kitchen at night, the day was available for writing. On the last evening of her baking marathon, she fell into bed exhausted.

Her dreams took a chaotic route where in every dream she put tray after tray of cookies in the oven while needing to make more and searching for a measuring cup which always got lost. Over and over again, the cup was missing. In her search she wandered outside hoping to find it only to stumble onto an eerie backstreet, a futuristic drama scene with abandoned buildings and dangerous characters at every corner, a world of neglect at the mercy of its darker angels. Breathing in the excitable air, Sara's impulse was to quickly find the measuring cup and get back to her kitchen. She continued on to search along the alley's crooked path until a voice jumped out at her.

"Who are you?" It was a mix between a raspy whisper and a growl.

A man, as gray as the monotony of the dark alley, glared at her with red eyes. When he opened his mouth only a few luminescent yellow teeth protruded at ugly angles. He was an animal at best. She hurried away.

Turning a corner, she stopped. Something was wrong. Listening to the silence, Sara knew someone was there, but she couldn't see anything through the night's gray vapors. A queer urgency tugged at her. It grabbed her heart and whispered in sad waves made of nothing but air and restless dreams. Real and yet not real. Lost in it, she startled in surprise when a hand reached out to her through the fog. It was elegant, with long fingers, but large, a man's hand. The owner was a blur, an undecipherable presence reverberating in the mist, a ghostly image, featureless yet smooth and luminous, like a pearl. Her head pounded with a cacophonous mix of fear and adulation as the figure emanated a strangely alluring emotional tug, but what was it? With a trembling hand, Sara reached out to take the other hand's grasp. The extremity felt filmy and light, like gauze. It accepted her hand as the ghostly substance stirred up suddenly with a glorious motion and proceeded to pull her through crowded streets as if she were floating, while actually moving at record speed. Streets and buildings flew by in a blur. The dream ended at the Victorian's doorstep. Sara was left trembling from the raucous trip. She had been frightened, but she was certain she followed the figure with solid steps because she wanted to, had to--the strange longing demanded extreme satisfaction. But now just as she wanted more, the dream ended with an abrupt bump.

Sara rolled over and opened her eyes. Spying the safety of her bedroom was a welcome relief from darkness and confusion, although it also meant letting go of the mysterious but alluring emotions. Their residue lingered in her sensual memory, lapping like waves of satisfaction against her heart.

The swishing sound of a footstep next to the bed made her turn with a start. Perspiration beads formed on her forehead while her heart beat with a furious motion. A figure stood next to the bed. Bolting up, she stared at the vision. Her body wouldn't move. A man in old-fashioned breeches and waistcoat, clutching a top hat in one hand, wavered in the dim light. The head turned to her and his lips moved. Was he trying to speak?

Sara steeled herself and reached a trembling hand over to the man. She touched him, her hand going right through the flimsy figure. When she did, the man's lips stopped. Then he did a curious thing. He closed his eyes and hunched his shoulders and appeared to take a long deep breath.

The vision took on an array of colors, glowing, becoming more solid as he inhaled. Relaxing, he turned to look at her again. His lips moved.
Words came out in a whisper, cutting through the air with an urgent crackle he cautioned, David beware!

The vision snapped with a flash of brilliant white light, then vanished through a flaming core in the center of the blast, leaving Sara alone. White and cold with her drumming heart threatening to exhaust itself, she couldn't move. It was not a dream. It happened. How could it be real? Sitting in the dark transfixed and frightened to make the slightest movement while time marched on without her, Sara's mind zig-zagged, trying to place what had happened.



Copyright 2007 JO Janoski