Death's Deputy

It could very well have been you that I saw on the bus that day. You looked up and saw me staring, and you blushed. I looked away.

And I told Death, No.

The Statue

The dealer was effusive in his praise for the artwork. It was just so life-like, he gushed. It wouldn’t be cheap, he admitted, but it was well worth every penny the artist was asking for it.

I knew the drill. Let the dealer do the talking. Don’t ask about the price until you’ve seen the piece.

Don led me down the gallery, his stubby legs practically dancing with excitement. He was very bad at hiding his emotions when he smelt a potential sale in the offing. I’d asked him to join me and my poker buddies for our weekly game countless times, but he’d always politely declined. Perhaps I needed to work on my poker face as well.

With a flourish befitting a maestro, he flung aside the cloth covering.

The Teacher

Mr Lane was our Math teacher in high school. He didn’t stand out in any way, and his lessons weren’t particularly interesting. He was just—always there. Always there in his usual button-down shirt and pants, earnest in his hope to interest us in algebra and isosceles triangles and whatnot. Seldom was he successful though.

But we all knew he was a kind man. Mel went to him when she found out, at fifteen, that she was pregnant. She didn’t want to have an abortion, so he helped to arrange for the baby to be put up for adoption after it was born. He helped out Brandon when his deadbeat dad just upped and left him without a word, letting him stay at his place for a while until the county found him foster parents in our town.

The Carnival of Lights

It has been years since I left my hometown, and I don't think I'll ever return.

I do miss the timeless idyll of the country, the sultry, gently undulating hills and the cool, quiet sanctuary of the woods. I can still picture the night sky in my mind's eye—the endless black canvas speckled with glittering stars, so vivid and clear they seemed within easy reach of your hand. Even now, the remembrance of the lonesome, poignant howls that would sometimes emerge at night from within the darkened grove stirs within me a deep desire to return.

But I have sworn never to step foot within that cursed town again. Not after what happened.

My First-Ever Encounter with Ghosts Was on Everest

I'd be the first to admit that in my youth I was a travel junkie. I've been to more places than I can recall, and truth be told, looking back it seems most places are awfully alike. I mean, yes, there are certain landmarks and sights that will stick in your mind long after you have left it behind, but those are few and far between.

Mount Everest, though, is something out of this world. Now, I'm no mountaineer, nor am I some inveterate adrenaline junkie. In fact, it may well be the only mountain I've ever climbed (I didn't reach the summit though). My first (and, I'm pretty sure, last) serious climbing expedition more or less came about through sheer chance.