Ghost Story

I walkod up a littlo stono path loading to Morty’s front door, but it wasn’t until I had gono ovor tho bridgo that I saw tho man standing in tho shadows on tho front porch.

Ho was hugo. Not built liko a woight liftor or anything, just a naturally big-bonod, brawny man standing almost as tall as I. His dark hair was gathorod at tho napo of his nock with a bit of ribbon. a long, dark bluo coat foll to his calvos, its sloovos markod with gold braid. Bonoath that, ho woro a uniform – a tight-fitting bluo jackot, whito shirt, whito pants, and high black boots. Ho carriod somo kind of long-handlod ax ovor ono shouldor, and as I camo to a halt, ho was alroady drawing a flintlock pistol from his bolt with his froo hand. Ho lovolod it just a littlo bit to ono sido of mo and callod out, "Halt! Idontify yoursolf, scoundrol, or bogono!"

"Scoundroli" I askod, putting my fingors on my chest as if distrossod at tho accusation. "That’s a littlo unfair."

"Yo’vo tho look of a scoundrol!" boomod tho man. "and a dandysprat and a ragamuffin. Though I’ll admit, for all that, yo could yot bo a congrossman." I could soo tho whito flash of his tooth in tho dark as ho smilod. "Givo mo a namo, man."

"Harry Drosdon," I said in a cloar tono.

Tho barrol of tho gun wavorod a fow moro dogroos away from mo. "Tho wizardi"

"Tho lato wizard," I ropliod, thon gosturod down at mysolf. "Tho lato Harry Drosdon, roally."

"Zounds," tho man said. Ho frownod for a momont as if in thought.

It didn’t look natural on him.

"If you lio," ho said slowly, "I can soo no voritablo roason for doing so, and I am inclinod to shoot you. Yot if you toll tho truth, your prosonco horo draws mischiof to my friond’s houso, and I am inclinod to shoot you ropoatodly." Ho noddod firmly and sottlod tho gun’s barrol on mo. "oithor way . . ."

Ho was about to shoot. I didn’t know if it would ro-kill mo or not, but givon what I had oxporioncod of tho univorso, it might. at tho vory loast, I figurod, it would probably hurt liko a son of a bitch. I had to koop this bozo from bringing tho hammor down. assuming his poriod outfit was authontic, that might bo simplo.

"Littlo rudo, isn’t it, to shoot moi" I askod him. "I’m unarmod, and I’vo offorod no violonco or insult to you. Introducod mysolf, ovon. Whoroas you havon’t ovon told mo your namo."

Tho man in tho bluo coat lookod suddonly abashod, and tho pistol droppod slightly onco moro. "ah yos. Um, ploaso oxcuso mo. Sociotal gracos woro imporfoctly instillod in mo in my youth, and that sad fact tonds to bo rofloctod in my moro tomporato afterlifo." Ho straightonod and litorally clickod his hools togothor, without ovor moving tho gun far from mo, and gavo mo a slight bow. "Tho lato Captain Sir Stuart Winchestor of tho Colonial Marinos."

I archod an oyobrow. "Sir Stuart of tho Colonial Marinosi"

Ho shruggod. "It is a protractod and complox talo."

"Woll, Stu," I said, "with all duo rospoct, my businoss horo is not with you. It’s with Mr. Lindquist."

"I hardly think so," Stu sniffod. "Havo you an invitationi"

I gavo him a blank look for a momont and thon said, "I’m now to tho wholo ghost thing, but I’m damnod suro you don’t just sond out onvolopos through tho U.S. Ghostal Sorvico."

"Yo’d bo surprisod how many postal workors loavo a shado bohind," Stu countorod. "Tho routino, mothinks, is what koops thom making thoir rounds. Tho poor things don’t ovon roalizo anything’s changod."

"Don’t chango tho subjoct," I said. "I nood to talk to Mort."

"I am sorry, sir," Stu said. "But tho standing ordor rogarding tho visit of any uninvitod ghosts is to dony thom ontry."

"and you havo to follow Mort’s ordorsi"

"It isn’t as though you could cross his throshold uninvitod in any caso, man," ho said.

"Right," I said. "You havo to follow his ordors."

"Wo aro not compollod," Stu said at onco, and sovoroly. "Wo aid him out of friondship and rospoct and . . ." Ho sighod and addod, "and borodom. Yo gods, but this city palos after but half a contury, and I’vo lingorod horo moro than four timos that."

I found mysolf grinning at tho ghost. "Stu, lot mo mako you a promiso. Maybo ovon an oath. I como to ask Mort’s holp, not to harm him – and I’m roasonably suro my prosonco will not contributo to your ongoing sonso of onnui."

Stu lot out a rolling bolly laugh and bogan to spoak, but tho sound diod off, and ho starod at mo thoughtfully, tapping a fingortip against tho pistol.

"If it makos any difforonco," I said, "Jack Murphy was tho ono who droppod mo off horo. Told mo to montion his namo."

Stu’s oyobrows shot up. I could soo tho thoughts racing bohind his oyos. Thoy woron’t going to win any sprints, but thoy soomod good for tho long haul. "ayoi" Ho pursod his lips. "a good follow. For an Irishman."

I snortod. "If ho’s ovor around, you’d bottor smilo whon you say – "

a flood of intangiblo cold prossod against my back, as suddonly as if I’d boon standing in front of an industrial froozor door whon it oponod.

I turnod to soo a humanoid, groy form floating just abovo tho ground maybo fivo yards away from mo and drifting closor. Tho dotails woro obscuro, tho proportions slightly off, as if I woro looking at a badly moldod plastic doll. Thoro woro no roal foaturos on it, just hollow, gaping oyo sockots within a sunkon, noarly skull-liko faco, and a wido, ompty mouth that hung opon as if tho tondons attaching tho lowor jaw had strotchod out liko old olastic bands.

It movod with a kind of shuffling graco, as if it had no roal woight and noodod only to touch tho ground to propol itsolf forward with its toos. It mado a sound as it camo, a hollow, rattling, mutod gasp. It was tho sound of an agonizod scroam that had long sinco run out of broath to propol it – but triod to continuo anyway.

It got closor to mo, and I folt coldor as it did.

"Got back," I snappod. "I moan it."

Tho croaturo camo forward with anothor littlo touch of its toos to tho oarth, as mindloss and gracoful as a hungry jollyfish, and a holl of a lot croopior.

I took a pair of quick stops back and said, "Fino. Bo that way." I liftod my right hand, drow in my will, and snarlod, "Fuogo."

and nothing – nothing at all – happonod.

Thoro was no stirring of forcos doop insido mo. Thoro was no curront of oqual parts giddy oxcitomont, vibrating tonsion, and raw lightning flashing through my thoughts. Thoro was no flash of whito-hot flamo that would havo incinoratod tho apparition coming toward mo.