Dad Comes for a Visit #GhostStories

October 14, 2023JT Twissel 36 Comments

In 1984 I stumbled upon a class in sculpting the human form. It was being held in the community center next to my son’s nursery school and during the same hours as he would be in school. Perfect for a hyper-busy mom. For the next three years our small group of amateur sculptors met once a week. Then our instructor began having health problems. Others in the group also faced life changing issues (including me) and so the group dissolved.

Thereafter I had only friends and family members to cajole into posing for me. Probably my easiest catch was my father. I guess he may have been a little vain!

After his unexpected death In 2006, my stepmother told me their two basset hounds sat beneath his sculpture every morning for about a month and howled piteously. Sometimes she’d enter the living room and there he’d be, sitting on the couch next to his sculpture reading a book as though nothing had happened. As though that night was like all the others he’d spent in that room, on that couch, reading a book. Death had been only an illusion. Anyway, my stepmother had a few good years after his death and then began to rapidly decline. Their house was sold and the sculpture came back to me.

In June 2019 I was on my way to answer the phone in the kitchen when I noticed that my father’s sculpture had begun to glow.

So I took a quick picture and then answered the phone. My stepmother had just passed away.

The boundaries which divide life from death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends and the other begins.

The Premature Burial, Edgar Allen Poe

Have you ever been visited? Cue the spooky music.

Scary Doors #ThursdayDoors

October 31, 2019October 29, 2022JT Twissel 34 Comments

Here in Northern California we are just getting our electricity turned back on. Since we were warned that the outage could last for several days and my devices are all old and in need to new batteries, I have basically been off-line since Saturday night. I only turned on the EyePhone once every couple of hours for updates on the numerous fires in my area. So for this week’s ThursdayDoors, Norm’s Frampton’s photo challenge which I truly enjoy and hate to miss out on, here are some scary doors from over the years!

Renwick Ruin, Roosevelt Island, New York City. For many emigrants, their only home in America if they were unfortunate enough to have contracted small pox. This place really gave me the willies.

Franklin Delano Roosevelt Monument, Washington DC. Frightening because it could happen again.

Fort Sumter, South Carolina, where many soldiers were bombarded for days by their fellow countrymen.

Amtrak Tunnel. Just spooky is all. Happy Halloween everyone!

Vampire Lives Matter?

October 29, 2017October 29, 2017JT Twissel 22 Comments

All the colors found in the skin tone of a typical Caucasian. Note, white is the last one.

The only thing I have to say to all those people parading around with White Lives Matter posters is, you’re not white. Often you’re raw siena and alizarin crimson, or you’re cadmium yellow and carmine. You have aquamarine or viridian – depending on the amount of yellow in your skin tone – in the hollows of your cheeks, under your chin and along your hairline.

But guess whose skin tone is mixed using mostly titanium white? Vlad the Impaler, otherwise known as Dracula. So my take away is that y’all White Lives Matter folks are trying to save your guy, Drac, from that evil Buffy the Vampire Slayer, right? Such a kindly gesture and come Halloween night, I’m sure he’ll slither on down your chimney to say thanks and invite you to donate to his favorite charity, Vlad’s Blood Bank.

But seriously, if those White Lives folks want to know who really matters, they should go to a museum. Might I suggest the one below?

It’s the National Museum of African American History and Culture in Washington D.C. When you first enter this museum, you are directed to an elevator large enough to fit a football team and taken three flights underground. There, in the dim light, you relive the experience of being chained together in the dark, dank bowels of a wooden sailing vessel with no idea where you are going or what will happen to you or the ones you love. As you make your way up the ramps leading from floor to floor, the often bloody history of the African American struggle for equality unfolds. I didn’t get many pictures as the halls were dark and the atmosphere, reverent.

In contrast, the upper floors of the museum are full of light, color and music as they celebrate the contributions of African Americans to our culture. You leave those floors grateful that Black Lives really do matter and without them, American culture would certainly not be the envy of the world. Think the experience would cause those White Lifers to change their attitudes?

Happy Halloween everyone! I hope you all spend it with the people who matter the most to you.

From Brownie Fright Night

The Return of The Connemoira

October 29, 2016November 3, 2023JT Twissel 17 Comments

All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.
-Edgar Allen Poe

Daniel knew that his boss would hate to see him go. Unlike the other men who came and went from the one-pump service station, Daniel was courteous, didn’t smoke, and helped with the bookkeeping. But the boss had mentioned retirement on many occasions and so perhaps Daniel’s leaving would provide the impetus to take that step. That would be a good thing; a happy conclusion.

“It’s time for me to go,” he said. “I’ve seen it, you know, sailing through the fog. The winos were right. It has returned.”

But his boss didn’t seem to be listening. “What are those stupid girls doing now? They’re going get themselves killed!” He was referring to the three girls from Nevada, who, loaded down with their things, were heading toward their funny little car. Remarkably, it had survived a night on the streets of lower Manhattan. Probably because it was a foreign job whose ancient parts weren’t worth crap.

“It’s all right, Mr. Buckley. They’re leaving. Marcia talked them into going home …”

“Shit, not that asshole!” A panhandler jumped out of the shadows and was blocking the girls’ path. He was a known troublemaker in that area who often carried a knife.

“Stay here, Mr. B. I’ll take care of him!” Daniel grabbed the broom from the garage and ran across the street swinging. “Get out of here,” he said swatting at the man with his broom.

The panhandler looked around confused, “What the hell?” Then he took the spare change that one of the girls offered him and walked away.

“Oh no,” the Catholic’s Daughter cried. “Look at my car.” The passenger side window had been smashed and glass shards covered whatever remained inside, which wasn’t much. Just that sculpture of a man’s head looking wistfully up at them. “Oh no! My flute! My flute is gone! We’ve got to call the police.”

“They won’t come down here. They won’t even take a police report.”

“That’s so awful.”

“That’s why you guys need to leave. Go across the street to the service station and ask the owner to help you. He’s a crusty old guy but his heart is pure.”

“How about you?”

“It’s time for me to go.”

They looked at him strangely: “We’ll never forget you.”

He grinned. “Get on your way now.” Then he turned and started walking back down Fourth Street for the last time.

The girls drove across the street and said to the old man who’d been watching them: “Daniel said you would help us.”

“So you saw Daniel? A guy about thirty, wears thick glasses, quotes a lot of scripture?”

“Yeah. That’s him.”

“Where is he?”

“He said he had to go.”

“He did? I guess that’s good. You wait here and then, yeah, we’ll patch those windows.” He disappeared into the station and then returned with some cardboard, duct tape and a newspaper folded neatly into a square.

He handed the newspaper article to the girl who seemed the most sensible. The paper was dated October 27 1967, a year ago to the day.

“Terrible thing. What happened to him shouldn’t happen to a dog, no sir. And that poor woman,” he shivered. “Terrible. Unthinkable. Gives me the willies. You know, Daniel was a good kid, a little mixed up but then you should have met his mother. That lunatic held vigil here at the station for three days thinking her son was going to resurrect like the friggin’ Christ.”

The girls didn’t say a word, even amongst themselves. Perhaps I should have softened the blow, Mr. B. thought, but then he hadn’t had much experience with the so-called fairer sex. “It’s been a whole damn year and they still don’t have any suspects. Not a one.”

“Daniel’s dead?” One of the girls mumbled as the newspaper fell to the ground.

“Yup. You know I thought about him last night – you know it happened not far from here.”

“But we were just …” One of the girls started.

“I told you there was something evil going on in that apartment.”

“Daniel? Nay. He studied to be a priest. Gave everything he had to the bums on the streets. They see him too. Okay, nuff said, let’s get you gals fixed up and outta here.”

He helped them sweep out the inside of the Volvo and put cardboard over the shattered window. He even gave them a can of oil after checking the dipstick and sighing in disgust “women never check the oil, or the tires. We’d better check them as well.” When he was satisfied the little car just might make it to Massachusetts, he gave them directions on how to get out of town. He watched the little car as it sputtered down the road. They’ll never make it, he thought, but he waved back anyway.

This is the conclusion of a short story I published here a few years back. I meant to publish it on Halloween but things got away from me, as they say. So think of it as a belated Halloween present. Read it at night when the fog is swirling down the alleyways, perhaps concealing ghost ships whose captains are anxious to recruit crew members.

BTW, the character of Daniel is based on someone my friends and I met in a dangerous part of NYC back when we were young and oh so dumb. I have never forgotten him.

So Say the Winos, Part 14

October 29, 2016October 4, 2019JT Twissel 4 Comments

After the albino huffed away like a petulant child, Martin turned on the huddling group. “What’s the matter with you? A few minutes for ten thousand dollars…”

“Ten thousand dollars, Martin. Really?”

“He had a wad of frigging hundreds in his back pocket. All one of you silly birds had to do was pretend to like the little pervert. You didn’t need to fuck him, just distract him and I could’ve done the rest.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you really care, now do you Luv? One less demented human who’d probably already sold his soul to the devil … who’d probably made that money off some child’s pain.” He read a message in the air and spun in the direction of the Catholic’s Daughter. Slowly he approached her and then said. “A few moments with my pigeon, Luv, and you wouldn’t have to return to Nevahda to live out the rest of your miserable life with the jackrabbits and sagebrush and that arse who got you preggers. Oh yeah, he’s an arse. He’ll bring you only pain.” The girl pulled forth her crucifix and held it in front of her face. “Hail Marys aren’t going to get you out of this Sweetheart, but a few thousand dollars might have.” He swung around and facedthe other two girls. “Oh … I see,” slowly and deliberately. “Your friends had no idea what you’ve been doing did they? They trusted you, the silly twerps! And there you were fucking away thinking how superior you were to the two of them because … ”

“You’re disgusting. We were in …”

“Oh please … don’t say it. I’ll have to vomit all over Marcia’s lovely carpet. I get it. You weren’t forn-i-cating. Or screwing. Or fucking. Or even balling. You were making love!”

The Catholic’s daughter put her hands on her belly as though attempting to shield her unborn child as Martin turned his venom toward the other two.

“I’ll bet she made your lives a bloody hell, didn’t she? You know, she never really wanted to go on your silly, little romp across country. But she’d promised. She felt obligated. The most pathetic of emotions. Obligation. Now, see how she despises you. Despises you because she wasn’t bloody strong enough to be honest and tell the truth. Despises you, the hypocritical little minx.”

“Martin!” Marcia said. “That’s enough! Enough!”

“Obligation, love, guilt — bullocks! You might as well all wrap yourselves in chains right now and jump in the river!” He threw his arms up, “You pathetic bunch of losers.” He swirled and with a nightmarish laugh, disappeared through the open door.

Outside the sun began to sparkle through the spires of a distant church like confetti on the New Years Eve. Daniel put down the knife and for the first time since Martin’s arrival, took a deep breath.

He saw as though through a mirror, Marcia in a tract home in the suburbs, with Bill the Lawyer by her side. The poster of Che safely tucked in a trunk in the basement, perhaps looked at in twenty or thirty years with a sigh. A nice suburban tract home with a lawn, fence and dog. Maybe some children – if Marcia could convince Bill to adopt. Daniel doubted that very much. The lawyer looked like a man who would want his own children, not someone else’s.

Marcia neither smiled nor spoke and she walked over to the stove. He moved close to her but didn’t try to interrupt her thoughts. He put his hands flat down on the yellowed Formica and tried to summon the words to say but they wouldn’t come. Not one word of scripture. His brain had been scrubbed blank.

On the floor the girls whispered to each other of betrayal and hurt as the Catholic’s Daughter admitted Martin had been right, right about everything which meant … he was a devil. Only a devil could know all those things. It was useless, she said, to explain her feelings to them. They did not know what love was and how love and sex were so intricately entwined that you can’t have one without the other. She was angry with them. She’d sacrificed herself for them and now, instead of being grateful to her, they attacked her as if she’d done something wrong; as if she had ruined their dream. How she hated them. Really hated them. Worse than she’d ever hated anyone.

Marcia finally ended their squabble with camomile tea. Then turning her attention to the Catholic’s Daughter she said. “You have options. You don’t have to have this baby.”

It was then that Daniel knew he had to leave. He’d had a glimpse of the good ship Connemoira floating through the mist. Shore leave was almost over.

Tomorrow – have you guessed the ending?

So Say the Winos, Part 13

October 27, 2016October 1, 2019JT Twissel 2 Comments

Martin laughed, “Daniel? Heavens no. Daniel’s too pure. He left the church because he can’t stand to think that God loves him the best, which is what his mother drilled into him, because it means God loves the others less. The murderers, the rapists, the homeless. You get the picture? God, in other words, is a prejudicial old duffer who plays favorites. Isn’t that right, Daniel?”

From “The Mask of the Red Death” by Edgar Allan Poe, illustration by Harry Clarke

“They poured out innocent blood, the blood of their sons and daughters, whom they sacrificed to the idols of Canaan; and the land was polluted with blood. Thus they become unclean by their acts, and played the harlot in their doings…”

Martin clapped his hands together, “Bravo, old man, we’re all sooooo impressed that you’ve memorized the entire Bible. But, we’ve come to see the lady of the house and not to be saved….”

Renwick Ruin on Roosevelt Island, NYC. If this place isn’t haunted, there is no such thing as ghosts.

“What’s going on?” Marcia stood in the doorway of the bedroom dressed only in a man’s white dress shirt, her strawberry blonde hair like a fine spider web about her face, a flannel bathrobe over her shoulders like folded wings.

“Bitchen,” The albino snorted, clapping his hands together, “Now you’re talking.”

“Martin…” Marcia began, affecting her hostage negotiator tone.

The albino took a step towards her. “Hi Honey. I would you like ten thousand dollars?”

“Marcia, Luv, I ran into this bloke at Ritchie’s. He’s just cut a record for Capital records. He just wants a good lay and he’ll pay…”

“Sweet Jesus!” gasped the Catholic’s daughter.

The albino turned and hissed at her. “Shut up you fucking virgins.”

“I’m not a virgin!”

“Well, of course you’re not. Look at you sweetie. You’re so horny you’d fuck a pole!”

“I think you’re disgusting!”

“Don’t worry, bitch. I don’t ball stupid little girlies anyway!” He turned back towards Marcia. “So, what do you say, Blondie? You look like someone who knows the score.”

Marcia calmly turned towards Martin. “Get this guy out of here.”

“But Jamie has just signed a record contract, Luv. He’s going be famous someday.”

“Get him out of here.”

“Come on, Marcia, ten thousand dollars,” Martin urged.

“Not for a million dollars!”

“That does it,” the albino spun toward the door. “There are plenty of bitches in this town who won’t give me this kind of shit!”

“Wait, Jamie…” Martin tried to hold him but the albino twisted free and then stomped down the stairs.

Okay – you’re almost to the end. If you’ve made it thus far, thank you kindly for sticking with it. Tomorrow the climax and then a conclusion you may not see coming (at least I hope not).

You can read from the beginning here.

So Say the Winos, Part 12

October 26, 2016October 1, 2019JT Twissel 5 Comments

Daniel awoke in the grey of early morning to find the girls sleeping on piles of clothes and pillows on the floor next to him. Through the undraped windows he saw the silhouette of a city skyline preparing to greet the sun.

Slowly standing he tiptoed to the sink, stuck his mouth under the tap and sucked in the frigid water until his mouth no longer felt dry and salty. Then he grabbed the bread left out on the counter and ate until his empty stomach no longer retched.

The Catholic’s daughter slept with her face turned towards the setting moon, her head resting on a bundled up coat. She reminded him of his sister. She didn’t look like Francesca but she had the same sensuality, the same fiery contempt for all things Catholic and yet, like his sister, she slipped back on familiar symbols – like the crucifix – in times of distress. His sister, whose decline so young never touched his mother directly, entering through a secret crevice and exiting as a renewed calling. But Francesca no more wanted to her mother’s “cross to bear” than Daniel wanted to the Beloved of God.

He slumped into one of the bean bag chairs and considered going back to sleep. It was, after all, still dark outside. Then he heard someone with taps on their shoes crossing the courtyard below. Closer they came until they were in the stairwell. He crawled back into the kitchenette and reached into the drawer for a knife just as the door opened revealing two figures silhouetted in the doorway. One tall, the other short. “What the fuck is that?” the short man asked in a voice not quite human.

“Oh, those are the girls I told you about, mate. They ran away from Reno Nevahda and all those cowboys. Out to see the big world; meet the Beatles. The standard rot.”

“How fucking cute. Are they virgins cause I can’t stand balling virgins, man.”

Martin laughed, “Probably, old man, but this isn’t what I had in mind for you.”

Daniel ran his hand along the greasy wall until he found the light switch. The resulting burst of light caused the short man to twitch. “Fuck!” He shrieked as he tried to shield his eyes from the light. He was an albino with a Beatle haircut. Perhaps to compensate for his shocking appearance, he was dressed in limes and lemons as though he’d stolen the luggage of a middle-aged golfer from Tampa. “Shut off that fucking light!” he ordered.

“I thought you weren’t coming back, Martin.”

“A knife? Aren’t you just like mother hen defending her chicks? How domestic, really, I think you’re ready for the suburbs, old chap.”

“Why did you bring a junkie back here?”

“SHUT OFF THE FUCKING LIGHT!!!” screamed the albino, stamping his foot. “I’m not a fucking junkie! But I am horny as fucking hell and this British asshole told me he could get me some prime tail… ”

“I think you should shut off the light Daniel. Our friend has very sensitive eyes, if you know what I mean.”

“I know exactly what you mean.”

“Who is this shit head?” The albino demanded.

“Oh, don’t pay any attention to him, Jamie, he’s an ex-priest. You know the type. One minute he’s sweating because he’s not doing God’s work and the next he’s trying to convince himself that he doesn’t believe in anything.”

Jamie snorted, “What did you get defrocked for, Father Holier than thou? Screwing the choirboys?”

So Say the Winos, Part 11

October 24, 2016September 30, 2019JT Twissel 6 Comments

Daniel ignored Martin, addressing the girls. “I brought peanut butter and bread. Much healthier for you than halvah.”

From “The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar,” by Edgar Allen Foe, illustration by Harry Clarke

The rumblings of the first evening prayers sounded across the courtyard – Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna, Krishna Krishna, Hare Hare – causing Martin to spin towards the Institute. “Oh my, they’re finished with their supper. That means it’s time for me to head off to work.”

“Are you coming back?” Daniel asked.

“I thought you didn’t live here any more, mate. I thought Marcia got tired of waiting for you to fuck her and kicked you out on your arse.”

The girls gasped. Don’t respond. He’s just trying to bait you.

Martin continued. “You’re such a funny old sod. This isn’t the bloody desert. You’re not the friggin’ savior and I’m not the devil. Although I do appreciate the honor of your, shall we say, compliment.”

“Are you coming back?”

“I don’t think so, Danny Boy. Not because of you but it’s rather crowded with all of us sharing only one loo. I think I’ll crash somewhere else. Perhaps St. Mark’s – I hear they have a tasty breakfast,” he paused, then froze Daniel’s heart with a howl. “Look at Daniel’s face, girls! Hahaha! Oh the humanity – the Demon Martin sodomizing the blessed Virgin as stained glass depictions of the saints melt all around her. Candles emitting icy darkness in the void left by the absence of God – hahahaha! And in the quiet morning, the faithful arriving to find their beloved priests hanging by their wankers in the blood-red chapel.”

“Enough, Martin.”

“Enough, old man? I’d say you started it. Why don’t you pull out your crucifix and order me vanquished to Hell? Oh, that’s right. You’ve had a crisis of faith.” He waited for Daniel to say something then threw his hands into the air. “Well, I couldn’t care less although it’s been – what do you Yanks say? – a gas! Cheerio!”

From “The Fall of the House of Usher” by Edgar Allen Poe, illustration by Harry Clarke

With that Martin slipped through the door and down the staircase. Daniel stepped over to the window but saw nothing in the courtyard but shadows. He unscrewed the cheap bottle of wine he’d brought and took a swig.

Marcia emerged from the bathroom smelling of lavender “I’ve been thinking” she said to the girls, “we should call your parents. I bet they’re worried sick about you.”

“Oh yeah,” Daniel said. “Tell them their daughters are hunky dory. They just spent the day with the Devil.”

“Shit, Daniel! No wonder the girls look so freaked.”

“He killed someone.”

“How do you know that?”

“I just do.”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore. He’s not coming back. Girls, eat something and then we’ll call your folks.”

Daniel hadn’t slept the night before. His sole window at the Y was cracked and provided little protection from the rain or the wails of the city, the walls so paper thin he could hear a fellow transient snoring in the next room. Two years he’d spent in New York City practically homeless figuring it would free him. But it hadn’t. And so the wine quickly gained on him until a dizziness – borne of eating little and guzzling cheap wine – soon overwhelmed him. In the distance he could hear the girls on the phone. Yes, we’re Ok. Yes we’re going to Uncle George’s. Further and further away they slipped down the rabbit’s hole until he passed out and dreamt of the Red Queen.

What do you think Readers? Is Martin gone for good?

So Say the Winos, Part 10

October 22, 2016September 30, 2019JT Twissel 8 Comments

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse by Victor Vasnetsov, 1887

“Behold, I am coming soon, bringing my recompense, to repay every one for what he has done,” Daniel began as he crossed the room and lay his contribution to dinner – a grocery bag containing Wonder bread, Skippy’s peanut butter, and some cheap screw-top wine for him – on the counter.

The girls stopped strumming their guitars and looked up at him bewildered. He continued,“I am the Alpha and the Omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end.”

“Revelations? Really, Daniel, how unfriendly,” Martin said as he slithered along the wall.

“Where’s Marcia?”

“Oh my. Marcia has had a nasty day dealing with the wretched underbelly of Manhattan. She’s in the shower, cleansing off their filth. And these three young ladies,” he said with a wink towards the girls huddled on the floor, “have been entertaining me with the stories of their travels. Did you know they are from Reno Nevahda? Have you ever met anyone from Nevahda? Quite unusual really, one only thinks of Nevahda as the home to sagebrush and jack rabbits, now doesn’t one? Not three lovely birds — but here they are.”

“What are you doing back here?”

“You mean from Hell?” he chuckled. “Oh don’t be so Hollywood, Danny Boy. I’ve been evading coppers since I was fourteen. They’ll never catch me. They don’t even know my name. Speaking of stories, that was rather funny this morning, wasn’t it girls?”

“It was four in the morning.” The Catholic’s daughter said.

“Sorry Luv! That’s when me shift at the docks ends. So funny, once they heard my English accent, they weren’t at all afraid of me. It’s those bloody Beatles. Made life ever so easy for us British blokes!”

“You work at the docks?” One of the girls asked.

“Longshoreman, we’re called,” was the reply.

It was a ridiculous lie, so ridiculous that Daniel couldn’t help but utter a loud “Ha!”

“Why do you scoff, Mate?” Martin asked, “I didn’t have the benefits of a seminary education — a mother who thought I was the Second Coming. I’ve been on me own since I was a lad and, aye, I’ve had to do things I’m not proud of but that’s life on the dole.”

From Poe’s “The Black Cat” – illustration by Harry Clarke

“If you’ve been on the streets all your life, how come you recognized the quote from Revelations?” The Catholic’s Daughter asked.

“The one book you can always get in any jail, Luv, is a Bible and I must confess, Revelations is my favorite chapter. Fallen is Babylon the great! It has become a dwelling place of demons, a haunt of every foul spirit, haunted of every foul and hateful bird; for all nations have drunk the wine of impure passion and the kings of the earth have committed fornication with her, and the merchants of the earth have grown rich with the wealth of her wantonness. Lovely, hey? The sight of me evidently inspires Daniel to recite Revelations. Ask him why.”

So Say the Winos, Part 9

October 21, 2016September 30, 2019JT Twissel Leave a comment

The Krishnas were sitting in a circle on the floor in preparation of their evening meal when Daniel arrived. Those assigned to serving carried bowls of rice and vegetables, placing them in the middle of the circle while others lit candles or passed out paper plates. The crowd wasn’t very large, just four or five families, a couple of novitiates, the elders, and a hippie or two who’d wandered in for the free meal. They let Daniel pass in silence.

The week before six o’clock had been twilight with orange haze hanging over the city and just a whiff of decay. Now six o’clock was dark and funereal. He could hear the girls singing as he climbed the stairs to Marcia’s. They were off-key. So off-key that Daniel began to dread sitting and listening to them politely. There were so many young people with guitars singing protest songs off-key, each believing they had talent or a gift. Most ended up on the streets. He thought of turning around and then a voice – God? – told him he must proceed.

Martin stood with his back to the poster of Che Guevara. The comparison between the two was vivid; Che, so full of passion that even in two dimension and long dead he made Martin look like a bloodless slug plastered to the wall. Like all good demons, Martin claimed a familiarity: “Daniel, old man. How splendid to see you.”

They’d met Martin the year before on their weekly date at the laundromat. Daniel was a few minutes late and so arrived to find Marcia already speaking to a dark-haired stranger as she sorted through her things.

At first he thought jealousy had made him wary of the stranger. The man was charming and full of stories of a life spent wandering the world whereas Marcia knew just about every aspect of Daniel’s sorry existence. But when Martin claimed to have been a poor destitute Cockney youth and then spoke in an accent reminiscent of Henry Higgins and not Alfred P. Doolittle, Daniel’s worry meter began to spike. He longer for the safety of Marcia’s flat.