Backwater Publishing LLC

BUNGLED EXORCISM

(based on a dream)

by

Clem Mason

(age 16+)

(wc-4120)

So Lisa and I have been living together about seven months now; she working nights and I’m working days. It’s okay because we fight like cats and dogs anyway. Sometimes, weekends are real good if you know what I mean. That’s the up side. We both grew up in Brooklyn so we don’t know no better. I mean, the whole world is shackin’ up, ain’t it?

So I’m the produce delivery guy for Schlinker’s. I go all over the ‘apple’ so to speak. So this time; the last time I should say, I was in the neighborhood so I stop in for a bite of lunch. I’m thinkin’ she’s asleep so I let myself in quiet like and I find this guy humping Lisa on our bed. Well, I just go over and start pulling my stuff outa the closet when she lets off this ear piercing, bone chilling scream when she sees me. I mean, it scared the living B-jesus outa me and that other dude too, because he come offa her and was pullin’ his clothes on as he flew out the door. She started cussin’ like a banshee. I just go on packin’ my things and was outa there in ten minutes. She’s screamin that I gotta help pay the rent. Now I ask you folks, do you think I owe her? Come on, get serious. I don’t need that.

“So what’da ya got?” I asked the building manager.

“It’s a one room furnished apartment, bath and kitchenette and a hell of a view,” he said.

“What? One room for $595? What the hell is it, the farggin’ penthouse?”

“Hey! It’s a big room,” he said irritated.

“I don’t know, Mr. West, that sounds like a lot of money for one little room. What does it have, gold plated roaches?”

He leaned close to speak real quiet like which is okay but he goes and puts his hand on the back of my neck? I sure hope he ain’t no fag.

“Okay! You look like a good kid to me. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll let you have it for…say $395 a month.” He shrugged and smiled. “They all have roaches,” he whispered.

Of course, I’m instantly suspicious. “What’s the catch?”

He faked astonishment. “No catch. Three months up front and no refunds.” He raised one eyebrow. “No refund.”

I couldn’t help but wonder why the price would suddenly drop $200, just like that. I had a bad feeling about the whole thing. “Let’s look at it,” I said.

It was a big room in the very back on the sixth floor but it was hardly furnished. All it had was a clunky old bed, a wooden chair, a beat up old bureau and a well worn sofa; no closet. The closet was the bathroom. Can you imagine putting a pot and shower in your closet and calling it a bath? The kitchenette was a roach infested cabinet with a stained sink and a hot plate on one side. The view? Three windows, all on one side looking out onto dirty, cluttered rooftops. Some view! This was going to take some getting used to. “I’ll take it,” I heard myself say.

I’m not a real morning person but I don’t fail to notice Mr. West lurking by the lobby when I go out. When we make eye contact, he points. “No refund.”

Now I tell you, that got my attention. What the hell is going on with that room? I worried about it all day and didn’t find out until about three o’clock the next morning. I’m layin’ there and all of a sudden I feel I ain’t alone. Do you ever get that feeling? There’s light coming in the windows all the time that casts an eerie glow throughout the place. But there was something different about the light that now filled the room. It was like a soft blue haze. When I look over by the window, I about soil myself. Floating by the windows was the form of a girl that I could see right through. She had a long ponytail and wore those dancing tights. She was looking out the window. I was afraid to blink because if she started coming towards me… Suddenly, she floated off into the bathroom. I waited near an hour before I got the nerve to go check. There was nothing in there. I really began to doubt that I had seen anything at all until once again; three o’clock the next morning, there she was, looking out the window for about an hour. Then she floated into the bathroom again, but not before she looked back at me I think, just before she went in.

The next morning, Mr West was waiting for me to come down as usual. I walk right up to him. “Who is she? And what the hell is she doing in my apartment?”

“Shhhh!” he hissed. “Hold it down, will ya,” he stage whispered.

“I wanta know…”

“Hey!” he shouted. “Read my lips. No refund.”

“I’m not askin’ for a refund,” I said.

“”You’re not?”
“No. I just want to know who she is and why is she in my apartment.”

He put his hand on the back of my neck again and spoke quietly. “Look, about three-four years ago, a girl was murdered up there in that room. For some goddam reason, it seems her spirit keeps hangin’ around there. We can’t keep the place rented and the boss don’t like it much.” He shrugged. “She won’t go away and leave us alone. Does this mean you’ll be leavin’?”

I stepped out around him. “No!” I shot back over my shoulder.

At three o’clock now, I automatically wake up and she’s there again. To date, she hasn’t caused me no harm. I can live with that but her lookin’ back at me just before she disappears worries me some.

Mr. West whispers to me the next morning, “So, …what’s she like…this ghost?”

“I think she was a dancer ’cause she’s wearin’ them tight thingys.”

“You can see her that good?” His eyebrows lifted. “Well, I looked in our records and her name was Leslie McKenny,” Mr. West said. “You asked; I told you.”

“No problem, thanks.”

I thought no problem. Three o’clock the next morning, I wake up and she’s not looking out the window. She’s right by the bed, looking at me, I could swear she was smiling. None-the-less, it scared the hell out of me. I think she senses this and backs away and floats into the bathroom again. Now I am seriously beginning to think maybe I will move out.

In the morning, Mr. West was waiting for a report but I was too rattled to give a rational explanation of what happened that morning. I just went on by him. He followed me out onto the sidewalk and watched me disappear into the crowd. He looked worried.

A-p-p-a-r-i-t-i-o-n. I looked it up in the dictionary. It’s a ghost, spector, phantom. An appearance of something that scares the hell outa you. Anyway, she reappeared right by my bed again and my heart about leapt outa my chest, I lay there watching her and I can’t help but notice how beautiful she is. She’s petite with a round face and big eyes. She has a Mona Lisa smile. “Leslie?” I heard myself say.

She heard me. She looked shocked and frightened and she vanished unto the bathroom in an instant. I could hardly take in air. None-the-less, I was up and outa there in record time.

I walked around a long, long time, thinking, I just couldn’t go back. I admit. That scared me. So, I spent all day hanging around my favorite haunts until near two A.M.

I unlocked the door and stepped in. When I sat on the sofa, she appeared by the window again right at three o’clock.

“Leslie, come and sit,” I said. I wasn’t sure she heard me. Then she began to float over to the sofa and sat on the far end, She made no imprint on the cushion. Her hands were folded in her lap.

“Ah…my name is Rudy. Rudy Rinella. I grew up here in Brooklyn. Are you from around here?”

She shook her head.

I started getting real nervious. “You’re a dancer, huh?”
She smiled and nodded at the floor.

You…you look…beautiful.”

I think I saw her blush. “Leslie, I’m real sorry to hear what happened. I mean you look like such a sweet, young thing I can’t believe someone would want…to, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

She turned to face me and I think there were tears in her eyes. She stood and disappeared in an instant.

Then I noticed a spot where she had been sitting and when I looked closer, I saw that might have been a tear drop. I felt real bad.

She didn’t show for several days.

Monday morning, when I was leaving for work, I stopped at the door. “Leslie,” I announced quietly. “I’m going to work now. I’d like to see you when I get back. I’m…I’m real sorry, okay?”

I thought about her all day. You know, I’m beginning to question my own sanity yet somehow I don’t feel stupid.

Mr.West met me, “How’s it goin’, kid?”

I just shrugged and stepped around him. He was dying to find out what was going on and he followed out on the sidewalk again. “Hey kid. is she still…?” He shrank and looked around nervously to see if anyone overheard him.

I happened to bring a newspaper home with me, sat down on the sofa was reading it when suddenly, I felt I wasn’t alone, I lowered the paper and Leslie was there in broad daylight. I was startled and I saw her laugh at me. “Damn, girl. Don’t you knock before you come in?”

She gave me a wry smirk and started reading the back page. When I turned the page back, she jumped and clapped her hands together; there was no sound. Now that is really, really weird. I turned the paper to see she was reading the theater section. She was quite excited it appeared. But when I folded the page over, she frowned and turned back to gaze out the window. “You wasn’t done reading?” I asked her and she turned a stuck her tongue out at me. Then she laughed a silent laugh. She’s a tease perhaps. A hazy, blue mime.

I was reading the sports when she came over and her finger passed through the paper. It surprised me. “What?” I asked her.

She pointed at the paper. When I turned it over, she was pointing to the middle of the weather map.

“You’re trying to tell me…you’re from Kansas City?”

She grimaced and faked throwing up. She pointed again.

“You’re from Iowa?”

She jumped back and clapped her hands gleefully and I didn’t hear a sound. I can’t get over that.

“So, does Iowa have running water and indoor toilets?”

She put her hands on her hips and smiled sweetly.

A week went by and Leslie McKenny and I became very good friends. I found myself rushing home from work just to be with her. I always brought her the evening newspaper because she liked to read the reviews. She’s a much faster reader than I, so when I take too long on the sports page, she goes under the bed and sticks her face through the paper. I about wet myself on that one, folks. She sure thought it was funny. It made her laugh all evening. Then I got to bringing those theater magazines. She loves them but I have to turn the pages for her. Once I purposely ignored her and she put her hand over my eyes. I could still see to read but my face got cold as hell where she touched me. I won’t be doin’ that no more.

Then something happened. I was reading the sports page again and she was gazing out the window. Then my legs got real cold because she was knelt down, looking at the back page. All of a sudden, she explodes and passes right through me. I sat there, stunned, watching her fly through the room in a mad frenzy. Then she flew into the bathroom and disappeared. There was a scream from the next apartment and Leslie burst through the front door , vaulted the room and slammed into the wall behind the bed. I was stunned, taking inventory of my innards to find if they were still working after the specter had passed through them. Then the whole room burst into flame. A blue, roaring fire. To my amazement, I felt no heat yet everything was on fire. Even me. It was real cold. I could see forms exploding throughout the room and passing through walls; from ceiling to floor. The flames roared out of control and yet there was no sound and no heat. Then the energy began to collect into the middle of the room; the flames lifting off the floor and walls; collecting right above my head into a bright blue ball of flame. It condensed to such a degree that it was too brilliant to look at. It seethed and boiled within itself. All of a sudden, it exploded noiselessly, focusing all its energy towards the windows. They disintegrated with a loud crash, bursting outward in a million pieces, falling harmlessly onto the rooftops below. The sound of running feet could be heard and soon someone was pounding on the door. Still partially stunned, I slowly opened the door in a daze.

Mr. West and several tenants pushed their way in. “What in the hell is going on?” Then he saw the hole where the windows used to be. “Jesus H. Christ; how the hell did you do that?”

“I didn’t do it, Mr. West. Leslie did it,” I admitted.

I saw him wince. “She did this?” he asked in astonishment.

“Who’s Leslie?” Mrs. Basscomb asked. “Are you taking advantage of some poor girl you miserable scumbucket?”

“Who’s Leslie,” someone else asked.

Mr. West was pushing everybody out the door. “Go back home, folks. I’ll get to the bottom of this,” he said. “Go home.”

He walked over to the window to take inventory. All he did was shake his head. “I can’t believe the ghost of a dinky little girl did this. Are you making pipe bombs up here, boy?”

he yelled.

I shook my head. “She went berserk, Mr. West.”

“You can’t tell me some little bitty puff of smoke blew out this whole goddam window,” he was yelling.

I’m nodding my head.

After the maintenance man nailed the plywood over the hole, he waited, looking from the window to me and back again; hoping for an explanation. I gave him none.

‘Eh…that’ll do ’til I get the new one put in,” he said.

I gave him the thumbs up and didn’t say a word.

He shrugged, obviously disappointed and left.

It was two days before she came back. She floated from the bathroom and came right to me, waiting for her punishment; her head hanging. She folded her hands in front of her and watched the floor.

“What was that all about?” I asked politely.

She looked up, surprised I was so calm.

“Do you know how much that window is going to cost me?” I asked.

She shook her head and signed: ‘I’m sorry’.

“What made you do that?”

She looked around for a newspaper and pointed, frowning.

I picked it up and leafed through it.

She was gesturing wildly to hurry up. When I got to the theater section, she frantically pointed.

“What? I don’t see anything ” I said.

She pointed to another paper. I figured out she wanted the old paper we were looking at three days ago. I found it in the trash and turned to the theater section. When I opened it up, she disappeared in an instant. I glanced over page and didn’t see anything.

Soon, Leslie came out of the bathroom, her head hanging.

“Co’ mere,” I ordered her. “Now you show me.”

She came and pointed angrily at the picture. She floated away as I read the article.

“So, who is this…Warren Carpenter?” I asked the newspaper. I looked up and she was crying. Then the light came on.

“Let me guess. This Carpenter guy is..is the one who…”

She nodded,

I read the article again. “So, he’s the bastard…!”

Leslie broke down. She held her hands over her mouth to suppress her sobs. I wanted to hold her to me right then. I so ached for her.

“I am so sorry, Leslie. It seems this bastard Carpenter is some big shot Broadway producer. Big deal. Ya know Leslie, I’ll bet this low life scumbag thinks he got away with it. What’ll ya think?”

She was still crying.

I couldn’t sleep. I lay awake, planning revenge. “We’re gonna nail this bastard,” I muttered aloud. I’ll call this Warren Carpenter on the phone I reasoned and tell him Leslie is coming to get him. Then he would know that someone out here knew about his evil deed. But what good would that do if nobody else knew? But what if I went to the police? But how can I go to the police and tell them the murdered girl told me that Warren Carpenter killed her? What kind of wacko would that make me out to be? That would just about close the file forever as an unsolved murder and Carpenter would walk away clean. My little pea brain could not come up with a positive solution that would cause the authorities to reopen the case. …unless someone introduced new evidence. “That’s it,” I said out loud. “”We have to produce new evidence.”

Then my brain went blank again. All I have is a positive ID of the murderer; from the victim? That is totally useless information, It would be Carpenter’s word against mine; Warren Carpenter, influential producer of Broadway plays vs. Rudy Renella, driver of a produce truck. Who are the police going to believe?

When Leslie showed up, gazing out the window, I told her the problem. She acted as if she didn’t hear me.

“Did you hear what I said?” I asked gruffly.

She turned to frown at me and signed. ‘who cares?’

“I care, goddammit,” I yelled at her.

She stomped her foot and disappeared.

It was two weeks before Leslie came back. I about went nuts from loneliness.

“Leslie, I am so sorry. I really missed you.”

She just looked at me with uncaring eyes.

“Look, I care. I…I really, really care. I would love to help the authorities solve this case and..

‘What?’ she signed

“What?” I asked.

Her hands were flying, trying to convey to me what was on her mind. I didn’t understand a thing. I just shrugged.

It pissed her off and turned her back to me.

“Come on. I want to nail this guy. Look, Leslie, we have to produce some solid evidence that Carpenter was here the night you were…”

She threw up her hand to silence me. She looked at me a long time as if trying to decide in her mind what she should do. Then she floated over by the bed and pointed to the floor by the bed.

“What?” I asked.

She pointed to the mopboard so I went over and looked.

“I don’t see anything, Leslie.”

She frowned and jammed her finger towards the molding,

When I got down on my hands and knees to stick my nose in the corner, she burst into that brilliant ball of blue flame and then I saw a hair caught on a tiny splinter on the molding. I reached to get it and the light went out,

“Hey, I almost had it,” I complained.

Back to her form, she was shaking her head.

“Oh, I get it. That’s Carpenter’s hair, right.”

She nodded.

“And you want the police to come and find it right where it’s at, right?”

She nodded again, smiling.

“Sometimes you have to draw me a picture,” I confessed.

She nodded too enthusiastically and crossed her eyes.

I called Warren Carpenter and told him that I had evidence that I was going to turn over to the police that would prove he was in the room the night Leslie McKenny was murdered. There was a very long silence and then he asked who was calling.

“Your worst nightmare, you goddam murderer,” I told him.

The line went dead.

The police were in my apartment when I got home from work. Mr. West was standing in the hall. He just shrugged nervously. The officer guarding the open door told me to stay back.

“That’s my apartment,” I told him.

“Right now, it’s a crime scene investigation,” he said.

“Well, you can tell that moron in the bathroom he’s lookin’ in the wrong place.”

The detective in charge waved me in. He looked me over as I entered. “Detective Geonetti, what makes you think we’re looking in the wrong place?”

“you won’t find anything in there,” I told him.

“But that’s where the body was found.”

I nodded understanding. So that’s why Leslie always went into the bathroom.

“I can see why you’d start there, but what caused you guys to reopen this case anyway?” I asked him.

He looked out the top of his eyes and spoke quietly. “Seems some big shot producer walked in this morning and confessed.”

I nodded. “I didn’t think it would be that easy,” I admitted.

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Actually, I think you should be lookin’ over by the bed.”

He turned to look. “Why by the bed?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Because that’s where you’ll find the evidence you need to put Carpenter in here.”

He turned to face me. “How did you know his name?” he asked, eyeing me suspiciously.

“Because he’s the only big shot producer I know?” I said meekly. I think I may have just stuck my foot in my mouth; like I could be in some deep dodo.

“I want to know how you knew it was Warren Carpenter that confessed?” he growled.

He pointed a finger in my face. “Son, I want you to start talking or you may be implicated in this also. Do you understand what I’m saying?

“Well, I just happen to know Leslie McKenny and this Carpenter guy had the hots for her, if you know what I mean. She was a beautiful girl and I was a little jealous of him maybe. I may or may not have seen them leave the theater together that night.” I shrugged.

That seemed to satisfy the detective. He turned to the bed. “Show me.”

I went over and pointed at the floor. “You’d better get a good light.”

“Officer Montose, hand me your flashlight,” he said

The officer handed him the flashlight and he shined it on the floor by the bed. “What?”

“You’d best get real close down here in the corner.,” I said.

He got down on his belly and focused the light where I was pointing. Then he saw it. “Montose, get me some tweezers and an evidence bag.” He plucked the hair from the molding and sat up. He had a frown on his face. “How in the hell did you know that was there?” His hand shot up. “No, on second thought, I don’t want to know.”

As we all suspected, it was a hair from the head of Warren Carpenter; socialite, Broadway producer, big shot thought he got away with it girl killer. It was enough evidence to bring charges against him and along with his confession. should net him fifty plus years in the slammer. I will be following this case real close.

As for Leslie, I never saw her again. I suppose she went home to Iowa and she didn’t even say goodbye. That really hurt. She had no idea I was in love with her. I feel the need to write to Mr. and Mrs. McKenny and tell them that Leslie is home now but what would a letter like that do to them? I wish there was a way I could tell them how much I miss her.

THE END

If you liked this story and you feel the poor, old author deserves compensation in this retirement for this creation, please feel free to send $1.00 to Clem Mason, c/o Backwater Publishing.

66021-0213.

Please tell your friends where you found this web site.

Questions and comments are welcome. Thank you for your honesty and integrity.