by A. R. Wise
Alma looked at herself in the mirror; her tired, same old self. The same face she’d stared at unenthusiastically her whole life. While others often said she was pretty, they nearly as frequently added the aphorism, ‘You should pay more attention to yourself.’ That was, of course, code for, ‘You’d be pretty if you took the time to try and look nice.’
She sighed, closed her eyes, and said, “Okay, do it.”
Julian squealed in delight. “Nurse, get my scalpel before she changes her mind.” He got the scissors from his drawer and wasted no time before making the first cut. He stopped, a foot long section of hair dangling from his hand, and asked, “Are you sure you don’t want to change your mind?”
With the huge chunk already gone, there was clearly no turning back now. Alma shook her head and gave a gleeful yelp. “I can’t believe I’m letting you do this.”
“Miss Harper, my dear, you’re going to be thanking me when this is done. I promise, you’re going to get so much dick you won’t know what to do with it. And if you need a few pointers, I’ll give you my card.” He stopped and looked at her through the mirror. “You are straight, right? You two aren’t dykes, are you?” He motioned back and forth between Rachel and Alma with his scissors.
“Julian, I’m married,” said Rachel as she eavesdropped. “You know that.”
Julian shrugged and then got back to cutting Alma’s hair. “So what? Rocko was married.”
“Shut up, Julian,” said Rocko, the effeminate greeter that was casually flipping through a magazine at the front desk.
“I’m not saying, I’m just saying,” whispered Julian as if telling Alma a naughty secret.
The stylist spent the next half hour trying to convince Alma to let him dye her hair as he finished her cut. He wanted to dye the tips of her longest strands pink, but she kept telling him that her school wouldn’t allow any unusual hairstyles on teachers. This led to a lengthy discussion about Julian’s experience as a gay teen in Kentucky before he moved north. Alma wasn’t homophobic, but she was also ashamed to admit that she didn’t have any close gay friends. It was somewhat intriguing, perhaps even intoxicating, to get a glimpse into the life of someone like Julian. By the time he was done, she would’ve gladly called him a friend. Suddenly, the two hundred dollar cost of the session seemed more than reasonable.
“What do you think?” asked Julian as he handed Alma the hand mirror so she could inspect the cut. He spun her around and then stepped back in wait, as if hoping for an Oscar nomination.
Her hair hadn’t been that short since she was a child. She put her fingers through it, and then smiled as she said, “I like it.”
Julian applauded and then raised his arms with jubilance. “She likes it. Hallelujah, she likes it! I told you that you would.”
“You were right.” She handed him the mirror and then pushed at either side of the bob which caused her hair to balloon up. “I don’t know how you got it to puff up so much. I’m just worried that I’m going to wake up tomorrow and it’ll just lie there, all flat.”
“Easy, easy secrets,” said Julian. “It’s the magic of science and chemicals and stuff. I’ll get you some shampoo and conditioner to increase volume, and then you’ll use a spritz. You’ll have to get a big round brush like the one I used and then just curl and spritz, curl and spritz. You’ve got nice hair, even if you don’t believe it. You just have to give it a little attention. No more rub, rub,” he put his fingers on his own short hair and mimed a bored hair washing in the shower, “rinse, rinse, off to work. From now on you’re going to give yourself ten extra minutes to look gorgeous. Okay?”
“Okay.”
He put his hand on his hip and cast a wary look at her. “Promise me, Miss Harper. You’re too damn pretty not to know it, and too damn sexy not to show it.”
“I bet you say that to all the girls.”
He gave her a wry, devilish grin. Then he set his hand beside his lips and leaned forward. “It’s true, I do, but this time I mean it. You’re a stunner, my little music teacher. I want you to give those boys in class something to jerk off to.”
“Are you done poisoning my friend?” asked Rachel as she came to stand on the other side of the chair.
“I’m nothing if not the cure.” Julian dropped his scissors into a tall glass cylinder filled with blue liquid. “Where are you two sluts off to next?”
“I’m going to force her to let me do her makeup,” said Rachel. “And then off to buy shoes.”
“Well, aren’t you just the sweet sugar mama?” Julian walked with them to the front counter. “Wake up, Rocko. It’s time to earn your eight dollars an hour.” He pointed at the register and made several jabs at it with his index fingers. “Clickety clack, Rocko.”
Rocko didn’t look amused as he set his magazine down and started to punch in the numbers. Julian led Alma over to a section on the wall that was lined with bottles of hair care products. Alma didn’t recognize any of the labels.
“We’re going to get you this, and this, oh, and this one.” He handed her three bottles.
Alma looked for a price tag, but didn’t see one. “How much are these?”
He shook his head and waved off her question. “On the house, sweetie.”
“Really?”
He wavered his head and then pointed at Rachel. “Well, as long as we call her the ‘House.’”
“I can’t,” said Alma. “She’s already spent too much on me. This is ridiculous.”
Julian stopped her before Alma could put any of the bottles back on the shelf. “You’ll have to take it up with her, darling. It’s already paid for. Besides, don’t let her fool you, Rachel gets the celebrity discount, what with her being a reporter and all.”
“Got your stuff?” asked Rachel as she finished with Rocko and met them at the shelves.
Alma grimaced and looked down bashfully at her armful of products. “Rachel, this is too much. I feel like you’re spending way too much on me.”
“Oh stop it,” said Rachel. “Learn how to let yourself be pampered. It’s my pleasure. Julian, did you know that Alma is going to be on the news soon because she’s such a good teacher?”
“Oh yeah?” asked Julian.
Rachel quickly replied. “Yep. She’d never tell anyone, because she’s too modest, but her school put together a big deal for her; paid to get a new music room and everything, just because they like her so much.”
“Well, well,” said Julian. “I would’ve given anything for just one good teacher growing up. Keep up the good fight, Miss Harper. The world needs a lot of things, but good teachers are at the tippy-top of the list.”
“Thanks,” she said bashfully.
He reached into his shirt pocket and took out a business card that he then slipped into Alma’s back pocket. “And when you want to get freshened up again, give me a ring so I can be sure to give you the celebrity discount.”
* * *
“I can’t believe all this shit,” said Paul as he inspected an EMF meter that had been stored in one of several steel boxes in Stephen’s storage locker.
“I know. It’s like Christmas.” Stephen climbed over a stack of boxes similar to the one that Paul had opened. The storage room was located in the alley of Stephen’s building, and had been converted from the building’s garage to accommodate four similar areas. “Check this out.” He hauled up a monitor and another small black box that had a series of red switches on the front of it. “This is for the motion sensors. You can set it up to watch up to fifteen feeds, and the monitor will automatically switch to any that detect something. You can set it to search for heat or movement.”
“Nice,” said Paul.
Stephen was smiling so wide that it would’ve been hard for him to stop. “Damn straight it’s nice.”
“So, you must be pretty big into this ghost stuff,” said Paul. “How did that happen? Have you always been into it?”
“Yes and no,” said Stephen. “When I was a kid I believed in all of it, but t
hen I turned into a cynical adult, like most of us do. Then, when I was in college, I went for a trip with some friends out to a cabin in Michigan. That night I saw something that totally changed my mind. Ever since then I’ve been a believer.”
Paul set the EMF detector back in its case. “All right then, what did you see? You can’t leave me hanging.”
Stephen avoided the question for a second, and Paul wondered if he’d overstepped his bounds. Finally, he started to explain, “It was a little boy playing with a toy train in the kitchen.” Stephen didn’t look at Paul as he recounted the story. “It was in the middle of the night and I was high, and drunk, so at first I thought I was seeing things. I got out of bed and walked through the living room, over a bunch of my friends that were sleeping on the floor, and went in the fridge to get a left-over burrito. I closed the door of the fridge and there he was, this little kid in a pair of pajamas, on the kitchen floor playing with a train.” Stephen glanced at Paul, but then looked down as he acted out the ghost’s movements. “Just sitting there, not paying any attention to me; just playing with that train. Then, he dematerialized in front of me.”
Paul wasn’t certain how to respond, and turned to humor to lighten the mood. “Dude, you were eating left-over burritos. That’s, like, begging for evil.”
Stephen chuckled, but it was clearly for Paul’s benefit. “I wrote it off as a side effect of too much weed, and maybe bad Mexican food. Then, a few weeks later I found out something about that cabin that made me lose my shit. Turns out, the guy that owned the place had a little brother who died there from carbon monoxide poisoning. His dad wanted to sell the cabin, but his mother refused to let him. She said that her son was still there in spirit, and that she sometimes heard him playing with his toys on the kitchen floor at night.” Stephen shivered abruptly. “Gives me the willies thinking about it.”
“That’s all sorts of creepy,” said Paul.
“What about you?” asked Stephen. “Do you believe in it, or do you think it’s all bullshit?”
Paul thumbed his beard just under his lip as he debated how to handle the discussion. “I’d love to believe it, but I’m more of the hardcore skeptic type. I’m not religious or anything either. I’m not trying to discount what you saw or anything, but I have a tough time believing in that sort of thing.”
“I get it,” said Stephen as he climbed back out of the storage unit. “My wife’s the same way, and it works out for us. Helps keep things in perspective. Can I ask you a question, though?”
“Sure, go for it.”
“What do you think about what Alma saw?”
“I don’t know,” said Paul. “Depends on what it is you heard that she saw.” He didn’t fall for the ploy to get information out of him.
“Well, I got all of the police reports,” said Stephen. “It pays to have a reporter for a wife. They said that Alma saw a green fog, and men, or some type of creatures, running through the fog. She said they’d been staying in Widowsfield when the rest of the town disappeared, but her father had proof that he’d been staying at a cabin in Forsythe. The police couldn’t find evidence of anything at either locations, and they held her father for as long as they could, but couldn’t come up with a case to pin on him for the disappearance of Alma’s brother.”
“You know just about as much as I do,” said Paul. He didn’t think it would be appropriate for him to elaborate on any of the other details Alma had shared with him. “Alma doesn’t like to talk about it much.”
“So what do you think happened? Not with Alma’s brother, but with the town in general. Why did everyone just, poof, disappear?”
Paul shrugged. “Who knows? I’ve heard it was government controlled, and that there was a massive drug cartel operating out of the town. Everyone got taken away and put into witness protection.”
Stephen guffawed as if the theory was ludicrous. “Yeah, sure, an entire town gets taken away by the government? That’s crazy.”
“Maybe, but it’s the least crazy of all the theories I’ve heard,” said Paul. “It’s easier for me to believe that than some of the other stuff people have said. Why? What do you think happened?”
“That, my friend, is what I’m hoping to find out. I’m not leaving anything off the table. There was some weird shit going on in Widowsfield before everyone disappeared.”
“Like what?”
“Well, there’s the whole drug cartel thing that you were talking about. There was a meth ring that used Widowsfield as a staging area, but then the government banned the sale of amphetamine except in small doses. That meant the drug dealers had to figure out a new way to make the meth in massive quantity. There’s a theory that one of the concoctions they mixed up caused a fire, and a toxic cloud was released in the town that caused everyone to go nuts.”
“Huh, never heard that one before.”
“It’s a lot more plausible than it sounds at first. The race to create new, stronger drugs has led to a lot of insane side effects. People aren’t content just smoking a little weed these days. They’re screwing around with some seriously messed up chemicals, and the theory is that the dealers in Widowsfield were trying to mix together meth and ecstasy, but ended up causing an explosion that sent a noxious gas through the town. And then there’s the military experiment theory.”
“What’s that?”
“There’s a base just outside of Widowsfield that’s owned by a company called Cada E.I.B.”
“What is it?” asked Paul, unsure he heard the name correctly.
“Cada E.I.B. No one knows much about them, but they seem to be pretending to be a European Investment Bank. Or at least they were. Right after the event in Widowsfield, the entire facility shut down. No explanation, they just closed up shop and got the hell out of the area. Turns out, this same company was involved in brokering weapon deals between countries. They were setting up deals between the United States and places like Scotland, Greece, Romania, and all sorts of other places. It’s shady stuff. The theory is that they were testing out some biochemical weapon and accidentally released it.”
Paul glanced at the abundance of equipment in the storage unit. “That sounds interesting and all, but I thought you were in this for the paranormal side of it.”
“I am, but I also want to make sure to explore all options. I want to treat our viewers like they’re smart. If we can find real evidence of paranormal activity, then that’s awesome, but I’m also going to look for real world explanations for stuff too. I want the show to be smarter than the rest of them out there.”
“So, this show is on the internet, right?” asked Paul. The amount of equipment in the storage locker seemed excessive for a small internet venture.
Stephen looked coy, like a boy whose mischief had been uncovered. “Well, you want to know the truth? You’ve got to keep it on the down low, because no one’s supposed to know.”
“Okay, sure.” Paul was an intensely private person, and thought it odd that Stephen was willing to trust him with any secret, let alone an important one. Stephen spoke as if Paul had been his friend for years.
“We got optioned.” He beamed with pride and excitement.
“What’s that mean?”
“Rachel and I were approached by a cable channel. I can’t tell you which one – they were real strict about that. They paid us to have first rights on any show we put together. That’s why I got all this stuff.”
“Wow, that’s awesome. Congratulations,” said Paul.
“It’s been a bit overwhelming, but we’re trying to make sure we do everything we can to make this pilot professional.”
“And it’s just the two of you?” asked Paul. “I would think you’d have a whole crew going along. You know, for lighting and sound and cameras. You’re just going to try and do this by yourselves?”
“No,” said Stephen and he pat Paul’s shoulder. “I’ve got you along for the ride.”
“Oh, I see how it is,” said Paul. “You’re trying to bribe me with beer an
d barbeque. You’re a tricky one.”
Stephen laughed as he closed the accordion, aluminum door of the storage room. “Honestly though, it’s not as hard as you might think. These days, with reality shows and everything, viewers have a really low expectation of quality. A lot of the shows on the air don’t bother hiring even half the staff that they used to. I’ve been in the news business for a while, and even the quality of our remote reports is better than most primetime shows. We actually take the time to set up lights and use proper mics. Most of the reality shows out there are a clusterfuck of amateur mistakes.”
“I hate reality shows,” said Paul.
“You’re in good company,” said Stephen. “They’re the bane of the industry at the moment. A hell of a lot of good people have lost jobs because the American public doesn’t seem to give a shit about quality anymore.” He scratched at his temple and shrugged. “I say that, but I’m just about to go out and try to film a show without a crew. I’m not usually that big of a hypocrite, I swear.”
“And you’re planning on shoving all that stuff into a single car?” Paul pointed at the storage locker as Stephen was locking it.
“I was going to rent a van. Speaking of which, I should probably call up the rental place.”
“I’ve got a buddy with a van,” said Paul. “He’s not doing anything these days. I bet he’d be willing to drive us if you paid him whatever the cost of a rental would be. Then you could use him as an extra pair of hands for filming your show.”
“You think he’d come along on such short notice?”
Paul nodded sullenly. “Yeah, he’ll be happy to get out of town. He caught his old lady cheating on him and moved out. He was going to get a new place, but then he lost his job after he blew up at work.” Paul felt like he needed to assure Stephen that he wasn’t trying to invite a mental case on the trip. “He’s the most passive guy you’ve ever met, but the dude got pushed too far. He got sick of getting shit on at work, and combined with what he was going through at home, he just reached his wit’s end. Anyhow, I’m sure he’d be happy to come along.”
