Prospero's Ghost: (A Cautionary Short Story)

by Mark Leslie

  “Now is not the time to panic, my dear. Just stay calm and wait for security.”  

  He didn’t wait for her response as he headed to the back entrance of the store, walking as quickly as possible without attracting attention. It was obvious to him that if the books weren’t in the store, they had to have already been taken to The Tank. He knew the staff well, especially his good friend Patricia Irving. She would know where the copies were. As he cleared the store and began to run through the halls he only hoped he wasn’t too late.

   

  #

   

  One of the benefits of having worked with someone for over 30 years was the inherent trust that allowed for communication short-cuts to be employed. When Richard found Patricia in the tank, it didn’t take much to convince her what was going on, and despite the bizarre nature of his explanation, she immediately believed him.

  Pulling the copies of the book off the shelf for English 3K06 they threw them onto a cart.

  “Should we burn these copies?” Patricia asked. “Will that put his spirit to rest?”

  “Probably,” Richard nodded, then grinned and started to chuckle.

  “What?” Patricia asked.

  “In all the years we’ve known each other and shared our mutual passion for books, did you ever think one of us would suggest burning books as a good idea?”

  A nervous giggle escaped from Patricia’s throat. She had to admit, it felt good.

  “I’d have said hell would have to freeze over first before I ever considered it.”

  “No kidding.”

  “Okay, I have twenty-four copies here. How many did you pull off?”

  “Thirty-one.”

  They exchanged a dark look.

  “There’s one missing.”

  A low howl began to rise up from the back corner of The Tank. With nary a window or even glimpse of the outdoors, a cold wind blew down the aisles of the store as if it were in the middle of an open field.

  “No,” Richard said, running toward the front of the room with one of the books in his hand.

  He reached the cash registers where Rose was serving a student. Richard pushed himself between the customer and the cashier, holding up the book.

  “Did you sell a copy of this book this morning?”

  Rose threw a confused look at Patricia who nodded, letting her know that Richard was not a threat despite the mad look in his eyes. The young woman took another look at the book. “No,” she replied. “I haven’t.”

  Richard turned back to Patricia.

  “So where is it?”

  The howling wind intensified. Papers and register slips near the cash register begin to swirl into the air.

  “W-what’s going on?” Rose yelled, as she and her customer began batting at the pages swirling around their heads. A few of them seemed to have nicked at their skin.

  The flying pages nearest Richard sliced at his bare skin as well; dozens of paper cuts striking him at lightning fast speed.

  The tempestuous winds raged louder as he ducked and tried to ward off the paper cuts. His hands and face were turning into a road-map of cuts. Barely distinguishable within the howling screams of the wind and the others in The Tank, Richard was able to pick out a gruff voice. “I will plague them all, even to roaring!”

  From the far aisle, a student with a large backpack who Richard hadn’t seen earlier bolted toward the metal stairs leading to the exit. He ran through the security gates, triggering the alarm with his passing, and leapt up the stairs. The heavy fire door at the top slammed shut with a thunderous bang just before he reached it. He pushed on the door’s panic bar, but it wouldn’t open.

  “Hey!” Richard ran up the stairs with a surprising agility for a man his age and tore the backpack from the student’s shoulder. He opened it, revealing three shoplifted textbooks, one of which was the replica version of Emerson’s prized Shakespeare folio.

  He held the book up as the pages continued to strike at his skin. He did his best to ignore the pain screaming to him from dozens of tiny cuts.

  “This is the last one, Marshall!” he yelled into the storm. “No more blasphemous replicas of your text will be made. The offending bastard offspring will all be destroyed. This I vow to you.” The flying papers continued to strike at his exposed flesh and the wind increased in intensity; enough to start lifting textbooks off the adjacent shelves and into a rising whirlwind.

  Patricia, Rose and the student at the cash desk all scrambled for cover. 

  Still standing at the top of the metal staircase, Richard held the book opened at the midpoint, tiny trails of blood from his palms streaming onto the pages of the book. He grunted as he tore it in two. Several of the swirling textbooks slammed into his chest, shoulders and head, and he dropped the pieces as he stumbled to his knees halfway down the metal staircase.

  “Marshall!” Richard screamed, holding onto the railing to keep from falling further. ”I long to hear the story of your life!”

  The wind immediately stopped.

  The swirling books plummeted to the floor.

  In the fresh quiet a gruff voice echoed from the far corner of The Tank. “I’ll deliver all and promise you calm seas.”

  Richard got to his feet and walked down the stairs to stand beside Patricia as the papers that had been striking at them floated gently down to the ground.

  As he reached her, more words could be heard, loud and distinct at first, but slowly fading.

  “Now my charms are all o’erthrown . . .”

  “It’s over?” Patricia asked.

  Richard nodded. “It’s over. The final act.” He took Patricia’s hand in his own. “Rest in peace, Marshall. Be free and fair thou well.”  

   

  #

  University of Alberta – Present Day

   

  “What’s coming off the machine now?” Andy Todd, the bookstore director said as he walked into the lower level area where the University’s Espresso Book Machine was located.

  Laura Ryan smiled at him, not able to hear him over the sound of the hydraulic pump of the trimmer, but pretty sure she knew what he’d asked.

  “It’s a new file I just pulled off the EBM master server. It looks like Alan over at Mac downloaded it late last night.”

  “Is it another one of their library archive texts?”Andy asked, rounding the corner to have a closer look.The trimming process completed and the louder noise stopped.

  “Yeah. A rare original printing of Shakespeare’s complete works.” She grinned. Though she’d operated the machine for close to two years, every new title she produced on the EBM gave her a quick thrill. “The first one is just about to come out.”

  They watched the book drop down the chute and out of the machine. Laura picked it up and quickly fanned through the pages. “Looks good,” she said.

  “Excellent,” Andy said. “Okay, I’m heading home. Don’t work too late.”

  “I won’t,” Laura grinned.

  As they exchanged pleasantries and Andy turned to leave, neither of them noticed the dark shadowy figure in a brown tweed jacket lurking behind the closest set of bookshelves.

  # # #

  A Note about CAMPUS CHILLS

   

  In October 2008 Titles Bookstore at McMaster University held a “Haunted McMaster” event featuring 10 horror authors doing readings as well as free custom ghost walks of the McMaster campus performed by the folks from Haunted Hamilton. It was a smashing success and something we knew we would do again in 2009.

  But this year, we wanted it to be bigger. So, since Titles Bookstore owns an Espresso Book Machine, as do the University of Alberta and University of Waterloo bookstores, we thought it would be interesting to see if we could invest some resources into producing an original anthology of horror fiction. Thus the theme of Campus Chills was born.

  The book has since been rolled out through worldwide POD distribution and is available through all major retailers and eBoo
k versions are now also available.

  Prepare to have your blood run cold, your heart race and your brow bead with sweat: this anthology of horror stories ranges from the starkly terrifying to the tantalizingly creepy. There's magic mixed in with the chalk dust, evil lurking in the textbooks, malevolence biding its time in the labs and perhaps something even more horrifying in the student cafeteria.                 

  Chilling tales born from the dark shadows of campuses across Canada. Edited by Mark Leslie and introduced by Robert J. Sawyer, Campus Chills features thirteen all original tales of terror by Kelley Armstrong, Julie E. Czerneda, Kimberly Foottit, James Alan Gardner, Sephera Giron, Michael Kelly, Nancy Kilpatrick, Susie Moloney, Douglas Smith, Brit Trogen, Edo van Belkom, Steve Vernon and Carol Weekes.

  A Note about PROSPERO’S GHOST

  The concept for “Prospero’s Ghost” was originally born on a campus in the early 1990’s when I was teaching drama at “Campus Camp” a summer program for 9 to 15 year olds at Carleton University. During a tour of the Alumni Theatre on campus (a space I was intimately familiar with having worked there as a theatre technician, stage-hand and actor during my time as a student at Carleton), I had the students sit on the dimly lit stage while I told them the creepy story of how late one night I was in the theatre alone cleaning up when I encountered the ghost of the theatre, whom I nicknamed “Prospero’s Ghost.”

  I readapted the same tale for a ghost story I told to the staff at the Chapters in Ancaster during the Halloween season of 1997 – explaining how I’d encountered the ghost walking around with a copy of “The Tempest” in his hand one night.

  Flash forward more than 10 years and the legend of Prospero’s Ghost has found a new life. When I was looking at doing the Campus Chills project, I was eager to include a tale set at McMaster University where I work. I thought it would be neat to re-adapt the “Prospero Ghost” story into an academic setting at Mac. But it wasn’t until I sat down and started trying to flesh out the background of the ghost with my friend and colleague Kimberly Foottit that the tale took on an entirely new light.

  Prospero’s Ghost was reborn and more fully fleshed out than ever before thanks to Kim’s creative insights. And while we were working on making the ghost more authentic and giving him a good reason for haunting, we figured we would have some fun and incorporate the Espresso Book Machine at Titles Bookstore as well as the Kirtas scanner at the Mills Library into the storyline – really give Professor Prospero a reason to come back from the dead and seek his revenge on the librarians and booksellers who would dare exploit his precious text.

  Working with a talented writer like Kim was just what this tale needed. I could not have pulled off the story so successfully on my own – in retrospect when I look back at it, I see how the story and characters are given greater strength and more rounded dimension with having gone through Kim’s imagination and pen.

  So, after almost two decades of telling the tale of Prospero’s Ghost, I have happily landed, with my talented colleague, on what I think is the penultimate version of this tale.

  Though I’ll be honest – if the mood catches me, I’ll gladly gather a small group together with the lights down low and tell the tale of how late one night, working all by myself at Titles Bookstore, I encountered the ghost of Professor Marshall Emerson and barely lived to tell the tale.

  Other works by Mark Leslie

  Active Reader: And Other Cautionary Tales from the Book World

  ACTIVE READER collects three stories written by Mark Leslie which explore the darker side of the world of books (ACTIVE READER, BROWSERS & DISTRACTIONS). In a style reminiscent of the old "Twilight Zone" television show, these three tales will take the book loving reader to a place that is somewhat familiar yet frighteningly surreal and disturbing.

  One Hand Screaming (Book length collection of short fiction)

  A bookstore that keeps more than dusty old tomes on its shelves, a phantom limb that can reach into the next world, a comic that colors people's lives with terror, graves unable to hold their wares, a collector of haunted artifacts who gets more than he bargains for, a deserted northern highway that brings back a man's worst childhood fears, an encounter with the bogeyman and more.

  Spirits (A Short Story)

  Fascinated by the ghostly crying that haunts a repertory theatre house, Sally and Rob begin to unravel the mystery behind the eerie occurrences, while learning about the undying passion that can bind two people together or a person to a place. (The opening from Spirits appears below)

  Spirits (A Sneak Peek)

  Sitting here on the bus stop bench is startlingly comfortable, even though the sheets of misty rain have already cut through my jacket, plastering my shirt to my skin

  The cold dampness doesn’t bother me.

  Because my mind is otherwise occupied.

  By thoughts of Sally.

  I haven’t thought about her in years; ever since I left Ottawa, actually.  But now that I’m back, back here, especially, the vacant lot across from where I’m sitting –- the lot where the old Phoenix movie theatre used to stand –- stares back at me and reminds me of her.

  Reminds me of that night.

  #

  “Do you believe in spirits?” Sally asked, the flashlight throwing long shadows up her face.

   “You mean ghosts?”  Rob admired how her features could still seem attractive even in such an eerie light.

  “No,” Sally said, her face disappearing as the flashlight clicked off.  He heard the echoes of her movements in the large empty theatre.  The complete darkness, coupled with the serious tone in her voice, was suddenly unsettling.  “Not ghosts.  Spirits.”

  “There’s a difference?”

  “Uhuh,” Something touched his hand in the darkness.  At first he flinched and tried to pull away.  Then he realized it was Sally’s hand.

  He squeezed.

  She squeezed back.

  He let out a deep breath.  For a moment he had been uneasy, but things were okay again.  That’s how their relationship seemed to work.  That was why they were in this abandoned movie theatre after all.

  Rob was making plans to go away to college and they had been talking about the consequences of his moving to a city four hours away while she stayed in Ottawa.  They each got a bad feeling about being separated like that, and so they did what they usually did when they were having a minor crisis.  They came to the place where they’d had their first date: The Phoenix.

  What they had meant to each other that evening of their first date –- what their entire relationship meant –- came back to them whenever they went inside.  As corny as it had seemed to their friends, it had become a ritual that worked for them.

  Only now, the theatre was closed down and boarded up.

  But they didn’t let that stop them.  It was exciting actually.  One of the things Rob had always liked about Sally was her sense of excitement, of adventure:  Her spirit.

  And she was definitely showing it tonight.

  Sneaking to the back of the abandoned building in the middle of the night; climbing the fire escape to the roof; prying the old service door open and slipping inside; scrambling through the darkness with the light of a single flashlight beam to guide them; finding their way into the theatre house; making out in the darkness.  Yes, this was the gist of what Sally and Rob were all about.

  “A ghost,” Sally said, nestling herself onto Rob’s lap.  “Is a specter.  It’s supposed to represent the lost soul of someone who has died.”

  “Isn’t that what a spirit is?”

  “It can be.  But a spirit can also be something more.  For example, take my teddy.”

  “Pouffy Bear?”  Rob giggled.

  “Yeah.  Now listen, I’m serious.”

  “Okay,”

  “I’ve had him ever since I was a baby and I’ve always kept him close by.  I talk to him.  I sleep with him every night...”

  ”Hey, I’m jealous.”

&n
bsp; “Shush.  And I shower him with love and affection.”

  “So?”

  “Well, some people believe that because I’ve spent so much time with him, because I’ve projected so many emotions and feelings onto him, that Pouffy somehow absorbed it all and can feed it back to me.”

  “So you’re saying that because you spent eighteen years loving him, that Pouffy, a stuffed animal, loves you?”

  “Sort of.”  Sally shifted in his lap, turning to face him in the darkness.  “When I’m sad or angry, I hold Pouffy Bear and he’s able to make me feel better.  I feel protected and safe whenever I hold him, because he provides me with a feeling of love and affection.”

  “An echo of the affection you’ve given him?”

  “Yeah.  But this doesn’t just happen with objects,” she said.  “It can happen with a place.  People who haven’t died can still leave their spirit in a place.  And they spend the rest of their lives searching for . . . something . . . because they have this empty feeling.  They don’t know what it is, though.  They don’t realize their spirit is still waiting for them at the place where they left it.”