a flash fiction of about 940 words
by Lenora Rain-Lee Good
It was a beautiful, crisp October morning, the houses in the village were decorated with ghosts and witches and hand carved Jack O-Lanterns. All but The Manse, reputed by many to be truly haunted, which stood currently vacant of tenants and looked dark and lonely on top of the hill. I had just opened my door to walk to work when the phone rang, “Jan, Marcus here, can you come down to my office tomorrow at three o’clock? Mrs. Gooch died, and she wanted you present when I read the will.”
“Me? Sure, I’ll be there.” Mrs. Gooch died? She’d been around forever, and it never dawned on me she’d die. She was too much an institution in the village. She was, well, she was just too damn ornery to die. But die she did. For the life of me, I couldn’t understand why she wanted me at the reading of her will. We weren’t really friends. I just worked for her off and on as she needed help.
The phone call raised memories of how we met. I smiled at the comparison of those memories to specters and Halloween. I was a kid, with my first paper route. Mrs. Gooch was known to dislike people, especially children. “Too noisy,” she said. “No manners.” The boy who had the route before me said she was a real witch and he rode his bike by her place as fast as he could and just threw the paper – if she wanted it, she could find it. My mom told me to deliver the papers to the front doors of my customers. Mom was right. I got big tips at the end of the year, especially from Mrs. Gooch.
One summer day, she saw me pushing my lawn mower over to one of the neighbors. “Jan,” she called out, “would you be interested in mowing my lawn? I’m very particular about how I want it done.” She was, too. She wanted it mowed first in this direction, then in that direction. And she tipped well at the end of the season.
We always smiled and waved at each other, and she wanted to know all about my classes when I came home on breaks. She seemed genuinely interested, but not overly friendly. While I was away at Veterinary school, she decided she’d had enough of the stairs of The Manse, and bought a new, modern, one-storey ranch. She used The Manse, as she called the old Victorian Painted Lady, as a rental. She had a handyman-chauffeur who did nothing but drive her around. I spent quite a bit of my spare time fixing and painting the old place. Vet school was expensive, and her generous pay and tips certainly helped. It didn’t matter, as no one wanted to stay in it. “Haunted,” they said. “Strange noises. Things go thump in the night.” Hogwash! I thought, but kept my comments to myself, after all, there are only so many animals for a Veterinarian to see in our village.
That old house was well over a hundred years old. I’m sure it had its share of creaks and groans, but ghosts? I think the tenants were city folk who had never lived in an old house and had no idea of the sounds made when it heated and cooled. I looked up at the old house, imposing at the top of the hill, and couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to live there. I hoped whoever got the house would keep it, and not tear it down for apartments or condos. Then, again, Mrs. Gooch was enough of a grouch she might come back and haunt it. I smiled at the thought as I walked toward Marcus’ office the next day.
By the time I arrived at the law office of Marcus Whitworth, two others waited—Sally, Mrs. Gooch’s housekeeper and Bill, her chauffeur. They wore expectant smiles and faux tears and were positively giddy with anticipation at their expected new riches. After all, Mrs. Gooch had no known family, only her two servants of several years. They openly questioned my presence, sure that I wanted to rob them of their anticipated inheritance. Marcus cleared his throat, glanced at each of us, and then proceeded with the business at hand. “Mrs. Anabella Theodora Metz Gooch specifically asked the three of you to be present when her will was read. Since you are all here, we’ll get started. Sally, Mrs. Gooch said you are to receive $1,000.00. There would have been more, she said, but she knew you regularly dipped into the change bowl. And Bill, you get $1,000.00. She said that if you hadn’t used the house gas card for your vehicle, there would have been more. My secretary has your checks ready; you may sign for them on the way out. Jan, you inherit the rest of her estate. The home in which she lived at the time of her death, all her belongings, her investments, The Manse – well, we’ll go over it later, in detail. She said you were the only person in the village who treated her as if you liked her, even though she wasn’t likable. You, my friend, are very, very rich.”
Sally and Bill stood, glowered at me, and huffed out of the office; I sat, too stunned to move.
“Oh, one more thing.” A twinkle appeared in Marcus’s eye. “In the attic of The Manse, is an old record player set to a timer. Mrs. Gooch suggests you remove them before you move in—or rent it out. Here’s the key to the padlock on the attic door.”
Happy Belated Halloween, y’all!
Entertainment:
Did you notice this is my Halloween issue? Ya know, it written before Halloween, but not posted before. Still, in this time of Covid19, we can stretch a holiday a bit. Can’t we? So, being surfeited on news (i.e., politics and covid, covid, covid, covid), I turned over to Hallmark Movies and Mysteries the other night, needing a nice cozy murder. Uh, no. What I got were Christmas love stories. They couldn’t wait until Black Friday, let alone Halloween, even. Oh, well. Predictable, and no politics, no covid, no serious angst beyond will the star-crossed lovers realize their mistrake and turn to each other in the last two minutes??? (Spoiler: Yes! Yes, they will.)
Books:
See Rainy Day Reads for reviews and mayhaps a bit of snark. Who? Me? Snark?
Have started Compromised by Peter Stzrok. The Introduction was fascinating, as is the first part of the book. He’s a very good writer, at least at the beginning. And so far, I’m learning things I didn’t already know, or having things I suspicioned verified.
Quill and Parchment isn’t a book, but a beautiful online magazine. They have published three of my poems this November. Please feel free to check out mine and read all the others at http://quillandparchment.com/members/memberink.html No politics, no covid, just nice poetry.
Outro:
Masks save lives. That’s proven fact. Remember, the lives you save may be your very own ghosts, goblins, zombies, or vampyres — wear your fracking mask!!! Get a cloth one, it won’t cut down on your oxygen level one whit! Neither will the KN95s. It may actually make breathing in the super cold and or polluted air easier. Wear the same ones that surgeons wear—they certainly aren’t going to wear something to cut down their oxygen. Besides, they’re cute and sexy. The masks. And, well, some surgeons 😉
If you missed the Disney video last week, here it is for an encore performance:
Show your love, wear a mask! (Thanks, Bill for the video! 😉
THOU SHALT NOT COVID THY NEIGHBOR’S LIFE–WEAR THY MASK! (Swiped from the www.)
If you enjoy this blog, please feel free to share.
Auntie Lenora