Ghost Killer Collection

Chapter 7

The following morning I was up before the sun and sitting at my desk by seven, an extra-large coffee at my side, plowing through the gazillion emails that had come through in my absence, all of which purported the utmost urgency, most of which were not urgent at all. By the time I"d finished with the emails, my assistants had arrived and were more than happy to dump the work load back in my lap. The day was busy and I didn"t get out of the office until six-thirty that evening. It was Friday and I was glad. I didn"t intend to work the weekend…after all, I was still recuperating and needed to rest. I also didn"t have any weekend plans, which was fine too.

I stopped at the market and deli a block from my house and picked up a variety of sandwich fixings, pasta and potato salad, and a six-pack of beer. The busy day had kept me from thinking about my “memories” or whatever they were, but as I left the market I was instantly reminded of them. A woman in her mid-thirties stood across the street, decked out in the high-fashion of the 1970s, complete with bell bottoms, a floppy hat, and round-rimmed glasses. She was glaring at me as if she knew me. A truck roared past and then she was no longer there. I walked home in a bit of a daze. Of course an outfit like that wouldn"t be abnormal in San Francisco—neither would the glasses—but the truck had only been between us for a second or two, surely not enough time for her to simply vanish. That"s when I decided I hadn"t really seen her at all; it was a nasty side-effect of my flu and nothing more.

andThe quiet evening did me a world of good, and when I woke up on Saturday I felt like a new man. I decided to put on some shorts and a sweatshirt, grab my tennis racket, and head over to Lafayette Park, an eleven and a half acre park in Pacific Heights located on a hill between the streets of Washington, Sacramento, Gough, and Laguna. The views were spectacular on a clear day. It had both treed and open spaces, and if the weather was nice and sunny, the hillside facing Sacramento Street was loaded with sunbathers, mostly women; that view could be pretty spectacular too. It also had two tennis courts set up as first come, first serve. I played there as often as I could, usually catching the winner of the last set as my competition.

That"s where I"d met Greg. He was a fiftyish man with a lean athletic body and darkly tanned skin, lined with more wrinkles than he should have had for his age. He was also a darn good tennis player, and usually gave me a run for my money. He was there that day, just finishing up a set with a nice looking young lady. I moved into the court and took my seat on one of the benches along the chain link fence, which was proper etiquette in alerting the players that you wanted the next game.

Greg and I played two sets before someone else arrived at the courts, and since he had efficiently destroyed me, I was the one out. I shook his hand, said my goodbyes, and headed back home for a shower. Before leaving the park, I stopped at the top of the hill and took a look around; it was a beautiful day and I could see for miles. There were a few dog walkers in the park and an elderly gentleman sitting on a bench nearby, his short sleeved shirt exposing his clearly disfigured left arm, which he held close to his side.

As I began my descent toward Washington Street I saw a woman pushing a baby carriage. She was wearing a black calf length dress with a white pinafore, a black beret or bonnet of some sort, and a black cape of all things. Although the carriage looked new, its style was old-fashioned…not the current popular stroller style, but an actual carriage that a child could lay down in. The bassinet and rounded hood were black, white rubber tires surrounded wire-spoked oversized wheels, and the polished chrome framework sparkled. The woman pushing the carriage reminded me of the ugly baby-snatcher in Ghost Busters II, when young Oscar was stolen from Venkman"s loft. When she turned her head, she looked right at me through her round Harry Potter glasses. She appeared frightened at the sight of me, and she immediately glanced at the carriage and then past me to the bench where the old man sat.

Ghost Busters II,Some sort of strange instinct kicked in, and I suddenly knew I needed to catch up with her. I began to jog down the short hill, and when she saw me coming she sped up a bit and headed toward Gough Street. I was faster and the carriage was slowing her down. As I caught up with her I reached out with my tennis racket in an attempt to get her attention. It went right through her, and like my memory/dreams, she, along with the carriage, began to disappear into a swirling grey mist.

I stood transfixed for a minute, not sure what had just happened. Finally I shook myself. Perhaps I was still sick and the exertion of the tennis games was causing a relapse. I turned back toward Laguna Street and began to walk home. Halfway through the block I saw the old man walking down the hill. I glanced at him and at first didn"t see it, but when I turned back to look again, I realized that both of his arms were perfectly normal and swinging aimlessly at his sides.