the Story Shop

  "Oh Tiddley," she said. "It is warm again and we are all so happy."

  Tiddley pulled out a large bottle and took the cork off so she could catch Daisy's laughter. That was a laughter she would keep forever.

  Chapter One

  There hasn't been a family living here for years and years and I am lonely. I practise my groans and cries and strange noises, but no one hears me. The last family lived here for just a month. There were no children, so I had to scare the old man and the old woman ... and they left. I much prefer children. They can sometimes put up with my noises. Yes, they are scared, but their parents don't believe in ghosts, so the family lives here for a long time and that makes me happy.

  My Mama told me that this would be my Haunted House for ever. Mama has the Haunted House at the edge of town, the dark grey one, but sometimes she visits me and we can scare together. Mama is very good with dragging chain noises and high pitched squeals. Mama told me that I became a ghost when I was young and I will stay young until I pass on. I asked what she meant by 'pass on', but she couldn't explain it. She said that there were seventeen Haunted Houses in this area, but only five had ghosts; the others had 'passed on'. I never met Papa, but I understand he haunts in another city and never visits. That's okay because Mama and I have great fun together ... but now, without anyone living here, I am very lonely.

  Then, last Thursday, a big truck pulled up out front and I knew somebody would be moving in. I watched as the furniture was carried in. I saw a lady and a gentleman, but no children and that made me sad. If I scared old people, they moved out. I stayed at the attic window all day, until the truck drove off and the two people were sitting in the living room. I could see them through the small hole in the wall, a hole I made many years ago, following the instructions given me by Mama. I thought I might scare them right then, but maybe I should wait until tomorrow evening. They looked tired and I'm sure they needed a good night's sleep.

  The next morning I saw them arise and eat a small breakfast–something they put into a toaster. They washed dishes and began to unpack all the boxes. That's when I saw books for children and clothes for a little girl and got very excited. Maybe there were children in this family after all. By late afternoon almost all the boxes had been unpacked and the two collapsed onto the couch ... then there was a knock on the door. The woman opened the door and a small girl leaped into her arms. The girl was so happy and so was I. I decided that I would scare the young girl that very night. It was an exciting time, for me. It has been a very long time since I had someone to scare.

  It was almost midnight and the whole house was sleeping. That's when I crept into the girl's room with my best white and feathery nightgown. I began to cry, but the girl did not wake, so I began to make those strange sounds Mama had taught me. They start very softly and increase and increase until I am squealing. That was sure to wake the young girl ... but it didn't. I was afraid of making too much noise. I didn't want to wake the parents, so I sat on the bed and shook the girl.

  "Hello?" she said, her eyes still closed. "Is it morning already?"

  "Nooooo," I said in a low voice. "It is midnight and you must wake up."

  She opened her eyes, sat up in bed and smiled at me.

  "Oh, hello," she said. "I can almost see right through you. Are you a ghost?"

  I was surprised that she wasn't scared.

  "Aaaah, yesssss, I am a ghost," I said in my scariest voice.

  "Oh that is so wonderful," she said. "I've never met a real ghost before. What's your name?"

  I wasn't sure what to say. Mama never told me something like this could happen.

  "Uh ... aren't you scared?" I asked.

  "Scared? Why would I be scared?" she said. "You're no bigger than I am and you look very nice in that gown."

  "Well, thank you very much," I said. "Mama gave it to me many years ago and I keep it just for special occasions."

  "Oh, do you have a name?" she asked.

  "Yes, of course. All ghosts have names. My name is Whisper."

  "Oh, that is a wonderful name," she said. "My name is Dorothy, but people sometimes call me Dotty."

  "That is a very pretty name ..." I began.

  "Oh, it means 'God's Gift'. That's what Mommy said."

  "Well, my name is ..." I began to say.

  "Your name is Whisper," she said, giggling.

  "Well, well, how did you know that?" I said.

  "Oh, because you told me," she said. Her smile was so radiant it lit up the room. I often forget what I say right after I say it.

  "Well, Dorothy, perhaps you should get some sleep."

  "You should call me Dotty," she said.

  "No, I love the name Dorothy," I said.

  "Will you come again, tomorrow night?" she asked.

  "Yes, of course. That's what I do. Will you tell your mother?"

  "Oh, no, she doesn't believe in ghosts. Neither does Daddy."

  "Okay Dorothy, sleep well."

  Then I disappeared.

  Chapter Two

  I came to Dorothy the next night. I began with heavy breathing, then low whining and quiet squeals, but eventually I had to shake her to wake her.

  "Oh, hello Whisper," she said. "I'm happy you're back. Did you sleep well?"

  "I don't sleep," I said. "I'm awake all the time."

  "That is so sad. People need to sleep sometime."

  "Ah, but I'm not people. I'm a ghost."

  "Oh, a ghost that doesn't sleep."

  "How do you know that?" I said.

  "Because you just told me."

  "Ah, well, I forgot that I told you. My mind is sometimes forgetful of things that I say."

  "Yes, I can see that."

  "See what?"

  I laughed and Dorothy laughed and we spent an hour just telling stories and laughing and having so much fun. Then I said she should sleep and I left.

  These wonderful people stayed in my Haunted House for more than three years ... then they left. The night before they left, Dorothy and I cried.

  "I will always remember you Whisper," she said, between tears.

  "Me, too, Dorothy," I said, sobbing. "If you should ever be in the neighbourhood, will you drop by to say hello?"

  "Oh yes, I will, I will," she said.

  "Okay then. Now, you must get your sleep because you have a busy day tomorrow."

  Then I disappeared.

  I watched them go from the small attic window. Just before Dorothy got into the car she looked up and waved. That was the last I saw of little Dorothy.

  For the next twenty years, my Haunted House was empty. Mama came to visit often, to cheer me up because I was so sad and lonely. She made me practise my ghostly sounds, but I wasn't interested. There was no one to scare. Mama told me that my House had a bad reputation in town and nobody wanted to live here.

  Then, one day, a Sunday I think, a big truck arrived and furniture was brought into my House and I waited to see if there were any children. I saw a mother and father and a young girl and I was so happy. I would visit the young girl that very night.

  At midnight I went to the girl's room and began to whine and groan, but she was wide awake.

  "Hello, Whisper," she said. "My name is Sylvia."

  "Did I tell you my name already," I said.

  "No, my Mommy told me your name. She said you would visit me so I waited until you came. I am so happy to meet you."

  "I am happy to meet you, too," I said. "My name is ..."

  "Your name is Whisper," she said, giggling.

  "How did you know that? Did I tell you?"

  "No," Sylvia said. "My mother told me."

  Then Sylvia cried out: "Mommy! Whisper is here!"

  The door to her room opened.

  Dorothy stood there, a big smile on her face.

  I was happier than I have ever been.

  Loch Ness: I was there as a young man. By volume, it's the largest loch in Scotland. It's almost 800 feet deep and is the home of Nessie, the so-called Loc
h Ness monster. I know that Nessie is there because I saw her as a young man, on vacation, sixty years ago. Now, at my advanced age, I would like to see her again. My wife died two years ago and my three children have moved to Canada...so I bought a cottage on the loch. I will spend my last days there, gazing at the waters of the loch and hoping to see Nessie.

  My feeling has always been that Nessie spends much of her time in the bay by Urquhart Castle. The water is shallower and there are shallow water plants that Nessie can eat. I will bring binoculars and I will also spend time by the water's edge, on a bench that I will build. It will be delightful–even more so if Nessie comes to visit.

  I sold all my local assets, moved my money to a bank in Drumnadrochit under my name of Danny Mackenzie and left for the cottage in the early morning. The cottage was exactly what I had hoped it would be. A wood cabin with kitchen, living and sleeping areas and bathroom and a wonderful view of the loch. There was a small bench in back of the cabin which I dragged to the water's edge. I spent two hours just gazing at the loch. It was delightful.

  I visited the water every day for two weeks, sometimes in the late afternoon, sometimes midday, sometimes in the early evening, but I really expected Nessie to show up in the very early morning. I'm not sure why I thought that, but my intuition was correct because in the third week, at the break of day, I heard the splashing and the low honking. I rushed to my bench and saw Nessie vanish beneath the surface. The very next morning I went down before the sun came up and waited. That is when Nessie poked her head above the surface. She stared at me for a long time, then began to nibble on the shrubs on the shore. After just a few minutes, she vanished again.

  I was surprised to see her eating the plants on land, so the next morning I broke off a bunch of branches from the mulberry bushes that grew alongside the cabin and brought them to the loch. When Nessie appeared, I held out the branches. She honked and ate them all in one mouthful. I was delighted.

  For six months Ness and I saw each other every morning, rain or shine. I even planted mulberry bushes by the water's edge for her. Ness would honk in the early morning to let me know she had arrived. She loved to have her head scratched. Sometimes I'd walk into the water and climb onto her back. It was quite slippery but she seemed to enjoy my attention. I had a feeling that Ness was a very lonely creature.

  One day I felt down and out. I was getting too old and I was dying. It had become difficult for me to walk down to the water, so this would be the final time. Ness was there and she seemed to realize that we were meeting for the last time. I lay by the water, feeling the life ebb out of me. Ness reached out and I scratched her head, then she gently pulled me into the water. As I slipped beneath the surface everything went dark, yet I could hear Ness's quiet honk ...

  **********************

  Doctor Campbell stood by the side of the bed, gazing down at the limp body of Daniel Mackenzie.

  "After six months in a coma," he said, "It's a blessing that he passed away last night."

  Nurse Anderson was crying.

  "Mr. Mackenzie would sometimes wake from his coma and talk ... mumble, actually. Something about bringing mulberries to someone called Ness."

  Chapter One

  I loved that guy. Yes, he was a serial killer, but he had evaded the police for years and he left notes with each victim, quotes from Shakespeare, so they called him "the Bard". That was pretty neat.

  I imagine that killing someone, knowing that you were in control, that someone's life depended upon your whim and fancy, I guess that would be pretty special. I had always been mocked and laughed at. I was small, skinny and not too good-looking, I guess. In school they made fun of me. I was bullied and ridiculed. Even my parents seemed to complain about my lack of athletic ability, my inability to make friends, my meek nature. Let's face it, I was a wimp. If I were to kill someone then I would gain respect. My victim would look up to me. He or she would be afraid, would beg, would ask forgiveness. I would be like a God, contemplating life or death. I really felt that I should try it.

  I decided to look for victims on the Internet. There were so many places where you could meet people, send messages back and forth, arrange to meet. I found one that seemed ideal for my purposes: meeting-place.com.

  I registered under some fictitious name. I knew no Shakespeare but wanted to mimic the Bard, so I called myself: the Poet. I would leave a poem with each victim. I already had my first poem:

  He weeps, he cries

  He kneels on the floor

  And then he dies

  And cries no more

  Yes, I had decided to kill a man. Girls are naturally frightened, that's their nature. But having a guy afraid, begging for mercy, now that'd be something. I signed onto that Internet site and mentioned that I was interested in a male companion. He need not be handsome, but he must have a good physique and a sense of humour. The part about the physique was necessary. I didn't want some wimp, like me. If I had some big strong guy kneel to me, that'd be insane, fantastic, awesome.

  I waited nearly a week without a response, then I modified my request, noting that I was quite rich and intended to enjoy the company of a male friend in exotic places. It took less than twenty-four hours to get a dozen responses. One, in particular, looked great. The guy said he was over six feet tall, played football in college and was eager to meet me.

  I sent him a private message, giving him a date and time and the name of a motel on the edge of town. I was there a half hour early, booking the motel room for the night. I waited in the parking lot. I left my gun in the motel room. I felt a gun would be safer, more frightening than say, a knife. With a knife I could get hurt. A big guy might attack me and … well, a gun was so much more reasonable. Who wouldn't be scared when looking down the barrel of a revolver?

  My Internet friend arrived right on time, We shook hands. He was a big guy and I was delighted and nervous and excited as I lead him to the room. We sat, I opened the bottle of wine and we sipped as we chatted. He said he was new to this Internet dating game, but was pleased to meet me. I said much the same thing. He talked of his days in college, his girl friends and his work as a real estate salesman. I said very little. I was actually a bit nervous. After we finished half the wine I thought I should pull out my gun and threaten him. I was eager to see this big guy grovel.

  He seemed to anticipate my movements because he pulled out a gun as well. Then we stared at each other, each surprised, each pointing a revolver at the other. It was surreal.

  "They call me the poet," I said, setting a piece of paper on the table.

  "They call me the Bard," he said, setting a piece of paper on the table.

  Chapter One

  Sergeant Reynolds said it was the strangest homicide he had seen. Two guys in a motel room, each with fatal bullet wound in the head, and two pieces of paper on the table.

  One read:

  He weeps, he cries

  He kneels on the floor

  And then he dies

  And cries no more

  The other read:

  So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men,

  And Death once dead, there’s no more dying then.

  Chapter One

  In the city it was hot, crowded and noisy. It took me an hour to get to work; bumper-to-bumper traffic. And I don't remember its being so malodorous. I've lived here all my life, but the smell seems so much worse. And the noise … why was it necessary to honk your horn every few minutes?

  I lived in a very nice condo on Maple Avenue with a park in back. On weekends, I often sit on my balcony and gaze at the trees, the green, green grass and the gardens. If I had a cabin right there, in those woods, that'd be idyllic. I was there now, on that balcony, gazing at that park and I raised my glass of wine and toasted the peace and quiet that flowed from the park. Sandy was sleeping. I knew that he enjoyed the quiet. He was an eight-year-old Yorkie and my constant companion.

  But why couldn't we have such a place of quiet solitude, Sandy
and I? I set my glass on the table and went inside to grab the weekend news. Sandy didn't budge. Then I opened the paper at Cottages for Sale, sipped my wine and browsed. I couldn't believe the cost of simple, two bedroom bungalows on the lake. My job as store manager at Sobey's paid well, but I couldn't afford a half-million dollar cottage. I turned to Cottages for Rent and found a nice place on north shore Lake Erie, by a little town called Dunnville. Never heard of it, but it seemed a pretty place, judging by the pictures I found by googling. The cottage was awesome: right on the lake, a sandy beach, washer, dryer, WiFi, every kitchen appliance and, most important, pet friendly. I knew that Sandy would love it.

  I rented the place for two weeks in June. Since there were grocery stores in Dunnville, I brought just the most important stuff with me: dog food, clothes, toothbrush and beer. The key, I was told, would be hanging on a nail under the front porch. I suspected that every cottage on that lake had a hidden key. When I opened the door, Sandy bounded in and began barking. I knew he was excited. I gazed out back and saw a thousand water birds on the lake: seagull, cormorant, grebe, merganser and even a great blue heron. Since I enjoyed painting wildlife, this would be a great two weeks.

  I had picked up a few things in Dunnville: two frozen pizzas, a half dozen TV dinners, several cans of soup and bags of frozen peas and carrots. Our first dinner was on the deck, facing the lake, watching the sun go down. I couldn't be happier.