'Night Krall?'
I was shocked.
I was about to say something to the Baron, but I could see that he had already died again.
My mind immediately shifted to other topics.
'What had happened to Ethel Sueann?'
'How did the Baron know my name?'
'Why was Russell kissing me?'
'What is that awful smell?'
I lifted my arm and sniffed.
"Shit. I really need a shower."
It suddenly struck me that I had nothing with me at all.
"I need to get to my apartment and get my shit."
I went to the ensuite. There was towels and such there and I could just put on my same clothes.
I turned on the shower, closed and locked the door ...
I have no idea why I did that, considering the only people here were ghosts and doors were really not an issue for them.
... and I undressed.
The water was perfect. There was soap and shampoo and even conditioner on a shelf in the shower. And it didn't look like it had been there 20 years.
There was definitely something strange about this place.
"Ya think, Krall," I laughed aloud.
Ghosts, talking crows, creaking doors ...
Creaking doors?
Why was I hearing a creaking door?
A creaking door that I had locked.
Why is the shower scene from 'Psycho' playing in my head?
"Hello," I said, gingerly. "Norman?"
Why did I say that name?
Why do I keep asking myself questions?
"Is there anybody out there?"
Why did I sing that line?
Damn you 'Pink Floyd'.
"Hello."
I heard the door close again.
I turned off the shower and opened the curtain, just enough to peek into the room.
Nothing.
Well almost nothing.
There, neatly folded on the vanity, was clothes.
Jeans, underwear, socks and a shirt.
I stepped out of the shower and stared around.
No one.
I tried the underwear.
They fit.
I tried the socks.
They fit.
Yes, I put socks on second.
Really, think about it. You pull on your jeans and then struggle to put on your socks and ...
Never mind.
Jeans and shirt fit perfectly. And it all looked brand new.
I slipped on my running shoes and went back into the bedroom.
The Baron was still dead on the bed and there was no other ghosts to be seen.
I hurried downstairs to the common room.
Harold and Calvin were no where to be seen. My cell phone was still on the bar.
I picked it up and called the local cab company.
"There is a cab on the way. Left about 20 minutes ago."
"Really?"
I heard a horn honk, from outside.
Calvin walked out of the wall.
"There is a taxi cab outside."
"Thank you Calvin."
"My name is George," the man on the other end of the phone said.
"I wasn't talking to you," I said, politely.
"WELL FINE THEN. Just be like that. Do you know what it is like to be a taxi dispatcher in a town like this. We get maybe 3 calls a day. We only have 2 cabs.
I just get lonely. No one talks to me, you know. day after day after day."
I pressed the end button.
"I will be back as soon as I can. Please don't destroy the place or burn the place down."
Calvin nodded as he cleaned his glasses.
"I will look after things, Krall."
I took a deep breath and nodded. Exactly what I feared.
"Okay."
I hurried out the door. I was about to lock it, but thought, 'why bother'.
The taxi was waiting just outside my gate.
I got in and before I could even say hello, he roared out of the driveway and down the road.
"Fifty dollars," he gasped at me.
"Kinda pricy isn't it?"
He slammed on the brakes. I slammed into the front seats.
"Fuck."
"Fifty bucks or you walk."
I nodded, dazed.
He held out his hand.
"Now?"
He turned to me.
"Now," he repeated.
I hoped I had $50 bucks on me.
I opened my wallet.
Of course I did.
I passed it to him and was about to sit back, when once again he tore off down the road, sending me backwards into my seat.
I decided to hell with the seat belt.
This idiot was probably going to kill us anyway.
He never spoke, or slowed down, until we were off the road to my house and back on the main road that led back to town.
"Where to?"
"23 Maplecotton Avenue."
We were there in about fifteen minutes.
As soon as I stepped outside, he burned rubber down the street.
A busy residential street.
"Idiot," I muttered, as I headed toward old Lady Parsons' house.
"A garden sale."
I picked up some of the t-shirts on a table.
My t-shirts.
"One dollar apiece," an old lady's voice said.
I looked up. It was an old lady, but not old lady Parsons.
"These are my shirts," I informed her.
"I don't think so sonny. They belonged to the young man who used to rent my sister's apartment."
"I am that young man."
She shook her head.
"No. I don't think so. He died."
"DIED.
DO I LOOK DIED?"
"Is there a problem here?"
I looked up to see Officer Seaman.
I smiled.
"Am I ever glad to see you."
"Is this man giving you a hard time?" he asked the old lady.
"He claims these are his t-shirts."
Officer Seaman shook his head.
"These belonged to Krall Jones. He died."
"Do I look died?"
"No," he said shaking his head.
"Thank God."
"But you are not Krall Jones either."