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Authors: Dan Poblocki
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her.
“Well I saw her too,” said Mrs. Moriarty. The store went silent, all eyes on the deli counter. She smiled as if on stage. “Clear as day, I saw her. Well … as clear as day in the middle of the night.”
“You saw Ursula Chambers,” Cassidy repeated.
Reminders of the past popping up like ghosts.
“In my living room.” Mrs. Moriarty motioned with her index finger across her heart. “Around eight o’clock. Swear on my husband’s grave.”
Literally.
Cassidy immediately stepped closer, a dull pain jabbing her ribcage. Rose took her hand. “Wow, look at the time,” she said, quietly. “Our sandwiches —”
“Now, I’m not proud to admit this next part.” Mrs. Moriarty put both hands on the counter and leaned forward. “But my son-in-law told me that the mirror was perfectly fine and that if he hadn’t taken it from the pile in front of her house, they would have simply tossed it out with the rest of her garbage.” She shook her head, imagining the atrocity. “It’s a lovely thing, gorgeous actually. Old wood, perfect little roses carved into the corners. Owen said there’d be treasure in those Dumpsters, and he was right. Yesterday, after he left my house, I placed Ursula’s mirror on top of my bedroom dresser. It matches perfectly.
“Anyway, I’d been watching my game shows and falling asleep in my chair when I heard a noise behind me. I turned and that’s when I saw her. Ursula was standing in my bedroom doorway.”
“You must have been dreaming,” Rose said, clutching her arms across her chest.
“Maybe I was,” said Mrs. Moriarty. “Somehow, I knew why she’d come. Ursula wanted me to bring that mirror back to her house. I think I heard her voice in my head. But she was threatening me. No doubt about it.”
“That is creepy!” said a woman sitting at one of the deli tables. “What are you going to do?”
Mrs. Moriarty returned to the open submarine roll and slathered it with mayonnaise. “I don’t know.” She smiled, as if her story were merely a joke now, an anecdote she’d tell for years. “I guess I’ll see if she comes again tonight. If she really wants her mirror back that badly, she can take it herself. I certainly don’t have the time to go traipsing through a garbage heap to appease some dead nut job.”
Cassidy flinched at the word. Then goose bumps poked up along the back of her neck. She felt a presence and turned to see Joey standing only a few feet away.
When Rose caught Joey’s eye, her expression went limp.
He pressed his lips together. Cassidy read his thoughts: It’s okay for you to talk about ghosts, but when I do it …
His mother stepped toward him, reaching for his hand, but Joey had already backed into one of the aisles, making his way to the exit.
In the car, on the way home, Rose turned up the radio and bounced in her seat, as if on the verge of forcing rainbows to stream from her ears. Cassidy knew what she was doing: trying to make them forget everything they’d just heard. Turning into their neighborhood, she shouted over the thrumming beat of an obnoxious pop song, “What say you we close the windows, turn up the AC, and watch some videos this afternoon? Sound like fun?”
To Cassidy’s surprise, Joey nodded yes.
“T HE MAN DOES NOT AGE ,” Millie said to herself, sitting in the cushy blue reclining chair in the corner of her living room. The man she spoke of was the host of a game show, the one with the wheel that glimmered and spun on her television screen. “If only I were so lucky!” She chuckled, then glanced at the purple rocker on the other side of the room where, once, her husband and the love of her life would have heard her declaration and nodded in agreement. Too true, Millie , Georgie Moriarty would have responded. Of course, he’d have also told her that she was beautiful just as she was.
For decades, Mildred Moriarty had been known to her customers as Mrs. Moriarty, but to lovely old Georgie, she’d always
“Well I saw her too,” said Mrs. Moriarty. The store went silent, all eyes on the deli counter. She smiled as if on stage. “Clear as day, I saw her. Well … as clear as day in the middle of the night.”
“You saw Ursula Chambers,” Cassidy repeated.
Reminders of the past popping up like ghosts.
“In my living room.” Mrs. Moriarty motioned with her index finger across her heart. “Around eight o’clock. Swear on my husband’s grave.”
Literally.
Cassidy immediately stepped closer, a dull pain jabbing her ribcage. Rose took her hand. “Wow, look at the time,” she said, quietly. “Our sandwiches —”
“Now, I’m not proud to admit this next part.” Mrs. Moriarty put both hands on the counter and leaned forward. “But my son-in-law told me that the mirror was perfectly fine and that if he hadn’t taken it from the pile in front of her house, they would have simply tossed it out with the rest of her garbage.” She shook her head, imagining the atrocity. “It’s a lovely thing, gorgeous actually. Old wood, perfect little roses carved into the corners. Owen said there’d be treasure in those Dumpsters, and he was right. Yesterday, after he left my house, I placed Ursula’s mirror on top of my bedroom dresser. It matches perfectly.
“Anyway, I’d been watching my game shows and falling asleep in my chair when I heard a noise behind me. I turned and that’s when I saw her. Ursula was standing in my bedroom doorway.”
“You must have been dreaming,” Rose said, clutching her arms across her chest.
“Maybe I was,” said Mrs. Moriarty. “Somehow, I knew why she’d come. Ursula wanted me to bring that mirror back to her house. I think I heard her voice in my head. But she was threatening me. No doubt about it.”
“That is creepy!” said a woman sitting at one of the deli tables. “What are you going to do?”
Mrs. Moriarty returned to the open submarine roll and slathered it with mayonnaise. “I don’t know.” She smiled, as if her story were merely a joke now, an anecdote she’d tell for years. “I guess I’ll see if she comes again tonight. If she really wants her mirror back that badly, she can take it herself. I certainly don’t have the time to go traipsing through a garbage heap to appease some dead nut job.”
Cassidy flinched at the word. Then goose bumps poked up along the back of her neck. She felt a presence and turned to see Joey standing only a few feet away.
When Rose caught Joey’s eye, her expression went limp.
He pressed his lips together. Cassidy read his thoughts: It’s okay for you to talk about ghosts, but when I do it …
His mother stepped toward him, reaching for his hand, but Joey had already backed into one of the aisles, making his way to the exit.
In the car, on the way home, Rose turned up the radio and bounced in her seat, as if on the verge of forcing rainbows to stream from her ears. Cassidy knew what she was doing: trying to make them forget everything they’d just heard. Turning into their neighborhood, she shouted over the thrumming beat of an obnoxious pop song, “What say you we close the windows, turn up the AC, and watch some videos this afternoon? Sound like fun?”
To Cassidy’s surprise, Joey nodded yes.
“T HE MAN DOES NOT AGE ,” Millie said to herself, sitting in the cushy blue reclining chair in the corner of her living room. The man she spoke of was the host of a game show, the one with the wheel that glimmered and spun on her television screen. “If only I were so lucky!” She chuckled, then glanced at the purple rocker on the other side of the room where, once, her husband and the love of her life would have heard her declaration and nodded in agreement. Too true, Millie , Georgie Moriarty would have responded. Of course, he’d have also told her that she was beautiful just as she was.
For decades, Mildred Moriarty had been known to her customers as Mrs. Moriarty, but to lovely old Georgie, she’d always
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