[This is the first section of this story I have written. The story itself is a horror story and looks (so far) like it will be a good one. I was literally shaking with anticipation as I wrote this during my lunch break yesterday, shooing away coworkers who only wanted to kill time and talk to me. "I have more important things to do right now." I said. Sometimes it sucks to know a writer.]
“Horseshit.”
“You may want to rephrase that, Lucas.” Ronnie cautioned.
“You sit there straight-faced and try to tell me that both you and your hippie mother talk to ghosts and they TALK BACK?”
“More or less. But everyone can talk to ghosts. They only talk back to the ones that want to hear them.”
“I want to hear them.”
“Um.” Ronnie looked at his mother who smiled and and nodded her permission. “Are you sure? This isn't a jar of peanut butter you're opening here. This door's a little harder to close .”
“Don't care. OKAY Ghost. I want to know what happened to Caroline's patient...”
“...That's too easy...” Ronnie laughed.
“...AND to increase the degree of difficulty,” Lucas continued, “I want you to tell me by fax, I want you to throw something, say it on the radio, the television and the telephone.”
Ronnie covered his eyes with his hand, shook his head and sighed.
The two stared at each other. Ronnie wore a look of knowing regret. Lucas wore a confident smile, convinced his new friend and his strange mother would soon be discredited.
Three minutes passed with no reaction from the ghost.
“You see? Nothing. Full of shit, just...” The lights flickered off and relit at a fraction of their intended brilliance. The television sparked to life with a late night used car salesman.
“I don't care what we gotta do....” the salesman screamed and the televiosion fell dark and silent just as fast as it came to life.
In the corner, a beaten up weather radio's dial lit with an eerie glow.
“This time we are GOING to MAKE them Listen!” the angry conservative radio host bellowed as the radio once more went dark and fell silent.
The fax machine sputtered and hissed as it began to disgorge a single piece of paper. As the sheet left the disconnected device, it bore only the picture of a bottle of poison, complete with the skull and crossbones.
Lucas took these events without trying to hide outward expression of the fear that now gripped him.
riiiiing. riiiiing. riiiiing.
“You going to get that, Luc?” Ronnie smiled.
Lucas picked up the phone, grasping the receiver as if it weighed fifty pounds and placed it to his ear as a voice that otherwise would have been mistaken as wind whistling through dark and wet treetops said, “M u r r r r d u u u u u r.........b u u t...n o t........b y.........h e r r r r r ….”
He dropped the phone, his face drained of all its previous signs of arrogance and composure.
“You forgot to throw something.” Ronnie said.
A rubber duck flung itself across the room, striking Lucas in the chest and falling to the floor. He looked as if he had just been hit in the chest at point blank range with buckshot.
“That one's always been a bit of a smartass.” Ronnie said. “Sorry.”
