Category: Fiction Factor

Standing at the edge of the bed with the fur on his back standing at attention, Chester unleashed a series of ear-piercing barks. Those poses – and noises – were not uncommon for the high-spirited chihuahua, but such behavior at 3:45 a.m. on a Tuesday certainly was.

The ruckus caused both June Stockton and her husband, Belk, to rouse from their slumber.

“What is it, Chester?” Belk asked, rubbing his eyes. “What’s the matter, buddy?”

This time the couple heard the noise – three sharp knocks on the front door.

“Nobody should be knocking this late,” June said. “Or this early.”

Their “home protection system” consisted of an aluminum softball bat that occupied the corner of the bedroom near Belk, and he grabbed the weapon and raced toward the door. A look through the peephole revealed nothing, and when he returned to the bedroom, he saw that June had separated two blinds with her right finger and thumb to get a peek outside herself.

“I don’t see anything,” she said. “How about you?”

Belk shook his head.

“Not a thing. There was nobody out there … and it’s not like we have any bushes big enough for them to hide in.”

Chester had lost interest in the drama and returned to his spot under the covers.

“Could we be mistaken?” June wondered. “I mean, we both think we heard a knock, but we were barely awake. Plus, we’ve lived here less than a year. I suppose it could be house noises we aren’t accustomed to yet.”

“Well, Chester heard something … and I’m pretty sure that something was a knock on the door – three knocks. That’s a strange prank to play on someone, though, especially in the dead of night. I’m gonna go out the back door and sneak toward the front yard and look around.”

When he did, Belk spied nothing unusual. The cul-de-sac was quiet and, best he could figure, all the occupants were inside their own homes. He made his way back in to the bedroom, placed the bat in its customary spot and crawled back onto bed. He leaned over and gave June a kiss on the cheek.

“It’s way too early to get up,” he said. “Let’s try to get at least a couple more hours sleep … if they come back, I’m pretty sure Chester will let us know.”

By morning the incident had been mostly forgotten, and when the pair turned the lights out for the evening, it was never mentioned.

Then came the barking at 3:45 a.m. on Wednesday.

Just as had occurred the night before, Belk and June were startled awake by Chester’s frantic yapping, which preceded three more sharp knocks on the door. This time Belk wasted no time. He snatched the bat from the corner, raced to the front door and quickly pulled it open.

When he did, he was greeted by … absolutely nothing.

He ran several feet out onto the sidewalk and surveyed the yard, but no creature stirred.

He came back in, made sure to lock the door after slamming it shut, and shrugged.

“Gotta give ‘em  credit,” he said. “Whoever it is, they’re quite the speedster. The second they finished knocking they must’ve ran off like a bat outta hell.”

“Later today we should check with the neighbors and find out if something similar has been happening to them,” June said. “It’s just … just really unsettling.”

After breakfast Belk grabbed the trash bin at the back of the driveway and pulled up toward the street for pickup. His next door neighbor, Andrew, was doing the same.

“Morning!” Andrew shouted, giving Belk a wave.

“Morning. Hey, Andrew … have you guys had anything weird happening in the middle of the night?

“How do you mean?”

“Well, two nights in a row somebody has knocked on our door at a quarter of four. Chester starts barking like crazy, but by the time I get there they’re gone. I thought maybe somebody was pranking everybody in the cul de sac. Guess it’s just us.”

Andrew raised his brow.

“That’s funny … well, funny odd,” he said. “The old guy that used to live in your house – Paul Proctor was his name – he’d come home blind drunk in the middle of the night and couldn’t ever seem to get his keys to work. He’d wind up banging on the door so his wife would have to let him in. He had a dog, too, and it would start barking, and that’s what woke her up. She’d come open the door for him and man, she’d get so pissed. He drank a lot, so it happened a lot.”

Belk rubbed his chin.

“Drunks do stupid stuff. Could it be the guy still drinks at a bar around here? If that’s the case, maybe he thinks he still lives here.”

Andrew laughed.

“I seriously doubt that,” Andrew said. “Paul just passed away. As a matter of fact, I think his funeral was on Monday.”

The “Open” sign on the door at Bespoke Wishcasting, Inc., illuminated promptly at 9 a.m. Once it did, Cuthbert Tiffany sauntered in and gave the place a quick once-over. The two employees, wearing light blue golf shirts bearing the company logo, recognized him immediately.

And who wouldn’t? Thanks to a monumental family fortune he inherited when he turned 21, Tiffany was the richest man in the world – by far – and made sure everyone knew it. He owned the largest yacht ever built (for a laugh, he named it the S.S. Minnow); oversaw construction of the tallest building on the planet (the Tiffany Tower in Qatar, which had plenty of space but, to date, no occupants); and even formed the World Elite Amateur Sailing League, in which players paid $1 million per event for the privilege of participating. He, in fact, served as president of WEASL as well as player-coach of the Martha’s Vinyard Diamond Deckers.

He had almost everything, but it was the “almost” part that bedeviled him.

That’s where Bespoke Wishcasting, Inc., came in.

For a price – and that price varied depending on the job – the friendly Wishcasters at the company could give you anything you requested.

A trip to the moon? No problem … the rocket would be fueled and ready for launch in no time. A spot in the Indianapolis 500? They’d make sure you had the car and the crew to run toward the front during time trials. A bestselling novel? Write whatever you like and it’ll fly off the shelves. If you named it and claimed it – and had the money to pay for it – it was all yours.

And what Tiffany wanted was Penelope Garner, his high school flame who was now married with a family and living abroad. He had contacted her several times over the years in hopes of luring her away from what he called “her dull life,” but to no avail. She wasn’t just uninterested in him – she had gone so far as to file a restraining order to make sure he stayed away.

That was fine … Tiffany wanted a fresh start anyway, and the only way to get it was to travel back to May 25, 1979, and get a do-over prom date with Penelope.

“So, who runs the show here?” asked Tiffany, staring at the workers.

 “I’m Bernadine and this is my brother, Basil,” said the young woman as she stepped from behind the sparkling white counter and extended her hand. “I’ll be glad to assist you, Mr. Tiffany.”

“Yeah, I don’t do handshakes,” he said, waving her off. “Look, you people have a reputation for being able to do what no one else can do, and I’m gonna give you a chance to prove it. But before I waste my time, I need to know if you have reliable time travel capabilities.”

“Absolutely,” Basil said, without hesitation. “It’s quite expensive, of course, but I’m assuming that won’t be a problem for you.”

“You assume correctly. What I want is to be transported about 47 years in the past, to May 25, 1979. I even have the exact time for you … 6:12 p.m., Eastern Daylight Time. And the address in 312 Wisteria Commons Drive.”

Bernadine walked over to a computer, made a series of clicks, and smiled.

“OK,” she said. “You want to travel to the home of Gavin Garner, circa 1979. That shouldn’t be a problem in the least. I do need to know the reason for your visit … time travel is more than just a flash of light and a whoosh … we have to have data points.”

Tiffany shrugged.

“Whatever. I’m going back to take Gavin Garner’s daughter, Penelope, to the senior prom. The last time I tried it, things went sideways pretty quickly.”

“How so?” Bernadine asked.

“Is that really any of your business?”

“No, sir, none of mine,” Bernadine said. “But it’s part of the time travel business. To make this work, I have to know everything you remember. In other words, I need you to describe everything that happened on that date and that time.”

Tiffany let out a long sigh.

“OK, I rang the bell and her father answered the door – I had never met him before. Well, I had kinda met him before, but I didn’t realize he was Penelope’s dad.”

“Kinda met him?”

“He was a garbage man … you know, I guess they call them sanitation workers now. Anyway, I’d see him picking up our trash and you know – I was just a kid messing around – I’d throw quarters at him and yell things like, “How does it feel to be around rich people, Mr. Smelley? It was just a goof.”

Bernadine typed in the info.

“So, did he recognize you when you came to pick up Penelope?”

“He did … he did, indeed. Looked at Penelope and said, ‘Penny, this is the young man who likes to throw quarters at me.” Her face turned red and she slammed the door in my face.”

Bernadine nodded.

“So, I suspect you want to go back in time and apologize to Mr. Garner?”

Tiffany huffed.

“Hell, no. I wanna stick my foot in the door and tell Penelope I’m the richest man in the world and can make her the luckiest girl in the world. Once she knows she can spend her life with a billionaire genius and get away from garbage daddy, I’ll finally get everything I want. So, how soon can you portal me or zap me or whatever it is you people do?”

“It usually takes a couple of hours to get everything set up,” Basil said. “But considering who you are, we’ll do it right away. The fee is $57 billion. Something like this is normally $58 billion, but you’re our first customer today, so you get a discount. Once the transaction is done, you’ll just step into the Dematerialization Zone, which is that circle on the floor next to the counter. Once we activate it, you’ll see it glow, spin and hear a whir, and you’ll feel slightly dizzy. In roughly 10 seconds, you’ll be on the porch of the Garner residence at exactly 6:12 p.m. on May 25, 1979.”

Tiffany hastily pulled out his phone, transferred the money to the Bespoke Wishcasting, Inc., account, and stepped inside the circle.

“Do it,” he snapped.

Just as Basil said, within 10 seconds of the glow, spin and whir, Tiffany dematerialized and was transported to the time and destination of his choice.

When the process was complete, Bernadine and Basil looked at each other and broke into laughter.

“Oh, how I wish I could be there,” Bernadine said. “Just to see the look on Cuthbert’s face when he realizes he’s a 65-year old man trying to take a 17-year old to the prom. He really didn’t think this one through, did he? Now he’s stuck there and his money’s here. So much for being a billionaire genius.”

“Forget his face,” Basil said, flashing a huge smile. “Imagine granddad’s … and mom’s. Let’s call her and see if she remembers … I want details.”

Gavin made his way to the espresso machine, as he did in the wee hours of every morning, and noticed the door to the cabinet above it was open. When the lights went out the night before, it was closed – he was sure of it.

Sometimes, the machine itself had shifted from the left side of the counter to the right.

Occasionally, the wooden spoon beside the stove would inexplicably find its way to the floor.

And hand towels?

They were just as likely to be hanging from a whirring ceiling fan in the den than folded neatly by the sink.

Of course, he was used to such shenanigans by now.

It can be confounding – and even unsettling – for those unfamiliar with the spirit world. But Gavin had grown accustomed to the work of the home’s poltergeist, and he had become well-acquainted with the disruptor he called “Paulie.”

“So, Paulie, why did you open the cabinet?” Gavin asked.

Paulie, whose appearance was similar to a cluster of glowing white cotton balls, rounded the hallway and entered the kitchen, hovering just a few feet from Gavin.

“Why not?” Paulie said. “That’s one of the tricks of the trade in the poltergeist game. Sometimes, you do just enough to make people wonder … make them spend some time trying to figure out how something happened and knowing that they never will. It’s a hoot.”

Poltergeists had developed a bad reputation in modern times, thanks in large part to the 1980s movies. Instead of being merely mischievous, they were portrayed as malevolent in the films.

“Look, you have to remember those Poltergeist movies were written by someone who had never encountered an actual poltergeist,” Paulie told Gavin during one of their first meetings. “We don’t attack people, and we certainly don’t kidnap them. That’s just Hollywood nonsense. That said, we have great respect for JoBeth Williams. We’ve forgiven her for taking part in the anti-poltergeist propaganda, although the one at her place likes to hide her Saturn Award from time to time.”

Once Paulie became a regular visitor, Gavin was more comfortable with their interactions – and more curious.

Gavin wondered how and why they picked certain houses, and the explanation was unexpected.

“It’s really more of a zip code and aesthetic thing than anything else,” Paulie explained. “We all get assigned territories, and once we find an area we like, we just randomly pick houses. I’m partial to garden homes, like this one … don’t really know why.  Guess I just like courtyards and patios.”

Gavin had noticed that Paulie moved things around but never made them permanently disappear. He wanted to know if – on occasion – poltergeists resorted to thievery.

“Nah, you can get in trouble with the home office for stealing stuff,” Paulie said. “Although I will admit that a few years back, I was messing around in a guy’s toolshed and he had, like, 40 hammers. I mean, who needs 40 hammers?  I took one of them and moved it to this duplex down the street, but then I realized that could get me suspended, so I put it back. I ended up shoving it between his mattress and box springs, though. Took the dude nearly two years to find it, and he still has no clue how it got there.”

Gavin examined the rest of the kitchen, peeked into the living room, and even checked the closets to see what else Paulie had been up to. On this particular morning, it appeared that the open cabinet was the only sign of poltergeist activity.

“Well, I guess we’ll do this again tomorrow.” Gavin said. “One question I’ve been meaning to ask, though … what’s the difference between a poltergeist and a regular house ghost?”

Paulie casually glided back and forth through Gavin’s translucent form.

“You’ve been haunting this place for a few months now, buddy … you tell me.”