1. Ghost in the Coffee Machine-5
302 Words
“K-k-aty? Are you there?”
The call comes at nine in the morning, on a day so sunny and bright, only the most dedicated pessimist could remain that way. Since I have all my overdue bills spread out on the dining room table, I’m well on my way to joining their ranks.
“Sadie?” It sounds like her, but I’ve never heard her voice so shaky.
“Please hurry.”
“What’s going on? Where are you?”
“My porch. They won’t let me inside.”
“Who won’t?”
“The ghosts.”
“Why don’t you call Malcolm?” The question comes out sharp, laced with acid and jealousy.
“He’s t-trapped inside.”
“Trapped?”
“Dead?” Sadie’s voice hitches.
“Ghosts don’t ...” Kill. No, normally ghosts don’t. But they can. “I’ll be right over.”
The second I pull the half and half from the fridge and give it a good whiff, I realize right over isn’t happening. I toss the reeking carton into the garbage and head to the canister with the beans. A few lone ones rattle in the bottom. I haven’t been back to the Coffee Depot since my disastrous interview, but it looks like I’ll be stopping there today.
With the percolator strapped in its seat, a four-pound bag of sugar snug against it, and several containers of half and half on the truck’s floor, I run two red lights on my way to the Coffee Depot. By the time the little bell above the door stops jingling, the assistant manager is rounding the counter. He stalks forward, arms loaded down with bags of coffee beans. He skids to a halt and shoves the beans at me.
“But—” I begin.
He holds up a cell phone. On the screen, a message reads:
Malcolm: Give her anything she wants.
Still uncertain, I blink at the words. In my arms, I hold everything I want, or at least need. For now. I head for the door.
“Call or text if you need a resupply,” the assistant manager shouts after me. “I’ll have someone run it over.”
The door whooshes closed before I can say thanks.
- Writer
