[Critique Group 2] Leonard's comments on Alice's work

[tuchyner5 at aol.com]

An intriguing story. 



Why did you call it fictional. 



You wrote it as  though itwas very real, in a journalistic manner. 



What is the fictitional part?



The fact that I have to ask these questions 



is a testimony to your writing. 



Even though you say it was fictional  



(somewhat), 



I’m not convinced. 



Did you adopt this journalistic style to confuse  and entice the reader.




 



 



 



 


Alice sub for October 21




 



 



NOTE:  With the colorful leaves flying in an autumnal wind and rain,'tis the season for a somewhat fictional ghost story (of 1078 words).



 



 



The Dancing Ghost at the Wrecking Ball



 



byAlice Jane-Marie Massa



 



 



            Althoughmany people think that the Clarke-DuBrise House was initially owned by a Mr.DuBrise whose first name was Clarke, such was definitely not thecase.  In 1868, Clinton Clarke had the three-story, Victorian homebuilt near the corner of Poplar and Meredith Street.  However, onlyone generation of the Clarke family lived in the once highly fashionablehouse.  In 1884, the DuBrise family purchased the home; subsequentgenerations of the family resided at the tony address until1943.  After being empty for two years, Major Aaron DuBrise, fromafar, rented the property  again and again until the abode was in ahorrible state of disrepair.  Major DuBrise never returned to hisfamily's home after October 29, 1943--the evening of the tragedy at Poplar andMeredith Street.  After the Major's death in 1991, the house was leftto the Lantern County Historical Society.  Unfortunately, thehistorical society decided that sufficient funds were not available to save thehistoric home.  Reluctantly, the project chairperson of the LanternCounty Historical Society arranged for a wrecking company to demolish thehome. 



 



            Theday of demolition was a gray, humid, moderately windy autumnday.  Shortly before noon, a large crowd, including the local media,gathered on surrounding streets to watch the destruction.  As thefinal minutes of preparation ticked by, a light rain turned much heavier;nevertheless, the crowd grew in number and interest.  Finally, theforeman Vigo Moraglia gave the signal to his crew--despite theweather.  Jack was in charge of the first blow with the wreckingball.  As soon as the ball hit the third story of the old mansion, astreak of lightning popped; and the loudest boom of thunder echoed through thecity.  The heavy rain burst into a downpour; and bystanders rushedtoward their cars, homes, and businesses.  Somewhat stunned by MotherNature's display and a most unusual sight, Jack waited for another signal tocontinue.  He pondered ow very little had been salvageable from thedwelling:  Jack and Vigo had previously combed the premises only tofind for removal two chandeliers, four fireplace mantles, and seven heavy oakdoors.  After refurbishing, all of these items would go to thehistorical society's museum.  Jack thought being able to save solittle of the historic home was sad.  Then, he realized that Vigo wasgiving him a signal to continue.  As the demolition proceeded, onlyone bystander remained to witness the erasing of history--Mrs. DorotheaClavell.



 



            Afteryears of being a well-known newspaper reporter, Dorothea Clavell shifted tobeing a columnist who wrote exclusively about the history of LanternCounty.  Her prematurely white hair gave her an early air ofgravitas.  In the wind and with the sudden lightning bolt, she closedher huge chartreuse umbrella and pulled her dark green hood over herhead.  She wondered if the cameras of the two television stations hadcaptured what she saw in the aura of the lightning streak. 



 



            Jack,too, had seen something at that moment.  As he continued to man thewrecking ball, he thought he was seeing a dancing --a dancingghost.  He needed more coffee, he thought. 



 



            Dueto the weather, Vigo let his crew leave early although Vigo never admitted toseeing anything unusual.  A few minutes away from the site, Jackturned off the windshield wipers on his truck; the rain stopped , and the skylightened.  At home, he quickly showered, put on cleanclothes,  and decided to treat himself to a good meal at Zina'sCafe.  Jack wanted to shake the memory of what he had thought he hadseen.



 



            Zina,the hostess and owner, escorted Jack to his favoritetable.  Declining a menu, he ordered the special and a big piece ofpumpkin pie. 



 



            Assoon as Jack finished his meal, a strange, young woman dressed in anold-fashioned, periwinkle blue, long dress glided into the booth, across fromhim.  She had a white rose in her left hand; her auburn hair wasswept up into a bun of soft curls.  Her serious, watery gray eyeslooked directly at Jack.  Quietly, but firmly, sheasked:  "Why did you wreck my family's belovedhome?  Please, please tell me why you would do such a terriblething."



 



            "Lady,it was just my job.  If I had not done it, another guy on the crewwould have.  We were hired to do a job--that's all.  Whyare you dressed so old-fashioned?  You look as if you are fromanother era."



 



            "Iown a vintage shop downtown.  I sell vintage clothing; I feel morecomfortable wearing vintage clothing." 



 



            Then,she left as quickly as she had arrived.  In her rush to leave thebooth, one petal fell off the rose onto the table.  Somewhat in adaze, Jack picked up the petal, examined it, and stuck it into hispocket.  A few moments later, Jack was aware of a large piece ofpumpkin pie on the table in front of him. 



 



            Next,sitting across from him was Zina, who commented:  "You look asif you have seen a ghost.  You better take a taste of that pumpkinpie."



 



            "Thanks,Zena.  I'm okay.  Do you know that young woman who was justsitting here?  She said she owns a vintage shop downtown."



 



            "Thereis no vintage shop in this area--none that I know of.  I did not seeanyone sitting with you, Jack.  I just read in the newspaper aboutthe Clarke-DuBrise House.  Dorothea's column says that in 1943,Charlotte DuBrise and her fiance were killed by the same bolt of lightning whenthey were running from the house to the gazebo, where, apparently, the youngman had planned to propose because a spectacular ring in a lavender velvet boxwas found in his pocket.  Look how lovely this photo is."



 



            WhenJack gazed at the photo, he knew who had visited his table.  Heawkwardly placed several bills on the table and shakilysaid,  "I am going to the farm to visit my dad and ride myhorse."



 



            Somewhatteasingly, Zina quipped:  "Now, you really look like you haveseen a ghost.  What is the name of that horse ofyours?  Slow down, Jack."



 



            Openingthe door to exit, Jack replied,  "You know the name of myhorse--Phantom."



 



{The end}



 



 



 



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