[Critique Group 2] ghostly short story for October 28 critique session

[Alice Massa]

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*

by Alice Jane-Marie Massa

Although many people think that the Clarke-DuBrise House was initially 
owned by a Mr. DuBrise whose first name was Clarke, such was definitely 
not the case.In 1868, Clinton Clarke had the three-story, Victorian home 
built near the corner of Poplar and Meredith Street.However, only one 
generation of the Clarke family lived in the once highly fashionable 
house.In 1884, the DuBrise family purchased the home; subsequent 
generations of the family resided at the tony address until 1943.After 
being empty for two years, Major Aaron DuBrise, from afar, rented the 
property again and again until the abode was in a horrible state of 
disrepair.Major DuBrise never returned to his family's home after 
October 29, 1943--the evening of the tragedy at Poplar and Meredith 
Street.After the Major's death in 1991, the house was left to the 
Lantern County Historical Society.Unfortunately, the historical society 
decided that sufficient funds were not available to save the historic 
home.Reluctantly, the project chairperson of the Lantern County 
Historical Society arranged for a wrecking company to demolish the home.

The day of demolition was a gray, humid, moderately windy autumn 
day.Shortly before noon, a large crowd, including the local media, 
gathered on surrounding streets to watch the destruction.As the final 
minutes of preparation ticked by, a light rain turned much heavier; 
nevertheless, the crowd grew in number and interest.Finally, the foreman 
Vigo Moraglia gave the signal to his crew--despite the weather.Jack was 
in charge of the first blow with the wrecking ball.As soon as the ball 
hit the third story of the old mansion, a streak of lightning popped; 
and the loudest boom of thunder echoed through the city.The heavy rain 
burst into a downpour; and bystanders rushed toward their cars, homes, 
and businesses.Somewhat stunned by Mother Nature's display and a most 
unusual sight, Jack waited for another signal to continue.He pondered 
how very little had been salvageable from the dwelling:Jack and Vigo had 
previously combed the premises only to find for removal two chandeliers, 
four fireplace mantles, and seven heavy oak doors.After refurbishing, 
all of these items would go to the historical society's museum.Jack 
thought being able to save so little of the historic home was sad.Then, 
he realized that Vigo was giving him a signal to continue.As the 
demolition proceeded, only one bystander remained to witness the erasing 
of history--Mrs. Dorothea Clavell.

After years of being a well-known newspaper reporter, Dorothea Clavell 
shifted to being a columnist who wrote exclusively about the history of 
Lantern County.Her prematurely white hair gave her an early air of 
gravitas.In the wind and with the sudden lightning bolt, she closed her 
huge chartreuse umbrella and pulled her dark green hood over her 
head.She wondered if the cameras of the two television stations had 
captured what she saw in the aura of the lightning streak.

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

Due to the weather, Vigo let his crew leave early although Vigo never 
admitted to seeing anything unusual.A few minutes away from the site, 
Jack turned off the windshield wipers on his truck; the rain stopped , 
and the sky lightened.At home, he quickly showered, put on clean 
clothes,and decided to treat himself to a good meal at Zina's Cafe.Jack 
wanted to shake the memory of what he had thought he had seen.

Zina, the hostess and owner, escorted Jack to his favorite 
table.Declining a menu, he ordered the special and a big piece of 
pumpkin pie.

As soon as Jack finished his meal, a strange, young woman dressed in an 
old-fashioned, periwinkle blue, long dress glided into the booth, across 
from him.She had a white rose in her left hand; her auburn hair was 
swept up into a bun of soft curls.Her serious, watery gray eyes looked 
directly at Jack.Quietly, but firmly, she asked:"Why did you wreck my 
family's beloved home?Please, please tell me why you would do such a 
terrible thing."

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

"I own a vintage shop downtown.I sell vintage clothing; I feel more 
comfortable wearing vintage clothing."

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

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

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

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

When Jack gazed at the photo, he knew who had visited his table.He 
awkwardly placed several bills on the table and shakily said, "I am 
going to the farm to visit my dad and ride my horse."

Somewhat teasingly, Zina quipped:"Now, you really look like you have 
seen a ghost.What is the name of that horse of yours?Slow down, Jack."

Opening the door to exit, Jack replied,"You know the name of my 
horse--Phantom."

{The end}
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