Jillian Chantal

This week, the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt gray. I am still in my ghost story and the heroine is talking to the police officer who thinks there is no way she can be talking to dead people.

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“You’re really pretending to talk to a dead man?”

“She’s not pretending. I’m right here.” Max grabbed his own chest. “I can’t be dead. I can’t. I was going to propose to my sweetheart. The ring is in my glove compartment. I was going to take her for a drive and ask her to hand me something from the glove box and when she opened it, she’d find the ring.” Holden’s tears flowed freely down his face. “If I am dead, you have to find me. Find my car and give her the ring. Please.”

“I’ll do what I can, Max. Tell me where exactly you last recall being.”

“I’m going to have you committed. You need help, lady,” Godfrey said.

“I’d just passed Jim’s Fish Camp when I saw the headlights and swerved.”

She looked up at Godfrey. “How about a wager?”

“What kind of wager? On how long they’ll keep you in the hospital for your nervous breakdown?”

“Ha-ha, very funny. No. If I tell you where I think you can find Max Holden and that there’s an engagement ring in the glove compartment…” she paused and glanced over at Holden. “What kind of car?”

“My Mustang is a 2019 and is charcoal gray.”

“You’re really pulling my leg now, aren’t you? I have to admit, you’re a good actress with all that pretend conversation there.” Godfrey smirked.

“He has a charcoal gray 2019 Mustang. He wants the engagement ring to go to his girlfriend. The last thing he remembers is headlights coming toward him and swerving. I’m pretty sure you’ll find his car in the water near Joe’s Fish Camp on the side going toward Milton. If you do, you’ll stop harassing me and calling me a liar.”

“And if I don’t?” Godfrey raised his eyebrows.

“I’ll walk willingly into that mental hospital and stay as long as they want me to.”

This week, the Tuesday Tales writers are writing to a picture prompt. We are limited to 300 words, so they are short and sweet this week. I am still in my lady who talks to ghosts story.

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“You still call the house yours?” Lu liked that the woman was still territorial about it. It was kind of sweet. And also kind of nice to find another spirit who didn’t want anything from her other than a chat with a live person.

“It’ll always be mine. I was murdered by my husband there—he pushed me down the stairs—he was such a jealous man. I think his treatment of me makes it permanently mine.” She sounded a bit defensive about it.

“Absolutely. I completely agree.”

“The swine got away with it, too.”

Surprised, Lu said, “And you aren’t upset he didn’t get punished for his deed?”

The woman tried to hit her on the arm, but her hand went straight through Lu’s forearm. “Oh, sweetie, he was punished. I made sure of that. Every day until he died himself. It kept me from dwelling on what he did to me.”

Lu really wanted to get to the restaurant to eat something, like maybe a steak, but the woman was still talking. Lu was afraid people were looking at her as if she was crazy. Standing on the street corner in front of a law office waiting to cross at the four way stop. Even the drivers who stopped were waving her across. “I’m glad you had the chance to come to terms with what happened to you. I really need to go as I’m attracting attention since only I can see you.”

This week, the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt Stoop. I am still working on my ghost story.

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Disappointed at her lack of progress, Lu realized she hadn’t eaten much all day. She stood to see what she could pull together from what she had in the fridge. It was past time for a trip to the grocery store.

She stared in the refrigerator. Nothing spoke to her. She shut the door and slid her shoes by the back door on. “Come on if you want to ride with me to Taco Bell, Aneto.” Lu jangled the keys as she headed toward the hook where Aneto’s leash hung.

A knock at the door distracted her from her task at the same moment her stomach growled its displeasure at her.

When Lu opened the door, she was surprised to see Detective Godfrey on her front stoop. “I had no idea it was you. Your cop knock is what usually alerts me to your presence. Why so gentle this time?”

“Ha-ha. Very funny. We usually only use that banging sound when we’re rousting a suspect.”

She held her hand to her heart. “Surely this isn’t a social call?” She had no illusions about their relationship—such as it was—but found herself tamping down that little spark of hope that rose in her heart. Stop it. He’s been a jerk. Don’t think he’s attractive.

He looked at the keys in her hand. “Going somewhere?”

“I’m starving. Was going to pop up to Taco Bell for some soft tacos.”

“That’s not real food.”

“It’ll do in a pinch.”

“I’d like some help if you have some time.” He leaned his shoulder against the wall and stared at her.

“Wow, Detective, you’re asking me for help? The woman you’d have gladly arrested or committed just a day or so ago?”

This week, the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the work prompt running. This is still my story with the heroine who sees ghosts. This scene is her helping with the search for a missing child.

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Lu wished the woman would stop talking. It wasn’t helping her concentrate on the search. It was as if the lady was just out there so she could brag about being part of it. Lu had seen a number of people like that over the years.

Trying to ignore the woman as she prattled on, Lu was a bit surprised to hear someone whispering in her ear. “I need help. Can you help me?”

Glancing around, she noticed a man to her left. He was right next to her. Soaking wet. Dressed in jeans, running shoes and T-shirt.

She couldn’t very well say anything to him so she tried to ignore his presence.

“I can tell that you see me. Don’t act lie you can’t. Please.”

The angst in his voice let her know he was one of the people she needed to help. But how to say something without the jabber jaws lady wanting to know who she was talking to?

She shook her head at the man, hoping he understood she meant he should wait.

He didn’t. “Why are you shaking your head? If you’re trying to pretend not to see me, shaking your head tells me you do.”

The group they were in reached the end of the field they were searching as they approached the water.

“Where do we go from here?” The talkative woman called to their team leader.”

“We’ll move over a few feet and go back the other way.”

Lu took the moment of distraction and turned to the wet man. She pointed to an area that had already been searched, hoping he’d follow her.

“Where are you going?” Talkative lady asked Lu.

“I’ll be right back. I’m going to take my dog back to the car. He’s tired.”

“Doesn’t look tired to me. He looks like he’s having a good time.”

Lord, will the woman just shut her mouth for like two seconds?

“Nevertheless, I think I can search better without him.”

“Shouldn’t have brought him then.” The woman sniffed.

This week, the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt sticky. I am still sharing my ghost story.

Check out the other tales here.

Lu tried to shake her head, but it hurt too much. And now that she could focus just a little more she realized her left arm was hurting.  She reached over to investigate and touched something sticky.

“Don’t mess with it. You have a gash in your arm where it scraped when you fell. There’s an ambulance on the way,” Amanda said.

“No ambulance. I’m fine. Fine.” But Lu knew possible traumatic brain injury was the real issue. Her arm could be stitched, but her time in the Army Nursing Corp working with battle injured soldiers told her something was truly wrong. Why would I be seeing Thomas Jefferson if I’m all right? And all those nonsolid people flitting about?

Hope soared in her chest as she had a thought.  “Re-enactors?”

“I should say not. I’m Andrew Jackson.” The man in the hat sneered. “Really. Just because I can move from Plaza Ferdinand where my statue sits is not a reason to think I am some person in fancy dress. I was the first governor of this territory and you should show me some respect.”

“There are no re-enactors here, Miss.” A man in a festival T-shirt placed a hand on her uninjured arm as she struggled to sit up. “Please stay down. We don’t know what injuries you sustained. It’s best to wait for the ambulance.”

Amanda patted her hand again.  “Be still. The ambulance will be here soon.”

The last thing Lula Mae wanted to do was go to a hospital. She loved nursing but she hated being a patient. “I’ll be fine. I merely knocked the wind out of myself.”

“Even if that’s all it is, you still need stitches in that arm.” Amanda sat back on her heels. “And I know what you’re going to say. No, you can’t suture them yourself.”

“But you know I actually can.”