Page 4 of Ghost Town Boogie

She wasn’t his last customer of the day, but she and the memories she’d stirred up stayed on his mind as others came and went. A few of them were locals, regular buyers or browsers. Others were tourists, exploring the charming town for the day. They looked around the place, some of them buying and others not. None seemed aware of the ghostly activity around them.

Seawolf Beach was definitely charming. There was no town square, no common area designated as downtown. Instead there was a three block section of four main streets; an oblong grid made up of an interesting mix of new buildings and old. Small strip centers had been built next to colorful houses which had been turned into artist studios, restaurants, and bakeries or ice cream shops. A couple of the restaurants had decent bars and usually hosted live music on the weekends, sometimes during the week in prime tourist season.

A few businesses existed beyond the most popular area; they were sometimes mixed in with small homes, where commercial property and residential mingled for a block or two. A few of the brick buildings in the downtown area and beyond sported wrought iron features. From the right angle, it looked as if New Orleans and Key West had had a baby, and here it stood.

It was the town that brought tourists in, not the beach. The actual beach was narrow, the sand was more gray than white, and the water wasn’t the clear aqua one might find on the gulf if you moved to the east. The view to either side wasn’t at all charming. There were casinos in one direction and a shipyard in the other.

Imperfect as the actual beach was, when you focused straight ahead the gulf was magnificent. Vast, powerful, endless. Colt ran there at least four mornings a week. It was just a few blocks from the depot to the beach, a mere two blocks from the little blue house on Jasmine Street where he’d lived until a couple of years ago, when the price he could get for it as a rental had become too tempting. The ghost of the long-dead pirate who spoke with such an old, deep British accent that he and Colt could barely communicate didn’t help matters at all.

However he got there, once he reached the beach he’d take a turn in one direction or another and enjoy the fresh air, the sound of the waves, and peace.

The ghosts never bothered him there. Not even the pirate.

Pretty much everywhere else he was fair game.

A handful of regulars haunted the depot. People had been living on this land for hundreds, thousands of years. What was now a record shop had once been a busy train depot. Ghosts passed through, some lingering, many… not. Eventually most of the spirits moved on, but there were a few that had been stuck for more than a hundred years. Judging by the numbers, he assumed most who died moved on immediately, or soon after death. Otherwise his depot would be packed to the rafters.

He could estimate when the ghosts died by their clothing. Some were well dressed from one period of time or another, others wore pajamas and walked around on ghostly bare feet. Those that came through might be well-dressed or in rags, a reminder that death came for all no matter how well-to-do or poor they were. He suspected spirits went into the afterlife dressed as they’d been when they died. Made him really hope that when his time came he didn’t drop dead in the shower…

Maude was his newest addition, and she seemed to be enjoying her time as a ghost. Some days she enjoyed it too much. She wore a pretty colorful blouse and a plain blue skirt, with short-heeled black shoes and a smattering of brightly colored costume jewelry.

A handful of geeky looking kids often met at his store after school. Vinyl was the new thing, to them at least. They rarely bought anything, but they drank coffee and leafed through old albums and talked about video games and what was going on at school. Christopher – don’t call him Chris – worked at the depot on the weekend on an irregular basis. For the employee discount, he claimed.

Maude was trying to have a little fun with the kids this afternoon. She followed a pair of high school juniors, Christopher and his friend Bryson, as they checked out the Classic Rock section. She moved close, stood on her tiptoes, and blew on Bryson’s neck. Then again. The third time he reached back and rubbed his nape vigorously. Maude jumped up and down and squealed in glee. It was a squeal only Colt could hear.

She didn’t mess with Christopher, at least not today. Maybe she’d tried with him too many times and gotten no response, so she’d decided to move on to someone more susceptible than others.

How much could the spirits influence the living? He still didn’t know, not with any certainty. Until his accident he hadn’t believed in ghosts. He’d awakened in a hospital bed to find a crowd of people leaning over him. They were young and old and they all chattered. They asked questions that made no sense, not to him.

They weren’t living people, he soon found out. For a while, a very little while, he’d thought what he saw was purely imagination, maybe a side effect of brain trauma or pain meds. It would go away soon, right?

A dozen years, and he still saw them. At least now he could tell the difference between the living and the dead. The spirits looked solid enough, but there was something different about the ghosts. A glow. A vibe.

He’d spent weeks in the hospital after the drunk ran a red light and killed Lizzie. The asshole was still in jail, as far as Colt knew, but he was alive. The bastard deserved to be haunted, but that was unlikely. No, the haunting had been reserved for Colt.

After the wreck his parents had visited him, staying in Pensacola until Colt was able to function on his own. They were both gone now. Neither’s ghost had shown up in the depot or anywhere else, but they’d done their best to support him while they’d been living. To be there. His work friends had been supportive, too, until the ghosts who refused to go away made even the simplest interaction awkward.

Jack had made the trip to Pensacola. Once. He hadn’t stuck around long enough to get a full dose of Colt trying and failing to handle his invisible friends.

He’d just seen Jack a couple of times after that, when his old friend came to town for a quick visit. It was always a quick visit, as if Jack couldn’t wait to get out of town and back to his new life.

Colt cleared his throat. All three of the beings by the Classic Rock section — living and dead — turned to look at him. The kids soon turned back to the Led Zeppelin stack, which was always pretty sparse, but Maude just smiled. He waved her over; as she neared he whispered, “Leave them alone.”

“Why?” she asked. “I’m not going to hurt anyone. I don’t think I can, can I? Hmm. Anyway, I’m just practicing.”

He turned to face the back wall. The kids didn’t need to know he was talking to air. “Practicing for what?”

“Haunting,” she whispered, even though she could shout and only he would hear.

Colt raised his eyebrows, did his best to give her a censuring look.

“Well, what’s the good of being a ghost if you can’t haunt anyone?”

“Who’s your target?”

Maude smiled. “There are several I’d like to scare a bit, before I move on. I’m pretty sure Betty stole my pearl earrings, though she denied it and I could never prove anything. I made a casserole for Teddy when he moved in, and he never returned the dish. And Patsy…”

“Are a litany of minor grievances holding you here?” he asked.