ghostly happenings, but for the purposes of this story
I’m setting the topic of ghosts to one side, except to say
that what happened was real. I call it, Peter rabbit and me."
I open my shop several years ago. It had once been a small
The weather was threatening as I unlocked my bookshop.
The sky was looking dark, taking on its own personality. It
started with thunder, then hail turning to rain. A deep
fog as thick as the morning marmalade. Crawling in beneath
the door's weather-stripping with a stench of sulfur. With
winds rattling the plate glass window. Screaming like a
locomotive's whistle that has lost its soul.
The shop feels as cold as a morgue. My humorous thoughts
turn serious when I noticed my coffee has frozen over.
The lights flicker once then the shop is blacked out. Feeling
a present of something walking over my books I used my cellphone
A figure appearing like a ghost enters the shop. Wearing a
a rubber raincoat. Smelling like Michelin tires. She appears
ancient and is dragging an old fiddle and my old Peter Rabbit
doll. Trailing behind her was my slinky toy moving end over end.
It was granny and older frail granny with sagging skin and
pocked mark flesh. She walked past me into the darkness of my
backroom. Remeramerging with dust and a cobweb-covered bottle
of cod liver oil. Leaving it on the counter she faded out the
Later that day as the weather cleared up, the sheriff came in.
Informing me that graves had been disturbed near the old cannery.
I locked up the shop and went to look.
From grandpa's grave, I heard a fiddle playing. Granny seemed to
be vaporizing and sinking into the earth. Next to granny's plot
was a grave with a pair of Tom McCann boys cowboy boots and my
I then realized that I had died but I returned to the shop,
A pealing poster on the window advertising Stephen King's,
newest novel, The Stand...1978. Peter Rabbit was crying.