***
"Late night, Noelle?"
"Um...yeah," sheepishly I rubbed at my gritty eyes. My sight blurred into a mixture of lettuce, tomato slices and pickles. The ever-present smell of cooking meat on the grill soured my stomach. Brenda looked at me a moment longer then bent over, depositing a tray of cookies into the oven neighboring the ice maker. She didn't press. I was glad for that; uncertain how my mission to discover the possibility of the restaurant being haunted would go over with my boss, let alone the franchise owners.
That kind of thing could really make or break a business in the case of eateries.
On my ten, I plopped down on the hard plastic bench, hunching over my tray of a still-warm burger and tiny fry. Paper rustled and a dark-haired woman of medium height leaned in. "Oh, hey," Giselle nodded to me. "Hey, yourself." I grunted slightly more enthusiastically. Waiting in traffic at the light earlier, had given me the time to jot down a quick list of all the people I hadn't asked if they'd had strange experiences at the restaurant. I'd always been on friendly terms with her...
"Giselle, do you believe in...ghosts?" I tried testing the waters first.
She sat across from me with a small paper sack that smelled vaguely of fries.
"Not sure...depends. I've heard a few things and," she hesitated. "I know some of the other girls have."
"Like what for instance?" I managed to take a bite of my burger.
"Sonia...you never met her. She worked here last summer, real nice girl. Anyway, whenever she worked evenings, the manager on duty would send her to collect the trash. I never heard her complain until one night not long after the autumn equinox...,"
Hastily, I scribbled the particulars of the story on my napkin.
Sonia had gone out like usual with an overflowing can of trash. She'd wheeled it out past the lights of the restaurant, entering the pool of shadow at the end of the lot. A slight cool breeze must've caused the metal gate of the brick walled area where the dumpsters were kept to swing shut. She winced at the sound and kept moving, pulling open one half of the doors. After dumping the trash, she'd pulled the can with her, heading back toward the restaurant. When she’d passed the turn in for drive-through, she'd heard a low whining creak like that of metal hinges.
"The door was open."
"Did she go back and see?"
Our food forgotten grew cold.
"She thought nothing of it..."
Before she'd taken two steps closer, a small dark shape darted past the gate, melting into the interior shadow. "Is someone there?" Sonia called; the door creaked and swung on its hinges. Feeling less certain, she went and started to the pull the door shut and as she did so, she glimpsed a small form darker than the black, crouched between the dumpsters.
"Then, what happened?" The instant the words had left my mouth, the unthinkable happened: the lights went out. We were plunged into complete darkness. I heard shouts, Brenda's voice and footsteps. There was a scuffling on the table. Giselle's breathing quickened, "Noelle...,"
"Yeah?"
"Where are you?"
"Across." I swallowed tartly; the bits of burger seemed stuck in my throat. The cold brushed against my face, the same sensation of someone opening a door, the rush of wind that came with it. "That's not you...," she hesitated. "Standing at my right shoulder?"
No.
Losing your head is one thing, banging your shin on the plastic leg of a table another. Brenda said later that the breaker box had blown a fuse somehow leading to the death of the entire restaurant's power. She'd remembered us ten minutes after the fact, carrying a flashlight down the narrow corridor past the bread lined up in plastic trays. She'd found us hiding under the table, shivering and mumbling about ghosts. Thankfully, she'd been less inclined to laugh and instead dutifully escorted us outside.
The other workers stood around, talking excitedly on their cell phones.
Giselle stood next to me, silent. Our conversation hadn't finished. I turned to her, voice quiet. "What was your first experience?"
She swallowed thickly, hesitantly beginning. "It was a week after I was newly hired. I'd been sent to clean the PlayLand for closing. It had been a rough night and no one had told me what to expect. The glass fronting the street had needed polishing...I'd taken a handful of wipes. I don't know when I noticed something across the street, standing at the edge of the curb. A black form, small, the size of a small child. It was very dark in between the street lamps. A car passed by, blocking my sight. In those few seconds, the figure had disappeared. I couldn't explain it, thinking my eyes were playing tricks on me. So I continued my work. Once or twice, I'd left the PlayLand to retrieve a new bottle of cleaner, the mop and bucket. I'd cleaned....the glass. I'd swear it to this day."
I nodded slightly, believing her.
"When Steve came to inspect the room, he saw it first. Handprints made from small hands, like the condensation of sweat on glass, lined the bottom of the window. He accused me of not cleaning it right, but I was the only one who saw a pair of those handprints climbing upward on the glass to disappear at the roofline."
I stared toward the darkened PlayLand."Something haunts this place. Whatever it is, involves children." Then, I told her in hurried whispers about the history of the town. The lake bed and the accidents on the stretch of road. Eventually, Brenda came back out and told us that the restaurant was closed for the night. My kitchen head and one other girl were to stay behind and clean up by aid of flashlight; I was dismissed at least until my next working day. Tomorrow, they'd have somebody come and look at the wiring. We all said our goodnights and more than once, I sensed Brenda glance at me repeatedly, but she said nothing.
During the night, I slept restlessly, my mind replaying the scenes of the day, fragmentary words. Fear, I didn't understand. In the faint light of morning I slipped into a waking dream.
I stood in the middle of Main Street where there was no center divider. A low mist hovered around me, wrapping cold tendrils around my ankles. Someone ran past me, a child. Small and dark-haired, she was faceless when she turned to look at me.
"Wait! Who--"
Strangely, I felt little fear.
"What're you trying to tell me?"
She ran off into the swirling mist.
"What.....what're you trying to tell me?" My eyes fluttered open to the sunlight of my room. I'd left the curtains parted and a ray of sunshine lit a blazing path across the mottled wood. "You died there, didn’t you? On the site where the restaurant now sits.” Somehow, despite being jumpier than usual, I tucked into a good breakfast of eggs, fried slabs of Canadian bacon and hashbrowns my mother served before me.
“How’re you getting along, honey?”
“Fine, mom. Just fine.”
“Any rumors of a promotion, squirt?” Dad was of the mindset that history was long dead and best left forgotten. When I hadn’t gone for a degree in law, he’d moved onto the next possible life career, fast food management. He, himself, had retired two years ago from a lucrative position as a 911 Call Dispatcher.
“Depends.”
“Depends on what,” he frowned.
“Depends on…oh! Look at the time!” I darted up from the table with a pretended glance at the clock. Mom chuckled from the kitchen. “I’ve got to get going.” I swooped up and planted a kiss on his grizzled cheek, waltzing into the kitchen with my plate in tow. Mom and I kissed the air as I left the dish sliding into a vat of foamy white bubbles. Then, I was out the door, relieved. Sometimes, it’s the nearest and dearest that are hassling.