Short story – “It’s Harder than it Looks”

I just published The Uncapped Pen, a collection of fifty short stories dealing with writing in some way.  Most were previously published – on my website or blog – but the rest are brand new stories.  This previously published story was in my “If I need it pile,” but in the end I didn’t need it.  So I’m just posting it here as a bonus.

“It’s Harder than it Looks”

As Renee juggled the schedule to make sure the store would be fully staffed all of next week, someone knocked on her open door.  She looked up to see “The new” Dave standing in the doorway.  “There’s a … problem in Scifi/Fantasy,” he said.

“What sort of problem?”

“Ah … the kind you need to see,” he said with a weak smile.

Renee began to reply, but then realization hit her.  “Dammit.” She stood and rushed out her office, through the staff room, and into the store. 

The Scifi/Fantasy section was only a few yards from the staff room, so it didn’t take long for Renee to see the problem.  Dozens of books littered the floor.  One shelf of books had been knocked to the floor, and a few were missing from a second.  “Not again,” Renee groaned.

“This has happened before?” Dave asked from behind her.

Before Renee could answer, another book floated off the shelf.  It hung in midair for a moment, then sped to the floor as if someone had thrown it down.  Dave took a step forward, pointing at where the book had hung.  “Did you … did you see that?”

Renee stepped around him and muttered, “Yes.” She then looked to the empty aisle and with a firm voice asked, “Harold, how many times have I told you, you can’t do that?” After a few seconds she added, “If you put them back, I won’t make an issue of it, but this has to be the last time.”

For several heartbeats nothing happened.  Then, one by one, the books floated up off the floor and returned to the shelves.

Renee nodded.  “That’s better.” She turned around and began pushing Dave back towards the staff room.

“What the hell was that?”

“Just go to my office and I’ll explain.”

Dave glanced between the books levitating off the floor and Renee a few times, then turned and walked into her office.  Renee followed and closed the door behind her.  Before she could say anything, Dave said, “That was a ghost.”

“I believe if a ghost can move physical objects, then they’re called a poltergeist, but yes.  That was the spirit of Harold Bute.  He was a local retiree who was a huge scifi fan.”

Renee walked around her desk and sat down.  Setting her palms on the desktop, she continued, “A former employee used to run a Scifi/Fantasy book group, and Harold was one of the regulars.  He was very critical and would show up to each meeting with page after page of reasons why the book they had read sucked.  It became very aggravating and annoying to the other group members.  At one point the group leader said, ‘If you think everything we read sucks, why don’t you write a good novel for us to read?’

“I don’t know if he had ever thought of writing a novel or not, but apparently he wouldn’t back down from the challenge.  For months he would show up early in the morning and sit in the café all day with his coffee and write in a notebook.  Then one day about a year ago, he went to the Scifi/Fantasy section and started ripping the books off the shelves screaming, ‘How is this crap published?’ He then clutched his chest and died of a heart attack.”

“Really?” Dave asked.

“Oh yes, I was there.” Renee gave the slightest of shivers, before continuing, “Anyway, a few weeks later, his niece – his closest kin – came in to talk to us.  They hadn’t been close, but his death had shocked her and she needed to see where he died and talk to the people that were there.  In the course of talking with her, I asked what had happened with his novel.  She said she found his notebooks and had looked through them.  The first few were full of his neat, precise handwriting discussing various plots and what books had used them and how they had screwed them up.  But with each notebook the handwriting became more and more frantic until the last was just filled with rambling gibberish.  She asked what it was all for, and I told her about the book group leader challenging him to write a novel.  I was afraid she would sue us for causing his death, but she seemed happy to just finally understand what his notebooks were about.

“So things were going back to normal, when about a month after his death they came in one morning to see all the scifi books on the floor.  Gwen, the manager at the time, already believed in ghosts, so instead of calling the police, she checked the security tapes and saw the books floating off the shelves and dropping to the floor.  She had them cleaned up and went on as if nothing had happened.  Then a week later it happened again.

“I was closing that night, and I was about ready to leave when I heard something.  I went to the section and saw a couple of books on the floor.  I picked them up and returned them when another book floated off.  I had heard about the previous incident, but that still scared the crap out of me.”

“What did you do?”

Renee shrugged.  “I ran to the Cookbook Section.”

Dave snorted a laugh.

Renee ignored him and continued, “I stopped myself and went back.  I watched for a minute or so, then I … stepped forward and talked to Harold.  Or what’s left of him.  It’s my guess his spirit is stuck here because he couldn’t come to grips with the fact that all these – what he considered crappy – authors can get published while he couldn’t write anything.  He shows up every now and then and rips the books off the shelves.  If you yell at him, he puts them back.  Usually.”

Dave shook his head.  “And you don’t tell new employees this happens on a regular basis?”

“I have enough trouble keeping the store staffed without telling everyone it’s haunted.  And it’s been three months since the last time he was here.  I had hoped he had ‘crossed over’ or whatever.”

Renee stopped and took a deep breath.  “Anyway, you’re now an official member of the Harold Club.  To steal a line, the first rule of the Harold Club is, you do not talk about the Harold Club.  And if you think you can use this to blackmail me into a weekend off, just remember, you’ll be the one claiming there’s a ghost in the store while I will have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Dave stared at her for a moment, but before he could say anything, Renee said, “Now go make sure he put everything back.”