February 6
Sweat dripped on a cellophane-wrapped sandwich in Dough Layshock’s lunchbox as he rummaged through it, searching for an Auntie Maybelle’s Sweetie-Fruit Pie.
“Aw, jeez,” he sighed, “nothin’ but a Twinkie.” He was frowning but it was hard to tell; his mouth always looked like gravy smeared across his mashed-potato face.
“I’ll take it if you don’t want it.” Harry stuck out his grubby hand while glancing in the crumpled bag on his lap. Dough was
married; Harry wasn’t. So Harry had to pack his own lunch—if throwing together two pieces of bread, six Oreos, and a can of sardines could be considered packing—or lunch.
Dough settled his backside onto a folding chair and took a chicken and bacon sandwich from his box. Harry snapped the key off his sardine can.
“That usually brings ’em running!” The skinny factory worker wasn’t disappointed; from behind the pickling machines streaked Dirty Burt, eyes riveted on the can.
“Spangler’s cat today,” Dough pointed with his sandwich. “Dirty son of a gun.” He swiped crumbs from his chin with a filthy sleeve.
Harry threw half a sardine to Burt, who wasn’t the least concerned about licking it off the black grit on the floor. Dough tossed a chunk of chicken. In his panic lest something hex his good fortune, Burt choked it down in one mouthful.
“Speakin’ of Spangler, didja hear about his ghost?” Harry sucked on an Oreo, eyebrows raised wickedly.
“What? Whaddayamean?”
Burt yowled, searching each man in turn, body tensed to pounce on anything edible dispensed from above. A casually flipped sardine tail hit the floor.
“Spangler was workin’ up at the Long View site, and swears he saw a freakin’ ghost.”
“A ghost!” Dough’s shapeless mouth gaped open, full of sandwich.
“Yep. He’s been tellin’ everybody Long View Road is haunted. Ghost in the woods, see-through, moanin’, floatin’ two feet off the ground. Disappeared right before his eyes, he said.”
“No damn way!”
Burt spun the floor in a frantic dance–less talk and more throwers, guys!
Dough’s greasy fingers dangled another piece of chicken. “So what’d that goofy garage monkey do? Run for the hills? Haw!”
“He said he checked out the spot where the ghost was, and the bushes were all wilty and dyin’. Says the next time he goes up there, he’ll take pictures he can sell to that scary ‘Creepers’ show or to some spooky-type magazine.”
Burt leapt at the chicken, swinging a desperate paw and missing.
Dough ate the tidbit himself. “You believe that?”
“Hell, no! I wouldn’t believe anything Spangler said. A ghost….gimme a break! All of a sudden, there’s a ghost on Long View Road. Never been a ghost up there before, has there?”
Frenzied enough to bite someone’s pant leg (but not exactly begging like those farm furballs), Burt snatched up the last bit of chicken Dough chucked into the dust.
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