I was feeling pretty good after a few ***** tonics,
to the point where I felt comfortable enough to converse
with this vaguely familiar, lovely lady sitting next to me at the bar.
I leaned over and quite brazenly asked;
" Do you like ghost stories?"
" I happen to love ghost stories" she replied.
I began by telling her about the ghost that tried to suffocate me
by burying my face in a pillow at exactly 3 am
the night after I saw my name appear in large black letters
on the television screen while watching a movie.
She ordered a double and asked me to continue.
I told her about the lady I work with who advised me to answer the phone
because it might be my Mother, knowing all the while that my Mother
was deceased.
Well, the lady on the phone just happened to have the same last name
as my Mother's maiden name; Joy. Not Smith or Jones...Joy.
Her husband's name was Edwin which just happened to be my Dad's name.
Then I told her about the time my sisters and I were visiting the grave site of my parents.
We were in the wrong area and searching when I stumbled across a section of headstones with the family last name but no relation as far as we could tell.
There she lay....Mary E. Owens...deceased 1951, the same year and day my sister; Mary E. Owens was born.
I must say she was a bit startled when she came over to have a look.
"Shall I continue?" I asked.
Without hesitation the pretty lady replied; "By all means, continue."
"Okay, this is the kicker. I attended a VanGogh exhibit a few years ago.
I was compelled it seems by unknown forces to his work,
but had never viewed it in person.
On the day of the final viewing I knew I had to go.
I was sick with fever from an active kidney stone
but decided to take the trip downtown by subway.
When I arrived there was a very long line. Tickets were free, but limited.
A man approached me trying to scalp tickets he had obtained.
I declined, placing my faith in destiny.
I got my ticket as did 3 or 4 people behind me and that was it.
Hundreds were turned away.
The viewing of VanGogh's work was a moving experience.
I was exhausted by the end and my fever had risen.
It was all I could do to remain standing.
While I viewed the final piece of the exhibit; 'Wheatfields Under Threatening skies',
someone spoke to me from just behind my right shoulder.
" I want to thank you for coming my good man. It means a great deal to me."
I turned to answer, but before I could reply I was stunned to see that the likeness
between this man and VanGogh himself was astounding.
I turned to look at a self portrait on a wall nearby and back to the gentleman again but he was gone.
Hallucination due to my fever...perhaps, but I'll never believe that.
"That is quite the story and you are quite the storyteller.
Now it is my turn to tell you a story before I go.
Do you see that lady in the mirror next to you?
The one captivated by your lust for life?
Look real hard, then slowly close your eyes and slowly open them again."
When I did, she was gone, but in a brief instant it was as if the entire room went quiet
and I heard a whisper that echoed as if it were inside a church,
"I loved posing for you, Vincent."
Author's note: This is a 'Ghost Story' I wrote which is a bit unusual in that it contains actual events wrapped in a ficticiuos setting (the bar). I wrote an article for the on-line publication; 'Wordcatalystmagazine' detailing my run-in with the ghost at 3 am. It's called 'Ghost Story' and it's in the Dec.2007 issue.