"Have you ever been scared, you know, just because?"

Chuck lowered his head and sighed. He just wasn't explaining it right. Probably shouldn't even be talking about it at all. Especially not to Mike. They were both twelve, but Mike seemed older. He probably didn't get the heebie-jeebies over stuff.

"Whaddya mean? Like before a test?" Mike asked, shoving another handful of chips into his mouth.

"No. Just freaked out, you know?" Chuck replied, slurping down a gulp of soda.

He shouldn't have brought it up. Not now. It all seemed so stupid in the daylight, the sun cascading warm light onto their backs. How was he going to explain the things he felt on such a great day while they pigged out in the park?

"Like what, then?" Mike asked, pausing between bites to let out a ripper of a burp.

Chuck took another chug of soda. Might as well try and tell him.

"I get the freaks in the morning, when I'm out delivering. I . . . feel stuff. Weird stuff. Like someone's watching me."

Mike burped again and patted his stomach. He reached for his soda and asked, "On your paper route? Wouldn't doubt it. Probably lots of dogs and stuff out in the morning. I think you're nuts to be out that early in the morning."

Chuck nodded. Maybe he was nuts. How weird was it to let a twelve-year old kid out alone in the streets at four in the morning? Yeah, you could walk the whole length of 'Turner' in like an hour and the only excitement their town ever got was when the carnival came through once a year, but it wasn't that. It was really kinda peaceful being out in the morning. Nobody around, just him and his papers. It wasn't being out alone in town in the morning. It was just that one place. That one certain place that made him feel like he'd piss in his pants every time he had to go in there.

"You know 'Hartford Manor'?" Chuck asked.

"Sure." Mike nodded, finishing off his soda and tossing the can back into the bag they'd brought with them. "What's so bad about that place?"

Chuck lowered his head and stared at the buds of grass straining up from the ground, "It's . . . got something in there."

Mike laughed.

"What? Old people?" He snorted out another laugh and stretched his legs out onto the grass. "'Course, I can see that. Old people are kinda scary. Kinda stinky, too. What's the matter? Do you haveta clean up bedpans too?"

Chuck shook his head and said nothing. Shouldn't have brought it up. How was he going to explain about that feeling he got? Like someone's eyes were on him all the time in there. Like someone's eyes flew right out of their head and stuck on his back and wiggled while he was there. 'Hartford Manor' gave him the willies so bad he never wanted to go back. But if he wanted to keep his job--and he did--he had to.

Chuck drank from his soda and stared up at the sun. It'd be going down soon. And then he'd be going to bed and his alarm would be going off. That meant he'd have to hop on his bike and pedal down to pick up his papers. That meant he'd be chaining up his bike and begining his walk, tossing papers here and there as he made his way. Made his way up to the Manor.

Crap.

It was peaceful in the mornings.

Chuck paused before the house in front of him and took a deep breath. Mornings like this were the best. The air was cool, but not cold.

Crisp.

There wasn't another person in sight. The streetlights cast a comfortable enough glow for him to see and, man, he owned the town when it was like this. What did his dad call it? Being 'the master of your own domain?'

Of course, his dad had lots of things to say about his paper route. Things like: "You've got to learn how to be your own man sooner or later. The world isn't made up of other people waiting around to wait on you. There's no 'ifs, ands or buts' in the real world. The only 'but' you're going to get is--if you wait around too long--someone will give it to you in the butt." He had no idea what that meant, but his dad sure thought it was profound.

Chuck pulled a paper from the bag around his shoulder. He folded it (with one hand now, he'd been practicing) and whipped it gently up into the air. It landed with a thud on the porch of the house, right smack-dab on the mat.

Chuck grinned to himself. Yep, that was a sinker. He turned and started up the street, withdrawing another paper. He looked up and his feet began to slow, like the sidewalk was turning to mud. It was just up ahead. He tossed the paper toward the next house, not even really looking as he did. He tossed another at the next and turned the corner.

There it was. Hartford Manor.

Double crap.

Was it getting colder? It sure felt like it.

Chuck pulled at the zipper of his coat. The old paper bag sure seemed heavier too. He jerked on it with his shoulder and tried to readjust it. He took a breath and told himself to calm down. He looked at the building before him.

It wasn't that scary. Just some old brick thing that was three stories high. (Yeah, and that meant lots of rooms, lots of space and lots of places for something to hide). He took another breath.

Knock it off. Just go in. Drop your papers and skeedaddle. He withdrew the keys from his pocket. (They gave him a key to the place and that had made him feel really grown up at first. Now, it just meant he was dumb enough to open the door himself. Hey Chuck, heard ya pulled down the door to your casket yourself.)

The bag was getting heavier (and the only way to make it lighter was to deliver some papers, right?). Chuck stuck the key in, turned it and went in.

He was immediately hit by the warmth inside and paused to let it blow across him.

See, not so bad. He adjusted the bag again, took a deep breath and walked across the floor to the small glass partition that sat in the lobby. He deposited the first paper there in the opening.

He slid his hand back and strained his ears. No sounds. No movements. The glass didn't shatter in front of him. The pale reflection didn't jump out at him. So far, so good.

Chuck mentally noted the remaining deliveries in the building. There weren't many (of course, why anyone subscribed to the paper when he left one in the lobby to be read for free was beyond him). Maybe they just liked to read in their rooms. Or maybe some of them just didn't get out much.

Or maybe they can't. Maybe they're trapped in their rooms. Rotting away bit by bit, waiting for the Reaper to come with that final call. Maybe just counting down the number of people they see in the obituaries like grandma used to do. Making sure their name wasn't there and someone forgot to tell them.

Yep, it was there again. That feeling.

Chuck whipped his head around. There was no one else in the lobby. Just him.

That was good.

He was alone and that was always good and always bad.

He exhaled and started the walk down the hall to the elevators. It was a short walk, but it seemed endless to him. He was sure if the painting on the wall had been one of a man instead of a sailboat, the eyes would be following him like they did in the old movies.

Going up. The doors slid closed and Chuck pushed the button for the next floor. The elevator jerked (that was scary enough on its own) and up he went. There was that gut-wrenching moment when it stopped, that empty feeling of dead space when he was sure it was just going to drop. The cables were going to snap and they'd find his body mixed in with the newspapers in the wreckage, his brains and guts a headline in red.The door opened.

"Well, good morning."

Holy crap on a crutch and suck a truck with a duck or whatever it was dad says and . . .

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I frighten you, young man?"

Chuck heard some of those words. Most of them were buried in the thumping that began in his chest and ended with a roar in his head. He couldn't move. He was a statue with a boom box rapping at full blast from his heart.

The woman in front of him cocked her head and asked, "Dear? Are you all right?"

Chuck exhaled, the breath of it easing the fright in him, slipping out instead of the scream that (thankfully) hadn't come.

The figure before him wasn't a vampire or a demon or anything like that. True, the woman was probably pretty close to having a conversation with death sometime soon and she looked like a zombie with her pale hair and wrinkled face, but that was it. Chuck managed a weak smile and the woman grinned at him, the lines around her face curling up and accenting the soft twinkle of blue in her eyes.

"Um . . . yeah . . . I just usually don't see people in here." Chuck croaked out, immediately embarrassed by the tinny sound of his voice.

The woman smiled again and nodded. She was short and wore a housecoat of the gaudiest pink. Grandma used to wear stuff like that and grandpa for some reason always wore socks up to his knees and his underwear up past his belly button. File that under stuff to remember definitely not to do.

"I didn't mean to startle you, dear." The woman said and Chuck felt his fear melting away. Her voice was like grandma's had been. All full of wisdom and kindness, like the very breath of it oozed with cookies.

"Um, that's okay. I'm okay." Chuck assured her, and let his hand release the strap of his bag.

"You must be the boy that delivers our papers." She said, stepping forward slightly and leaning in to look at the bag, squinting as she did. "You must get up very early."

Chuck only nodded and she leaned back and continued, "That's a mighty fine thing to do, to work at your age. I wonder if they'd give me a job, seeing as how I can never sleep?"

Chuck stared at her and she let out a high laugh. "No, I imagine not. Are you doing your business on this floor right now?"

Chuck held in the laugh that threatened to come out. No, I don't think I'm going to do my business on this floor. They'd probably get pretty mad at me if I just dropped 'em right here in the elevator.

"Yes," He said, then added, "Yes, ma'am. I have some delivering to do here."

"Would you mind if I tagged along?" The woman asked. "I didn't get my walk in today and these old bones need the stretchin'."

Chuck shrugged. Why not? At least he'd have some company while he was in here.

"Sure." He smiled.

"Dandy." The woman nodded. "I'm Elizabeth. What's your name?"

"Chuck. Uh, Charles Gantry. Everyone calls me Chuck."

The woman smiled her twinkling smile (and her teeth though probably false, looked convincingly white) and said, "All right. But can I call you Charles? It seems like a much more grown up name."

Chuck nodded, smiled big and wide, and stepped from the elevator.

They did the next floor and the next and back in the elevator, she asked him to push 'two.' Chuck did and they returned to the floor he'd first seen her on. The door opened and the woman smiled at him.

"Would you like a glass of milk or something? Or are you on a tight schedule?"

Chuck ran it through his head. He really had nowhere to go except for the last few blocks on his route. After that, it was just home and maybe some cereal and a few cartoons before school. He was kind of thirsty too. He loved the warmth of the place when it was cold outside, but it sure tired him out after he was done.

He shrugged, "Sure."

The woman nodded and they stepped out. "Then right this way, Charles."

They turned the corner in the hall and walked down a few doors. The woman paused and withdrew a key. Chuck noted that he hadn't put a paper down in front of her door. Not a subscriber. Probably read the one in the lobby for free. She smiled and winked and opened the door.

Chuck followed her in and was immediately hit by the smell of it. Just like grandma's. It smelled faintly of bacon and perfume and musty things. There was also that aroma of medicine or ointments or something. She shut the door and motioned him towards the couch.

"Please sit. I'll get us a few glasses."

Chuck did as he was told and sat down. Probably a big mistake. He was fine with the walking of the route while he was doing it, but once he sat down, his legs never failed to let him know just how much he'd actually been doing.

The door to the refrigerator opened and the light of it further illuminated the small room lit only by the lamp on the table. The woman pulled a container from it and poured the contents into two small glasses.

"Here you are." She said as she handed a glass to him. Chuck thanked her and looked around the room while he drank. The place was tiny, but looked comfortable enough. A large TV sat across from the couch and a table covered in playing cards was off to the right of that. A small hallway led to a room with the door closed. Various pictures and knick-knacks were on almost everything.

"How is it?" The woman asked as she sat down next to him, exhaling roughly as she did. "It's good." Chuck answered, raising the glass in her direction. "Thank you."

"Oh, it's no problem dear." She said, drinking coyly from her own glass. "I don't entertain much anymore and it's nice to have company."

Chuck nodded and the woman continued. "Yes, it sure is nice." She repeated and a smile drew across her face. "My husband passed a bit ago."

Chuck halted his drinking and said, "I'm sorry."

The woman laughed and raised her glass as if toasting, "Don't be. I'm the one who killed him."

Chuck spit the remaining gob of milk in his mouth back into the glass.

"What . . . ?"

The woman smiled. "Oh, it was really nothing. He did deserve it. You know what they say dear. Nothing fixes a bad marriage like a good butcher knife. Chop, chop, chop."

Chuck listened to her words and his fingers became very aware of how cold the milk in his hand was. How the chill of it seemed to spread from there, all the way down his arm and into his body.

"It's okay, Charles." The woman said, still smiling. "Mr. Borden was a bad man. Bad things happen to bad people, you know?"

She was suddenly standing, hovering between the milk and him and she leaned down and asked with a whisper, "You aren't a bad person, are you Charles?"

The glass of milk was moving. Vibrating so much Chuck thought he'd have a milkshake in a minute for sure. The woman kept smiling and took the glass from his jittering hand.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you not to take candy from strangers?" She asked, setting the glass on the table next to the couch. "You can't be too careful nowadays, dear. You should never go into someone's place you don't know. You really shouldn't."

The woman stepped back and added, "And you must always be a good person. Always."

The glass was gone but Chuck hadn't stopped shaking. From behind them, towards the place where the room with the closed door was, he heard movement. The woman turned her head back slightly, then grinned.

"Oh, I'm afraid the spirits are really restless tonight. You see dear, the reason I can't seem to sleep is that I've been resting for too long. My body that is. I think my poor old corpse has finally decided to get up and look for me."

Chuck heard the door in the back open. The shape of a woman stumbled out, groaning.

"Now remember what I said, Charles. Because someone is always watching you. Now do you want to meet my dead body, or would you perhaps like to go home?"

Chuck saw the shape moving forward and his feet found their strength. He leapt from the couch and bolted to the door pulling it open. He screamed something he hadn't in a long time. "Mom! Mommy!" And with that, he was gone.

"Oohhh, what was that?"

The woman turned and smiled at the shape stepping into the light.

"Oh, it was nothing, Dolores. Just giving a young man a few words of wisdom and maybe a tale to tell his friends."

The shape stepped into the light, and another woman, one of about thirty, with blond hair and the same twinkling blue eyes yawned.

"Oh, mom. What are doing? Not up to more mischief at this time of the morning I hope."

The elderly woman smiled to herself and said, "No, no. Not at all, dear. Just doing my part before I go."

The blonde woman gave her a look and yawned again, "You're not going anywhere except back to bed. We've got to get up pretty soon so I can get back home. This place frowns on overnight guests that stay too long, you know."

The elderly woman nodded. Before turning, she picked up the single fallen newspaper on the floor and set it gingerly on the couch.

This final editor's extra for 2003 ends a year of sorrow and effort for yr. hmbl. svt. Should olde acquaintence be forgot, indeed. Thought a ghost story without a ghost would cheer me up as the solstice moves toward another year. I hope your 2004 dawns happy and remains so throughout. Best wishes to all, my friends.