31 Ghosts – Last Call

“Anyone seen my glasses?” Ellen asked the bar in general. It was late afternoon and mostly regulars sat around the bar. Some just shook their heads while a few mumbled some version of “No” into their drinks. “Sara?” she asked the tall willowy dark-haired bartender.

Sara looked up from the pint glass she was drying and said, “nope.”

“Jesus Christ,” Ellen sighed. “I took them off for one second…”

“Ellen,” Jake, one of the regulars said, “Those aren’t them are they?” He asked pointing at the hanging lights over the bar.

“Jake, I said I was just wearing them. Why would they—”

“He’s right,” Sara said nodding up at the light fixture where a pair of glasses hung over the fixture that held the florescent tubes.

Ellen squinted and walked towards the light and said, “What the…?” At just over five feet, Ellen had no chance of being able to reach the light fixture. “Sara? Can you get those?”

“Umm…” Sara stood on her tip toes and managed to pluck them off the light fixture. “Here you go, boss.”

Ellen stared at the glasses like they were a scared cat about to bolt. “How in the hell…”

“It’s because the place is haunted,” Steven, another regular said.

There was a general hum of consensus from the others around the bar.

Ellen scowled. “I don’t want to agree with you,” she started, “But a lot of weird things have been happening around here lately.”

“Why do you think I won’t close alone anymore?” Sara said.

“How long have you noticed weird things?” Everett asked from the end of the bar.

Ellen sucked in a deep breath and thought about the question before letting it out slowly. “I don’t know… about a year?”

Jake nodded, tapping his empty pint glass for emphasis. “Look, I don’t want to say anything bad about the guy, but I think it was around the time Dale started.”

“Another?” Sara asked and Jake nodded.

“You’re saying this is because of Dale?” Ellen asked incredulously. “He’s a great bartender!”

“No arguments here,” Jake said taking the full pint from Sara. “He was great when he worked at the Blue Palm Taproom.” He said.

“Oh,” Everett said, his eyes widening. “That place was haunted too!”

Mimi nodded in agreement across the bar, “Yeah, I was there when a pint flew off the bar and hit some guy in the head. Moved completely by itself. Like five people saw it!”

“Okay,” Ellen said, “So maybe he happened to work at the Blue and it happened to be haunted. That’s not Dale’s fault…”

“Umm… I think you’re forgetting he works weekends at the Tilted Swan Roadhouse,” Brett chimed in from one of the booths.

“Oh, shit,” Taylor joined the conversation, “Yeah, that places is haunted AF. There’s a lady in white that walks between the bathrooms and the storeroom. I saw her a few months ago right before closing.”

“How long has Dale been working at the Tilted Swan?” Steven asked.

“Since Dale started working there!” Jake said accusingly.

“Bro,” Alan said from a cloud of vape pen at the end of the bar, “Why are you hating on Jake, man? I mean, yeah, maybe the Swan has been haunted since he’s been there, but, like it’s not his fault, right?”

“I’m just saying,” Jake replied, “Blue Palm, haunted; Tilted Goose, haunted; now the Crazy Lady Saloon, haunted. Dale’s the common factor.”

“Wait,” Mimi spoke up, “Didn’t Dale used to work at the Bittersweet Cat Bar and Grill?”

“You mean the Leaning Squirrel Bar?” Sara asked.

“Yes, honey,” Mimi agreed, “It’s the Leaning Squirrel now, but it used to be the Bittersweet Cat before… oh shit.”

“Before the mysterious fire gutted it?” Dave said coming back to his beer from the restroom.

“What was mysterious about it?” Sara asked.

“It was an electrical fire,” Dave said.

“What’s mysterious about an electrical fire?”

“It was during the flood of 2019 – the town didn’t have any power at all.”

“Oh.”

“Is the Leaning Squirrel haunted?” Ellen asked the bar in general. A general mumbling of “no”. She scowled again.

“Blue Palm, Tilted Goose, Bittersweet Cat, now the Crazy Lady, all haunted, all have Dale as a bartender. But not the Leaning Squirrel where he’s pointedly not working,” Jake summarized.

“I heard,” Brett started, “that Dale was housemates with the River Strangler back in the day. Maybe it’s the Strangler’s victims haunting Dale as some sort of accomplice?”

“That’s bullshit,” Mimi said. “I knew George Owens – the Strangler. That dude was fucked up. Lived alone way up the canyon. Dale never shared a place with him.

“Well, that’s what I heard…” Brett said and took a drink of his rum and coke.

“Didn’t Dale live in the old mortuary?” Dave asked. “Because, you know… mortuary?”

“Still does,” Mimi said. “But Edgar said he’s the best tenant he’s had in that place. Said there pointedly hasn’t been any reported ghosts in the building since Dale’s lived there.”

“So, the ghosts just haunt where he works? Not where he lives?” Jake asked.

A quiet descended over the place for a few moments. Without warning an empty pint glass in front of Taylor slid quickly down the bar with velocity enough to send it a few feet from the edge of the bar where it shattered loudly.

“Fuck!” Ellen groaned. “Thanks, ghost!” She moved to the storage closet for a broom.

“I heard it was someone who died at the Bittersweet Hedgehog Roadhouse when Dale was working there,” Roger spoke for the first time.

“When did Dale work at the Hedgehog?” Jake asked.

Roger blew out a breath, “Long time ago… ten? Fifteen years ago?”

“No,” Dave said, “That’s when he was working at the cemetery digging graves. He wasn’t even tending bar then. The Hedgehog was long gone by the time Dale started bartending.”

“Where’s the Bittersweet Hedgehog?” Sara asked.

“It’s the Singing Lion now,” Mimi clarified.

“Oh,” Sara mouthed in recognition.

The front door opened with a creak and all eyes turned towards the bright doorway. A man in a black shirt and black pants with long black hair stepped in from outside.

“Hey Dale,” Mimi said by way of greeting. “We were just talking about you.”

“Oh,” Dale said in a slow deep voice.

“Jake here says every bar you work in is haunted.”

Dale swiveled his penetrating gaze to where Jake sat. The seated man withered under the stare. “Is that so, Jake?” Dale asked.

“I mean…” Jake stammered, “It just, you know, kinda seems like a coincidence…”

“Hmm,” Dale regarded Jake. “That’s quite an accusation,” he said. “Particularly coming from a ghost.”

“Wait, what?” Jake asked surprised. “You’re saying I’m a ghost?” Everyone was staring at Jake now. “What kind of crazy accusation is this?” he asked shakily, reaching for his beer but his hand closed right through the pint glass without disturbing it.

Sara gasped.

“What?” Jake stammered, starting to become slightly translucent. “I don’t know what he’s talking about!” his voice was fading out as well until everyone could see his lips move but no sound came out. And then, right before their eyes, Jake disappeared entirely.

No one in the bar moved.

Ellen walked in from the storeroom with a broom and dustpan in her hand. She looked around at the bar with no one moving or speaking. “What the hell did I miss?” she asked. “Hey Dale!”

31 Ghosts – Fall Leaves

A short one today, as I just finished a 17-hour gig. Goodnight!

Randall Alexander took raking leaves in his yard very seriously.

As he meticulously raked the final leaves into an enormous pile in front of the house, he couldn’t understand why everyone else in the HOA didn’t take it as seriously as he did. Keeping one’s yard properly raked, was, both a matter of pride in one’s property and – because of Randall himself, a very important rule in the Mountain Shadows Homeowners Association. The rule had been on the books forever, but Randall felt so strongly about it that when he became HOA president two years ago, he immediately began swift and rigorous enforcement. More than a dozen errant leaves on a resident’s lawn constituted a violation and Randall levied fines liberally for leaf scofflaws.

As he drew some more leaves into the pile he thought about Abe Johnson, the old man who died last year around this time. He had a heart attack in his front yard. His widow, Josephine, openly blamed Randall because Abe was out raking leaves lest he suffer another fine. While Randall felt bad for Abe, he didn’t blame himself. If Abe had just kept up with raking, then he wouldn’t have exerted himself into a heart attack. Really, Abe had no one to blame but himself.

As he stared at the three-foot-tall pile of leaves in front of him he sighed appreciatively at a job well done.

Until the pile erupted into a geyser of leaves violently flying all over the yard by some localized hurricane-forced wind! Randall stared confused as to where this small cyclone came from when the day had been so still. As the wind subsided Randall ground his teeth in fury as the yard lay blanketed under the leaves and his work had been in vain.

Then another gale out of nowhere rustled the leaves in the tree and caused a new cascade of leaves onto the already leaf-strewn lawn.

Randall let out a cry of frustration which was met by the disembodied hearty laugh of Abe Johnson.

31 Ghosts – My Ghosts

Last year I began by writing about the bridge over the Russian River here in Guerneville and how it felt like something was watching Alli and I when we would cross it in the dark. For a long time we just didn’t cross the bridge at night – flashlight or not, let whatever is haunting that bridge have it until the sun came up.

We inadvertently found another place like that nearby – on the back side of what I refer to as “cemetery hill.” Ironically, it’s not the cemetery itself at the top of the hill – I mean, at least that would make sense! No, this comes as the narrow single-lane road leaves the last streetlights behind and twists its serpentine way down towards Old River Road. Interestingly, it’s not that whole dark section that creeps Alli and me out. No, it’s just a short portion about a quarter of the way in when the road has just become swallowed up by darkness that the hair on the back of my neck stands up, Alli strains against the leash and I pick up the pace.

Like the bridge, Alli and I would avoid that section of road at night. For a while at least…

It’s funny how life can make us leave behind our best intentions…

In the name of getting steps in for me and a good walk in for Alli, we’ve found our way onto both stretches pretty frequently lately. The same cold feeling that something is watching you is absolutely present, but expediency has won out. I do acknowledge the ghosts with a little, “I know you’re here and this is your spot,” and Alli will look back at me like I’m crazy as we hurry on through the night.

And she’s probably right – this year has felt more than a little crazy. Sitting down and putting together this first entry into what will be the sixth year of 31 Ghosts has been the first real pause in what has been a hectic year. After two pandemic years, the world seems to be trying to make up for lost time (and, it should be noted, still getting Covid – we’re not done yet!).

For me, it’s been a year all about acknowledging and confronting ghosts. For one, I’ve started acknowledging my desire to create content by starting my own business – Think Dude Think, LLC. – and using that as my imprint to put together and publish my first book (more details on that coming shortly, I promise).

In fact, my own ghosts have been precisely what’s driven Alli and I into those real ghosts’ territories – I’ve been working really hard to get into better shape. That’s meant not only eating healthier, but an egregious amount of working out, as well as facing my own ghosts. I’ve been heavy my whole life, but a few years ago I decided enough is enough and I needed to change my life while I still could. And while some changes have been dramatic – I weigh less now than I have in at least the last twenty years – others have been much quieter and more haunting. There’s the constant twin specters of “Why did it take you so long?” and “You really haven’t done much.” They always flitter about in the quiet times of night countering each other. They’re both rooted in self-doubt, the grand ghost of them all for me!

I’ve developed some tricks to fool these ghosts, though…

I participated in my first 5K obstacle race this year. That I even entered it took some ghost-avoidance. I told the doubting ghost that this was on my friend Lisa’s bucket list and I was just going along for moral support, not, you know, for myself! That worked, and once I was there I’m pretty good about focusing on the problem at hand and not letting the ghosts get me – heck, that’s why I was on the back side of cemetery hill the other night again! Gotta get those steps in!

But I found myself at the last obstacle called “Shock Therapy” that consists of electrical wires hanging down. And, lest you just rush through it as fast as you can, there are several barriers you have to step over or under that slow you and all but guarantee you will get shocked. Standing there I knew I would have to summon something else to get through those wires. Ironically, to conquer my doubting ghosts, I called forth a host of other ghosts…

I thought of my mom and how hard she worked after her lung cancer and how proud she would be that I had gotten this far. I thought of my uncle Chuck who I saw a few months before he died and I was at my heaviest and he suggested in the most gentle way anyone had that I needed to make some life changes. And I thought of my friend Kirk who died just a few months back. He’d battled his own demons for a long, long time until they finally got him.

I stood in front of those electrical wires at Sonoma Raceway in the warm morning of a gorgeous summer day when none of these people I loved could anymore – they’re all ghosts. For them I stepped over the lip into the wires. When the first shock involuntarily contracted my muscles and I almost fell, I kept going because I could, goddamnit. I’m here, and I owe it to everyone who I have loved and has loved me and no longer has the ability to do these things to keep moving. These ghosts carried me up Mount Tamalpais a few weeks ago when I wasn’t sure I had enough energy after a long bar shift the night before.

They can’t anymore. So I will.

Even sitting down and writing this first entry has meant facing the ghost telling me, “You know, maybe five years of 31 Ghosts is enough… do you really thing you can do this?” And then I think of my dad, who died 21 years ago today. I know he didn’t really understand my creative streak, not like my mom did. But I think of him reading these stories, and whether he understood the how or the why, I know he would be proud.

And so, let’s get this month started! Let’s push past these existential ghosts and have some stories about actual ghosts as the nights grow longer and colder, and as the veil between this side and the Beyond grows ever more thinner… Thanks for coming along on this sixth year of 31 Ghosts. Let’s see what kind of spooky we can find, shall we?