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Chapter 8: Can It Get Any Stranger?

Thelma

If there is anything about Ma that I have learnt over the years, it’s the fact that she isn’t good at bluffing. When Ma lies, she blinks rapidly and her voice becomes very high-pitched.

“There is nothing wrong with you, Thelma. What are you talking about?” Ma squeaks as her eyelids rapidly move and she averts her gaze from mine.

I know she is well aware of what I am talking about, yet I decide to retell the events anyway, in case she suffered some form of mild amnesia.

“I levitated yesterday, Ma. My eyes look more vomit green than their usual golden mix,” I start by saying.

Ma raises her hand and waves it in dismissal, “That is nothing, dear. Don’t worry about it. We will figure everything out soon.”

Nothing? Had she just dismissed the fact that I could levitate…equating it to something as mundane as having two hands? I flew…I fucking flew.

Ma had shown more concern when I had started my period. She had fussed over me like I was going to bleed to death. Ma had taken me to the grocery store and had bought several different brands of sanitary pads and a whole bottle of painkillers…That was the time she was supposed to say, ‘This is nothing, dear.’ Not this!

I decide not to push the matter further. Ma is acting weird and definitely hiding something from me. What that is exactly, I’m not sure, but I’ll have to find it out sooner than later.

“Okay, Ma. I have to get to work soon,” I say.

“Are you sure you can’t take an off day today? You could call in sick or something,” Ma argues.

I smile as I step close to her. She moves back. I stop, smile and take an apple from the fruit bowl on the table. After biting into it I say, “But I’m not sick, right Ma?”


The diner slowly becomes quiet as the lunch rush hour passes. I clear up the last of the dirty dishes from the tables and carry the tray into the kitchen. Our chef, Isaac, is in the kitchen prepping the potatoes for the next batch of fries. Rebekah and her dad are in the back office doing whatever important bosses do.

“Bill didn’t come in today. Since the floor isn’t as busy do you mind doing the dishes?” Isaac asks.

I have been running around the whole day taking orders and delivering food to the designated tables. I can feel my back aching and my feet throbbing. Although I want to help, I need a break first.

“I can load the dishes in the sink but I will need a ten-minute break first before I wash them,” I say as I silently mutter my mantra, ‘There is no rest for the poor—There is no rest for the poor.’

“No problem,” Isaac assures me as he leans into my face and winks.

I catch a whiff of garlic and cigarette smoke on his breath. I scrunch up my nose as I wonder why he had to put his face that close to mine. I back away and head for the back door. After that encounter, I surely could use the fresh air.

The late afternoon breeze feels cool and refreshing on my face. I sit on a chair just outside the door and close my eyes. My tense muscles begin to loosen a little bit as I exhale and inhale.

Out of nowhere, a white raven comes and lands right at my feet. I look down at the bird and frown. I don’t think I have ever seen that many white ravens, especially not ones that come so close to humans. Perhaps it is injured.

“Are you hurt, buddy?” I ask as I inch my head down to get a better look at the bird.

When it looks at me, the bird’s black beady eyes turn an emerald green that matches mine. Something about the bird is drawing me into it. As I look into its eyes, two words keep repeating in my head: ‘Danger. Death.’

What in the horror movie-daylight nightmare is this? I stand up and rush back into the diner. Everything that has been happening lately has been messing with my psyche.

“Are you okay?” Isaac inquires when I get in.

I look at him and manage to nod as I try to stop my heart from pounding. I go straight to the sink; maybe if I get myself distracted with work, I won’t be hearing strange bird voices in my head. Birds chirp or sing. They don’t talk…physically or telepathically…right? This is all too weird. In fact, it is insane.

As I begin filling up the sink with warm water, something spanks me hard on my ass. I spin around as a new fear grips me…maybe I am being haunted. But who or what would want to haunt me? Not to mention, what ghost would want to smack my fanny?

Isaac stands behind me with a huge grin on his face. Had this idiot just slapped me? I narrow my eyes at him as I try to figure out if he really dared to do something so foolish.

“Did you smack my bottom?” I ask.

He nods, runs his tongue over his lips and winks. What the heck?

“I know you like that, baby cakes,” he adds as he pouts his lips at me and makes kissing noises.

What was wrong with this guy? What had given him the idiotic idea that I would love to get my ass slapped? By him, nonetheless.

Anger begins to bubble in my chest as I look at Isaac, who is now licking his lips and rubbing his hands together like he is trying to start a fire. What the hell was that? Suddenly a pan that is sitting on the counter with cold grease flies at him and smacks him square in the face.

The hell was that?!

Okay, now that had to be a ghost that tossed that pan across the kitchen…. How else could I explain a pan flying on its own? The ghost hadn’t smacked my behind, but it surely had lifted the saucepan and threw it at Isaac.

Isaac yelps as he jumps back. The grease streams down his now red face, and I can see a few drops of blood running down his nose. He starts hollering, “You hit me, Thelma!”

What in the Casper-the-unfriendly ghost was he on about? He knew I hadn’t touched that pan. I was standing way too far from it to have grabbed it.

Immediately, Rebekah and her dad come rushing into the kitchen.

“What is all this ruckus?” Rebekah’s dad asks with annoyance in his voice.

“She hit me in the face with a pan!” Isaac exclaims.

I stare at him wondering if he is going to stick to that explanation.

“He spanked my bottom and then the pan flew into his face. I didn’t touch the pan. It literally soared off the counter toward him,” I reply. I can tell I sound stupid but that was the truth.

“What do you mean the pan flew at him?” Rebekah’s dad asks.

Wait a minute. Is that the only thing he had gotten from all this? How about the, ‘he spanked my bottom’ part? That was sexual harassment in the workplace. Even if I had hit him with a pan, he provoked it. The ghost had given him exactly what he deserved. Karma’s always undefeated.

“The pan launched itself at him; I was nowhere near it. But he spanked my butt. Shouldn’t there be some form of action against that?” I ask.

Rebekah’s father shakes his head at me. I can tell he is blaming this whole incident on me.

“Thelma, we don’t condone violence in this establishment.” His voice is punctuated with the tone of a father reprimanding a small child.

What the actual fuck? I got my ass spanked and I am the one in the wrong?

“With all due respect, sir, you are not being fair. Isaac harassed me. So does this establishment condone sexual aggression toward women?” I spit.

Rebekah’s father steps up to hand Isaac a tissue for his bleeding nose. Clearly he is partial to Isaac because Isaac is his nephew. Remind me why I decided to work for a family-owned business again?

I feel frustration bubble in my chest. The ringing in my ears from the other day starts again. I take off my apron and throw it angrily on the ground before making a beeline for the exit. I can hear Rebekah calling my name, but I keep walking.

I step out onto the street and slam the door hard behind me. I can hear a loud bang and Rebekah’s scream as I walk away. I turn around in time to see the neon sign above the diner door short circuit and burst into a small flame.

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