Free Reads
The Ghost in the Machine
a short story
a companion story to the novel “One Singular Second”
“ Knocking on the door, Walter felt the familiar rush of guilt and anticipation. He glanced again down the hallway to make sure that none of the other tenants in the apartment building were observing him.
“Come in!” called the sweet, female voice he’d expected. Opening the door, the smell of fresh baked treats—oat cookies and some sort of pie—wafted over him, making his mouth water and his stomach rumble. He walked in, passing the little kitchenette, and went into the empty living room.
“Mrs. Bailey!” he called uncertainly.
No response.
She'd asked him to call her Maggie. Maybe that’s why she was ignoring him. “Maggie!”. A throat cleared behind him, and he whirled to face the source of the noise, but there was no one there. “Maggie?” said a deep, rather angry sounding male voice. Walter blinked into the space where the sound came from. "Um, hello? “Hello,” the man responded.
“You’re awfully familiar with my wife, aren’t you? On a first name basis...”
“Your wife?” Walther repeated. "I thought she said…”
He thought she’d said that her husband was dead.
Walter made a sudden break for the door, only to hear the lock click as he grasped the knob. He couldn’t get out.vWalter whirled back around to face Mrs. Bailey’s dead husband, terrified that the disembodied voice would be accompanied by a mangled, partially disintegrated, ghostly visage. There was no one there, but the voice hadn’t gone.
“Aha!” it crowed. “Trying to run away! A sure sign of a guilty conscience.”
Walter turned and beat on the door. “Help! Help! Someone help me!” He no longer cared about keeping his visit to Mrs. Bailey discrete.
“Ssh... quiet. Hush, son. Quiet, please.”
There was a knock on the other side of the door. “Is everything all right in there?” Recognizing the voice of Mrs. Hendrix, Derek’s mom, Walter hesitated. Derek and his mom were the last people he wanted to know that he came here.
“Mr. Bailey?” she continued. “What’s going on?”
“Everything’s fine, Ma’am,” the disembodied voice answered, sounding calm and businesslike. There was a pause. “Is there anyone else in there who’d like to say anything?” Walter stayed mute.
“All right.” said Mrs. Hendrix. “Well, try not to make so much noise. This apartment is only approved for single occupancy. You don’t want to get Maggie in trouble.”
“Of course,” said the voice. “Sorry about that.”
“Nothing to worry about. I was just walking by on my way to work.” She helped some of the elderly tenants with household tasks. “Your neighbor, Evelyn, likes her peace and quiet.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” said the voice again, and then all was silent as Mrs. Hendrix walked away.
Walter turned and faced the empty room, feeling calmer. He’d known Mrs. Hendrix for years. She was a reserved woman and had always seemed mysterious but trustworthy to him. He doubted she was the type to have matter-of-fact conversations with dangerous ghosts.
A memory niggled at him. A few years before when Derek and his mother had moved into the apartment complex, Derek had told Walter a story about a woman and her deceased husband. Walter hadn’t known Mrs. Bailey then and hadn’t associated the story with her when he met her. Now it clicked into place. “You’re a computer program, aren't you?”
Walter didn’t wait for an answer. He knew he was right. “You play back recordings of things Mr. Bailey said when he was alive, so it seems like he’s still around.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m not a good husband.”
The words were tinged with anger, but Walter didn’t find it frightening anymore. Rather, he wondered whether the context for the anger was their current conversation or the conversation Mr. Bailey had been having when the sentence was originally recorded. Both, he realized. The answer must be both. “You’re right," Walter said. "I apologize.”
The voice sounded only slightly mollified. “My health issues won't give you an in with my wife. She’s a beautiful woman and dresses to show it, but she loves me.”
Walter was quiet for a moment, mulling this over. “You think I’m trying to have an affair with your wife?” He wasn’t sure about calling it an affair. The terminology could be tricky when talking to a dead husband about his living wife.
“Of course, you are. You’re a man with a pulse, and my Mags is something special—the most beautiful girl who ever lived, but she’s got me, and I’ve got her, and you need to stop sniffing around here and go find your own girl.”
Any sniffing Walter had been doing was from a desire for Mrs. Bailey’s delectable baked goods, not from a desire for her body. Pointing out that Mrs. Bailey was old enough to be his great-grandmother seemed rude and might confuse the software, so he said instead, “Your wife is an attractive woman, but I’m not attracted to women.”
“Really?” said the voice, sounding far friendlier. “You’re gay?”
The term wasn’t so commonplace anymore, but Walter understood. “Yes, sir.”
“Then why did you look so guilty?”
“Guilty?”
“Standing outside the door. You were looking around like you stole something.”
“Oh.”
“You’re not a thief, are you?”
“No, I'm not.” Some of Walter’s anxiety returned. Mr. Bailey might not be a live man capable of beating him up, or a ghost capable of haunting him, but he could surely call the police. “I just don’t want Derek to know I come over here, okay?”
“Derek… Hendrix?” the voice said. The two names were spoken in such different tones that it was obvious they were cobbled together. While alive, Mr. Bailey had never said the name “Derek Hendrix.” He had only met Derek after death.
“Yes sir,” Walter answered.
“Why don’t you want him to know?”
Walter mulled that one over. Derek and he had been best friends a long time, and they used to talk about everything, but Derek went to a fancy, private high school now. He'd earned a scholarship there, and what had Walter accomplished? He'd gotten a lot of free cookies by starting a friendship with an old lady. Walter relied on Derek and his mother for the meals his parents were too doped-out to provide. He didn’t want to seem like even more of a charity case. Mrs. Bailey was kind and funny. He'd come to think of her as a grandmother, but that only made it worse, because it further emphasized the crumminess of his real family.
After a long moment of silence, Mr. Bailey asked, “Is Derek your boyfriend? Is he suspicious of your intentions with my wife?”
“No.”
“You don't waver, do you?” He sounded suspicious again.
“Waver?”
“You know, slip me the tongue one minute and fool around with some girl the next.”
Walter blinked into the empty room as though the couch, rocking chair, and knickknacks would aid in his understanding. “Slip you the tongue?” He decided that what Mr. Bailey had said must have made more sense in its original context. He felt great curiosity about what that context had been. “No,” he answered finally. "I don't waver."
“Good, because you know what the Good Book says about wavering, don’t you?”
“Ugh, no sir.”
"No? Well, have a seat. Let’s get it out and see!”
The voice sounded friendlier, excited even, and Walter was glad the program was no longer suspicious of him, but he felt uncomfortable hanging out in Mrs. Bailey’s apartment without her there.
“I should probably g—.”
“Nonsense. Take a seat on the couch. Can I get you a beer?”
Walter suspected that Mr. Bailey couldn’t get him a beer, even if he’d wanted one. The program had no hands. “No, thank you.”
“Well, help yourself if you change your mind.”
Walter heard the creaking sound the rocking chair made when someone sat in it, and his eyes flew to it, as though he expected it to be moving under Mr. Bailey's weight. Of course, it remained motionless.
Slowly, Walter sat on the couch.
"Now open that little drawer in front of you in the coffee table."
Walter hesitated. He was in Mrs. Bailey's apartment basically alone and was about to rummage through one of her drawers? Coffee table drawer, not underwear drawer, but still.
"Go on," said Mr. Bailey. "Open it."
Walter glanced toward the front door which he knew was still locked. Suspecting that his fastest way out of here would be to do what Mr. Bailey told him, he opened the drawer to reveal a small, black Bible.
"Turn to James chapter 1, verse 6," the voice said.
Walter picked up the book. Its binding felt soft and smooth in his hands. He opened it at the front hoping for an index. Instead, he found something much more interesting.
At first, he took what he saw to be graffiti, a bored person's scribbles, but then he realized that it was a list of names and dates written inside the front cover. They were scrawled in a variety of different handwritings and inks. He could easily read some of them. Others were loopy and more difficult. "What is this?"
"A Bible," Mr. Bailey said. "Surely you've seen one before."
Walter had seen plenty of Bibles before. He worked as a paper recycler. Most old books sold for a pittance, but Bibles usually netted more, so he always kept an eye out for them. He could sell them at a premium to retro-burners, who prized their thin, steadily burning paper to use for rolling cigarettes and other smokables.
He'd never seen one like this, though. "It's a family history, isn't it?"
"Oh that! Yes, that Bible's been in my family for generations. It was my grandfather's and my father's and mine. God willing, someday I'll give it to my son."
Walter frowned. Apparently, God wasn't willing. It was too late, now, and Mrs. Bailey had no children. The moment stretched. Walter flipped through the pages of the book looking for James without the benefit of an index.
He was surprised that many, even most, of the pages in the book had hand writing on them, too. For something treasured and handed down, Mr. Bailey's family certainly hadn't tried to keep it in pristine condition. As he flipped forward, he realized that what he was seeing were notes on the text, as well as underlining and highlighting in multiple colors. Someone had spent a lot of time studying this book. That was for sure.
He finally got to James. "What did you want me to read?"
"Chapter 1, verse 6."
Walter glanced down at it.
"Aloud, please," said Mr. Bailey.
"But let him ask in faith, nothing wavering. For he that wavereth is like a wave of the sea driven with the wind and tossed."
When he finished the verse, Walter fell silent, imagining what it would be like to be a wave. He'd never been to the ocean, though he thought he knew how the waves would feel—cool on his hot skin as they rushed over him. He'd been in a swimming pool once. The ocean would be like a swimming pool, only bigger. That was how waves would feel to him. How would waves feel to themselves?
"So, you see!" said Mr. Bailey. "A man shouldn't waver, the Bible, Itself, says so."
"Does it?" Walter asked.
"You just read it, didn't you?"
"But that's not about sexuality, right?" Scanning a couple verses back, he didn't think so.
"What do you know about it?" asked Mr. Bailey, his voice accusatory.
"Nothing," Walter admitted. Nothing first hand, but he'd heard things. "Doesn't the Bible say some negative things about homosexuality?"
Mr. Bailey made a dismissive, sniffing noise. "Maybe a few, but you better not focus on those verses if you want to keep being friends with my wife."
Walter tried to repress his smile since Mr. Bailey's cameras were no doubt watching. "OK." He closed the book and moved to put it back in the drawer.
"Nothing?" the voice asked.
"What?"
"You said you know nothing about the Bible. Did you mean that literally?"
Walter nodded.
"Take that one," said Mr. Bailey. "Read it."
Walter froze, unsure how to proceed. "You want to lend it to me?"
"I want to give it to you. It's a gift."
That was a real change in tone. First, he'd accused Walter of hitting on his wife. Now, he offered him a gift. "I thought you were going to pass it on to your son someday."
A long silence followed.
The voice sounded somber as it said, "We both know that'll never happen."
Walter wasn't sure what to say. Yes, HE knew, but he hadn't known that Mr. Bailey did.
Mr. Bailey went on. "I was testing you."
"What?"
"I knew you were gay."
"Huh?"
"I was listening the first time you came here."
The first time he'd come over for cookies, Walter had told Mrs. Bailey about his current crush, a boy at the Asian market. The knowledge that Mr. Bailey had eavesdropped on that conversation, and probably all the conversations Walter had had in this apartment, gave him a creeping feeling down his spine.
"I apologize for keeping quiet. My wife says I can be too loud. She would never have let me hear the end of it if I'd scared you away."
Which is why he waited until she was gone to terrify me, Walter thought.
"I was just messing with you," Mr. Bailey said. "It gets boring sometimes. Same old, same old. If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times..."
"Said what?"
"Everything."
Walter understood what Mr. Bailey meant, and he felt sorry for him. No body. Unable to leave this apartment. Only able to say, again, the things he'd already said. "That sucks, man."
The voice laughed. "Ah, come on. It's not that bad. I am married to the most beautiful woman in the world, right?"
"Right," Walter affirmed, wanting to encourage the computer.
Instead, it seemed to make him suspicious again. "You're not wavering, are you?"
"No, sir, no wavering."
"Good, good. A man should be firm in his convictions." He was quiet for a moment, and then said, "Maggie always wanted children."
"Oh," said Walter, surprised by the change of subject.
"Frankly, so have I."
"Oh."
"My Mags, she tells me you're a good boy."
"Thank you," Walter said, glad to hear the praise. He took compliments where he could get them, since they tended to be few and far between.
Mr. Bailey laughed. "Thank Mrs. Bailey. She's got a soft heart, sees the good in people."
"Yes, sir."
"Maggie says you're like a son to her."
"Oh, wow." Walter felt himself choking up. He was touched, and it hardly mattered to him that she must have said the same about some other boy once.
"I want you to have the Bible. I want you to grow into a good man, worthy of my wife's confidence."
Walter couldn't help himself. He had to know. "Who did you say this to the first time?" he asked. "Did that boy grow into a good man?"
The voice sounded hoarse as though holding back great emotion. "Stephen… the Calamity. He never reached adulthood."
"Oh." Walter's older brother had died in the Calamity, too. The Calamity had taken many men and boys, many older brothers. "I'm very sorry."
"I'm sorry to you. Your brother."
Mr. Bailey must have heard about that in his eavesdropping, too. "I never knew him," Walter said.
"How old are you, son?"
"Seventeen."
"Just missed it then."
"Yes, sir."
"Whether you knew him or not, you still lost him. The people we lost left holes in our homes and families, in our communities, and in ourselves."
Walter swallowed, finding himself near tears. He'd seen pictures of his parents before Chistopher's death, pictures where they looked happy, pictures where they looked sober. Christopher's death had left a hole, all right.
"Take the Bible, son. It's my gift to you."
Could dead people own things? Could they give them away? Walter just nodded, trying not to think about Stephen, the other boy who had listened to Mr. Bailey say the same words. He hoped his own future was brighter than Stephen's had been.
"Thank you." Standing, the Bible in his hand, Walter moved toward the door again, hoping Mr. Bailey was finally ready to unlock it for him.
As he approached it, the door swung open. "Thank y—"
Her hand on the knob, Mrs. Bailey blinked at him from the doorway. "Walter? What are you doing here?" Her eyes darted to the Bible in his hands and back to his face. She scowled.
Walter blushed. "No. No! I wasn't stealing it."
"I told you how I feel about those degenerates burning the pages of the Holy Book! That Bible is a family heirloom."
He stepped toward her. "No! I wouldn't sell it. Your husband! He—"
"My husband has been dead for ten years, Walter! That was his family's Bible. Have some respect!"
"He told me to come in! He wouldn't let me leave!"
She stared at him like he was crazy, and suddenly Walter had the sinking feeling that his first suspicion had been correct. Mr. Bailey really was a ghost, not a computer program at all, and Mrs. Bailey didn't know he was here. She thought Walter was a thief.
He stared into her eyes, those sweet eyes. They usually had crinkles in the corners from smiling. She wasn't smiling now.
"Please! You have to believe me! Your husband! I swear I spoke with him."
"My husband," she repeated. "My dead husband…"
"I can't explain it! I know it sounds crazy!"
"That does sound crazy," Mrs. Bailey said. "You're saying what? My husband is a ghost? He's haunting me?"
"He must be," said Walter. "Or haunting me…"
"Hmm." Mrs. Bailey glanced away from him, toward an empty corner of the room and straightened her back, standing tall. "If there are any ghosts here, reveal yourselves at once."
A long moment of silence and then a thunderous, "BOO!"
Walter just about jumped out of his skin.
Mr. and Mrs. Bailey broke out laughing. Mrs. Bailey's eyes crinkled and her bounteous fat jiggled as she doubled over from laughter. Her husband was similarly lost in hysterics.
Slowly, Walter started to chuckle, but not too hard. He'd been really scared.
When Mrs. Bailey was capable of speech again, she reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. "Sorry, Walter. That was a mean joke. It can get a little dull around here."
"Same old, same old," Walter said, echoing her husband’s words.
That set her laughing again. "I think he started playing tricks on you before I got here."
"He accused me of…" He didn't know how to say it.
"Of trying to get into my pants," the woman finished for him. "If he hadn't been so suspicious as a young man, he wouldn't have so much comedy material now."
"Nothing funny about it," said Mr. Bailey. "You're the most beautiful woman in the world."
"Thank you, dear," Mrs. Bailey answered, accepting the compliment. She closed her eyes and tilted her head as though expecting a kiss from her husband, her husband who no longer had lips.
Walter felt like an intruder on this moment and took another step toward the door.
He set the Bible down on the kitchen bar. He had no right to take it.
But Mrs. Bailey's eyes popped open, and she said something that set his heart alight.
"You want some cookies?"
Of course, he did. He left with a couple dozen extra, and Mrs. Bailey tucked the Bible into the bag, too. "It's Mr. Bailey's to give," she said. "He must like you."
She looked away from Walter again, but Mr. Bailey didn't respond. He was quiet like he'd been all the other times Walter had been here.
Walter nodded, a lump in his throat. He hadn't received many gifts in his life, and never one that seemed to mean so much to the people giving it. He'd also never received a gift from a dead person. Most of what he'd heard about the book was bad. A religious fanatic inspired by the Bible had started the Calamity, after all. He didn't plan to read any more of it, but he accepted the gift and would find a good place to hide it. He wouldn't let his parents find it and smoke it away or burn it all at once in a burst of anger and bitterness. "Thank you."
Walking away from the apartment, Walter heard Mr. and Mrs. Bailey laughing again. He thought about Christopher. Would it be possible to bring him back in the same way Mrs. Bailey had brought her husband back? There would be far fewer recordings of him for the software to draw from. Christopher had lived a much shorter life. If it could be done, would it make his parents happy, or would it just make them sad, the way everything else did? The way Walter did. Walter knew he resembled his brother, both too much and not enough. Never enough.
The End
From the world of "The Ghost in the Machine" comes “One Singular Second”…
Embark on a journey across three timelines in One Singular Second, a novel set in the same technologically advanced world as "The Ghost in the Machine." Follow Walter’s best friend, Derek, as he grapples with his past, present, and a future aboard an enigmatic alien spacecraft.
“The Present" timeline details Derek's tumultuous life before Earth's demise and his confusion when an unexpected divine-like voice begins to whisper to him, urging him to follow a righteous path. Little does Derek know that this voice is an advanced AI, sent by the very aliens who have now imprisoned him in "The Future."
"The Future" timeline finds Derek aboard the alien spacecraft, where the same mysterious voice has evolved, now demanding answers and judging Derek's actions. As the voice interrogates his life choices, it faces a profound question—should Derek be saved or left to perish?
Meanwhile, "The Past" timeline unravels the life of Derek's father, Ansel Price—a man believed to be responsible for the most heinous mass murder in recorded history. As Derek's true lineage comes to light, he must confront the sins of his father while seeking redemption for his own troubled past.
"One Singular Second" is a tale of love, sacrifice, and the unyielding bond between fathers and sons. Amidst the chaos and uncertainty, a profound love emerges, transcending even the barriers of death itself. As Derek seeks to unravel the mysteries surrounding his identity and reconcile with the truth, he faces an ultimate question: Will the truth liberate him from his past, or will it inexorably seal his fate?
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