Cedar Sanderson is doing N'inktober, so I'm going to follow along and do what I've been trained to do by the Raconteur Press Postcard books: come up with a story to match her visual prompts. I can't guarantee that I'll have a complete story for every image, but I'm going to at least try to come up with a scene, a start, or an idea!
Callipygous Waltz
I hadn’t planned to end the evening dancing with a ghost.
That was before I rounded the corner of Fifth and Magee and nearly ran through Joseph Dawson. One semi-awkward almost collision and a turned ankle later, I had a handsome older ghost helping me to my feet, while asking me if I was all right.
He was tall, lanky, and dressed to the nines in a pinstripe suit. Close-cut curly hair just starting to show some gray, over a dark face with warm brown eyes and a mouth quick to smile. He introduced himself as Joseph Dawson, “of the Hill Dawsons, ma’am”, and asked politely if I could point him to the dance hall, please?
Killing undead monsters? That I was good at. Helping a ghost find his way? I was still learning the ropes there. Being a psychopomp was a lot easier when I didn’t realize what all that entailed. Unfortunately, “all that entailed” involved a lot more talking that I was generally comfortable with.
Still, I was going to do my best. “Mr. Dawson. May I call you Joseph?”
He brought his eye back to mine, the smile returning to his face. “I’d be right honored, ma’am. Thank you, missus.”
“Just miss, Joseph. Call me Cassie. Now. Where did you say were you headed?”
His shrugged, a minute movement to encapsulate his embarrassment. “It’s a dance hall, Miss Cassie. Not one of those places the young people hang out, I mean! It’s a room above a clothing store. The owner lets us use it for our get togethers. We don’t drink or nothin’, ma’am. Well, not much. It’s just a place where some of us older folks can get together and do a bit of the fancy old dancing.” He wrung his hands together. “I wish I could tell you the name of the place, but it’s gone right out of my head, I swear.”
There’s a lot of words you can use to describe a ghost, but in my experience, “forlorn” is right there at the top of the list. If you could condense the essence of the word and wring it out into spectral form, you would have had the ghost of Jospeh Dawson.
I raised my head. Here in the Paths, I could hear normally, without the need of my cochlear implant. Very faintly, off in the distance, I could hear the sound of slow music.
“You know what? Come on, Joseph.” I reached out, palm up. He reached out, then hesitated before he took my hand in his.
“Are you sure, Miss?”
“It’s kind of what I do around here. Helping people find where they’re headed, I mean. It’s OK.”
His eyes crinkled up as he took my hand. “If you say so. Don’t suppose there’s anybody around to give me grief, is there?”
His hand was like a breath of cold wrapped around mine. I shook my head. “Nope. Just the two of us. Now, I can hear music. Let’s see if your dance hall is still open.”
It was a short walk, around the corner and down Fifth Avenue. As we went, I shifted my steps slightly, walking deeper into the Paths. Down into the past of the city. The buildings around us shifted, some shrinking, some expanding. With each step they became a little brighter, a touch more new.
The music grew louder as the buildings become younger, until we stood in front of an old tailor shop. The sign above the dark window said HOPKINS CLOTH & SUNDRIES.
“This is it!” Joseph let go of my hand and stepped up to the door. “How could I forget?” He reached for the knob, and his hand passed through it. He frowned and pushed at the door, which remained stubbornly closed.
“Hey.” I spoke softly. Jospeh turned, hands balled up in frustration, looking like he was about to cry. “That’s my job, Joseph. Let me.” I took the doorknob in my hand and turned, pulling the door open easily, revealing dark stares. At the top, light spilled down the stairs, sparkling and shifting with the music that accompanied it.
I gestured at the stairs. “After you, sir.”
“Miss Cassie. Thank you. You don’t have to come with me and all. I mean, if it makes you feel uncomfortable.”
“Uncomfortable? I might ask you for a dance, Jospeh.” I did my best to give him a dazzling smile.
“What? Have you ever - well. You know.” He looked painfully embarrassed.
“Danced with a ghost?”
That startled him. His laugh was loud, deep and clear, a quick explosion of mirth before it disappeared as quickly as it had come. “No. I mean, yes. But –” he gestured at himself. “I meant, with someone like me. A black man.”
He averted his eyes quickly, obviously afraid that he’d given offense; glancing back sideways to see if I was willing to offer forgiveness for the slight he perceived himself to have given.
I took his hand again. “You might not have noticed, Jospeh. I may me a maiden, but my complexion isn’t exactly fair. Come on. Let’s see what’s waiting for you upstairs.”
I followed him up the stairs, getting an unexpected demonstration of how well Jospeh must have taken care of himself despite his age. I had a few seconds to admire a rather nice view before we reached the room at the top of the stairs.
“It’s empty.” Joseph looked around, confused. “Where is the music coming from?”
“Ghost logic,” I said. I took his hand again. “It looks like it’s just the two of us, Mr. Dawson. Would you care to dance?”
He looked down at me. A slow smile spread, lighting up his face.
“It would be an honor, Miss Cassie.” He cocked his head, listening. “It’s a slow dance, one of those German turning ones. A waltz. Have you ever danced one?”
“Nope!” I grinned and held up my hands. “You’ll be my first. So you show me and I’ll follow your lead, all right?” My smile faltered a bit, and I forced it back. “You hold on to me and everything will be just fine, Joseph. Trust me.”
Joseph stepped in, taking my hands just so, immaterial arm circling my waist, feather-light strength against my dirty clothes. I had to close my eyes and concentrate on feeling him holding me. The faint smell of cologne tickled my nose.
“Step with me now, Miss Cassie,” he murmured. “One, two, one two three…”
I kept my eyes closed and let him guide me across the rough wooden floor. The music surrounded us, touching us both as lightly as he held me. We glided, turned, twirled, moving together. When the music finally faded, it felt like the end of an era.
I stumbled, eyes opening to an empty room. The music was gone; the light was fading, leaving nothing but dead moonlight streaming through empty windows.
I blinked and turned to the stairs. Before I reached them, a last breath of cold wafted out of the darkness, brushing my cheek and leaving the lingering scent of cologne.
I love Cassie!
Very well done. The story resonates well, in both characters and world. I'm so tickled you are doing these!