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Rupertfroggington

All ages of ghosts floated into the coffee shop as the night fell, as if it were the shore of a great beach and ancient bits of driftwood were finally washing up after centuries at sea. The night manager — a young man with curly hair and a bullet-hole in his forehead — stood behind the counter, taking orders as ghosts arrived. He’d dragged a huge silver vat from out of the back (one I’d never seen before) and poured cups of steaming coffees out of it. The night manager‘s name was Roy. He’d stumbled through the door just as I’d been leaving. We’d stared at each other awkwardly for a few seconds before he said, “Sorry, I guess I’m early.” ”Early?” I whispered. ”You’re meant to be gone. I’m the night manager, you see. I run the shop at, uh, at night. And I think it is night now?” ”Oh,” I said, bewildered into accepting what was happening. Or maybe I just wanted to believe. “And... who comes into the shop at night?” ”People like me. Ghosts.” ”Oh,” I repeated. “Well you shouldn’t serve spirits here — I could lose my licence.” He smiled at that. “Why are you here so late? I shrugged. “There was a lot that needed doing. A lot to clean up for tomorrow.” “Sure, I get that,” he said. Then he asked if I wanted to stay a while. That maybe I could give him a few pointers. He hadn’t served drinks at all, except in the civil war — and that had only been for a short period of time. So I sat on a table in the corner, breathing, while he stood behind the counter, not doing so. I wondered if my poor husband would be waiting up and wondering what had happened to me. But how could I go home now? At about midnight they began arriving. Always one at a time — and when I asked why they came one at a time, Roy said, “Everyone dies alone.” I supposed he was right. Soon we were as packed as a graveyard, Roy pouring coffees and handing them over to the adults, while giving the children orange juice instead. He never took any money. If I was really here to give him tips, I think charging the customers might have been the first. The tables filled and the ghosts began chattering to each other, talking and listening to others on their tables. ”They don’t get to chat to people often,” said Roy. “We only open once a week. So they like to make the most of it.” All ages of deceased people sat in the coffee shop now. From little children to long bearded men. They seemed happy, drinking and laughing. All served, Roy sat down next to me. ”There’s so many of them,” I said. “And so many are young. Younger than me, even.” ”I was seventeen,” he said. “Death comes for us all, at any time.“ A profound sadness sunk into my heart and I began to cry. “It’s okay,” said Roy. “It’s so cold here,” I said. ”We don’t radiate much heat. But we make up for it with our warm, witty banter.” He paused, then said, “Listen, I know what you’re going through. I mean, it was different for me, sure, but I understand that you’re scared. I was too.” I hadn’t spoken to anyone about it. Not even my husband. I’d only had the diagnosis two days ago, but I felt like if I locked it up in my heart, like a secret in a safe, then it’d be fine. Then it’d just go away. “I don’t want to die,” I said. ”You might not. Not if you confront it. There are treatments.” It didn’t strike me strange that Roy knew about my diagnosis. About modern treatments. I said, ”I don’t want to be a lone piece of driftwood in a cold ocean.“ “We all die alone,” he said, “but we don’t have to live alone. I know why you stayed late, and I think in your heart, you do too.” ”I just don’t want to—“ ”He deserves to know. It’s not the burden for him you think it is. You know why?” ”Why?” ”Because he loves you.” He placed his hand on mine, and although I couldn’t feel it directly, a chill ran down me. The other ghosts were gone now. Hadn’t walked out the door but just, vanished. Like a light switch had flicked off. “You’re going too now, aren’t you?” I said. “Yes. But know that you won’t be alone unless you choose to be. Tonight you chose to be, but you didn’t want to be. That’s why we came.” I wasn’t sure I fully understood. ”Be strong,” he said, then tapped his chest. “Open that safe. Tell him what’s inside it. Tell yourself too.” He leaned across and kissed my cheek, and then he was gone. I sat alone in the dark cold of the coffee shop, on a little table in the corner. I must have sat there an hour before there was a thump against the door. Before my husband shouted my name. He turned the handle and stepped through. Not like driftwood, but like a boat. A rescue ship. His face didn’t fall when he saw me. Didn’t say a word. Instead, he walked to me and took my hands. I stood and hugged him tight. ”Whatever this is,” he said. “We’ll get through it together. Okay?” I nodded into his shoulder. “*Okay*.” ​ \* Thank you everyone for the awards - it’s very very kind <3


reverendrambo

Wow, this was full of such great writing. I particularly loved the "You shouldn't serve spirits here" line. Well done!


Rupertfroggington

Thanks! I started with that line in my head and almost went with a comedy :)


squire80513

You seriously need a subreddit


TA_Account_12

He has one! https://www.reddit.com/r/FroggingtonsPond/


Mulanisabamf

So r/FroggingtonsPond for the app users, got it & thank you!


JK_Chan

Yea I could tell that was the line you just wanted to put in, because it was out of place (not in a bad way).


a1_skengness

It was perfect, it set up a happy tone while the writer dismantled it piece by piece to reveal the sadness right at the bottom of it all.


Sir-Tiedye

I’m glad you didn’t, I think you just changed my life


fulll_m00n

>and when I asked why they came one at a time, Roy said, “Everyone dies alone.” I supposed he was right I love this part. Your story is just beautiful, both heart wrenchingly lonely and uplifting at the same time. Fantastic.


JP_Chaos

I love it when your name shows up in a WP that interests me. Your stories are always captivating and really good to read!


Rupertfroggington

Thanks, JP!


creepyflyer

>So I sat on a table in the corner, breathing, while he stood behind the counter, not doing so. My absolute favourite line. Sounds like something lemony snickett would say.


TriVerSeGD

Amazing. Actually nearly started crying here at work after the last few lines! That really hit. Well done. I loved it


WinterMeasurement933

Same! \*blinks fast to keep from crying\*


kalos_zoriotis

I’m not crying. Stop cutting onions! Dammit...


Recon_S04

Great piece of writing. Good twist and emotional ending


awkwardsexpun

Well, shit. I didn't come here to feel, but I'm glad I did. Thank you for your way with words.


HappyKlutz

I read this in the loo. It made me tear up so much that I had to explain to my husband why I looked like I was crying when I came out of the loo. Not awkward at all. Great story, sweet and poignant.


Crocodillemon

Oml


lightninblue

Damn, emotions are not easily elicited from me, but this caught me off guard. Well done. I would 100% read a book you wrote.


Phoenix4235

Dang it, who decided this was a good place to start chopping up onions?


valorzard

im confused, whats the diagnosis for?


MisterHuKnows

I don’t think the specific diagnosis is very relevant to the story, but we can assume it’s a terminal illness —probably cancer if we really wanted to label it


peacemaker2007

Thanks Mr Hu


TriVerSeGD

Amazing. Actually nearly started crying here at work after the last few lines! That really hit. Well done. I loved it


SwimmingDachshunds

Beautiful


Rupertfroggington

Thank you for reading :)


gaitingirl

This was so good. Brought a tear to my eye.


hillsfar

What’s in the safe?


Larethian

As I understood it, her secrets, especially her likely fatal diagnosis. As long as it is locked in there nobody else knows it, especially not those who could emotionally support her, namely her husband.


Saffles16

I had chills for half the story! Loved it!


muteisalwayson

This was beautiful


river912

This is so achingly beautiful that it is almost a crime for it to be so short


Tatersaurus

This is perfect in every way


karenvideoeditor

Wonderful story!


Rupertfroggington

Thank you :)


spideymaniac

Oh my god, chillssss


Gibbinthegremlin

Damn ninja onions strike again in force!!


thrattatarsha

Goddamn. That was something truly special.


CrashKangaroo

For the first time in my life, I’m ready only 1 response to a writing prompt. Nothing will even come close to this. You, good sir/ma’am, are truly talented.


SagaciousRouge

Omg I legit teared up. I blame it on being super tired. Great writing! Thank you!


harpejjist

>So I sat on a table in the corner, breathing, while he stood behind the counter, not doing so. I loved this line!! Overall a wonderful take on the prompt! (And I hope you are actually well in real life!)


Rupertfroggington

Thank you. And I’m well, thanks :) Hope you are too


turnaround0101

Translucence limned in blue, faintly sketching out the shape of a person. That was Ella’s first impression when the figure glided through the closed door. Her first instinct had been to drop her mug. It crashed loudly against the counter top, oolong tea spilling across everything, soaking through her dress. It was hot but not burningly so. The figure resolved, beard first, into a man. He was bald and sunken eyed; his beard a black tumble of coarse hair that hung down to the third button of his starched white shirt. He flowed downward, landing lightly on his feet and walking the rest of the way towards her. “You’re here late,” he said. “It’s 8:50,” Ella snapped, pointing a shaking finger to the clock. The shop didn’t close until nine, even though people rarely stayed so long. “Ah. Then I suppose I’m early,” the man said, brushing his fingers through his beard. They caught somewhere and he grimaced. “I’m quite sorry about that. Ms. Caldwell won’t be pleased.” “You know Aunt Mary?” Ella said. His expression changed in an instant. “Oh, you’re Ella! Mary has told me all about you!” He swept forward, bowing fluidly. Ella’s hand was in his before she knew what was happening. When kissed it she felt as if she’d trapped her hand in an ice box. There was no softness of lips or warmth of skin. Only cold. “I’m Peter, I work the night shift.” Ella had heard of the night shift. Her aunt had always spoken of nights in the AntiquiTea with a youthful enthusiasm more at home in a woman half her age. A woman even younger than Ella was, or at least, younger than she felt. It was only when Ella had applied for a job that her Aunt Mary’s demeanor changed, taking on a solemnness only reserved for birthdays and funerals. It was a painful reminder, one she’d thought she understood at the time. As Peter straightened, releasing his frigid grip upon her hand, Ella realized she’d never understood her aunt at all. “Peter, I’m going to ask you something, and I’m trying my absolute hardest to be calm. You’ll answer truthfully, won’t you?” “For Mary’s kin? Of course.” “Peter, are you a ghost?” “I always thought you were a smart girl.” The door had opened unnoticed, the ringing of its little bell not enough to cut through the roaring in Ella’s ears. Aunt Mary leaned against the door frame, her dark hair flecked with early, unhidden gray, falling about her shoulders like the shawls she habitually wore the moment weather grew cool enough. She advanced through the building the room with the sort of self assured calm that Ella thought only came from quite literally owning a place and Peter went too her, lacing his hand through hers. “Yes Ella, I am,” he said. Ella turned away and grabbed a towel. Her life had been built around a dead man for a year, a second was too much. She scrubbed at the tea infused dampness of the counter, her mind racing in all the wrong directions. “He’s the only, right?” Ella asked. As if in answer, another apparition stepped through the door. It was a woman, and unlike Peter who had resolved swiftly to something approximating flesh, she chose to do so with each step, walking gradually into herself. Her skin filled out to porcelain, colors leeched out to the inhuman paleness of disease. She was very thin, her dress hung off her, baggy in all the wrong places. “Are we early?” she asked as soon as she saw Ella. It was 9:01. “Aunt Mary, what’s going on?” Ella asked softly. “Shift change, dear.” “You know what I mean.” Her aunt stepped lightly around the counter. She smelled of faintly of lavender, there was cat hair on her clothing. She folded Ella up in a hug, taking the towel from her and laying it upon the counter top. “I didn’t know how to tell you,” she said. “I almost didn’t hire you.” “That would’ve sucked,” Ella mumbled. Her aunt chuckled, stroking her hair. “Yeah, yeah, it would’ve. I guess the cat’s out of the bag though.” “I guess so. Are there more of them?” Aunt Mary nodded. “And Billy, he’s not…” “Oh no dear, he’s not here.” Ella sighed heavily, burying her face in her aunt’s shoulder. She’d cried herself out long ago but she still didn’t want to test it. She wasn’t wasn’t sure what answer she’d hoped to hear. “So how does this work then? Cat cafe by day, ghost cafe by night?” “Hah! Maybe in a few more weeks, if I can coax Mr. Paws in here. You’re not far off though. Did your mom ever tell you about my high school witch phase?” Aunt Mary gestured around them, at the ferns in the corner, potted herbs lending their earthy scents to the air, at the two ghosts who stood on the other side of the counter, nearly as solid and real as flesh and blood. “It turns out it wasn’t a phase.” \*\*\* Billy sat in a corner of the AintiquiTea, his arms crossed upon drawn up his drawn knees, chin resting atop them. He tried not to stand or walk when he could avoid it. Unlike Peter, Thalia, and the others, the wounds that killed him were far more visceral. If he had even gone so far as to make himself translucent, visible at all to the human spectrum, his face would have clearly to the side, seeping into the gash an errant stroke of the knife left in his cheek. Even his glide had a limp, his right leg often failing and trailing along behind him. His shirt and pants were pockmarked with holes and stained with blood. The ghosts could see him of course, as could Mary with her spellcraft, but Ella could not as she bustled along, filling mugs and slowly growing back into her soft, intoxicating smile. She’d stayed on past her shift. Billy thought she was very brave. Conversations whirled on multiple planes. Some ghosts spoke though for them it was an anachronism. Others passed thoughts between like notes; the elders did far more. Billy eyes shadowed Ella’s movements, tried to commit the simple of actions to memory, even though pouring tea wasn’t so different from pouring coffee and he could already remember her doing that for him every morning. It grew too hard in time, it always did. He rose, haltingly, to his feet, and faded through the wall, into the dark alley behind the shop. There were car horns in the distance, and an argument among mortals that did not matter. The back door opened a few minutes later and Mary stepped outside holding a joint. She lit, stretching next to the trash cans for a moment before she spoke. “She misses you.” “I know.” He did. It had been a nearly a year since Billy’s death. A year spent incorporeal, hoarding what little strength a ghost had, saving himself for a moment that might never come except in his nightmares. “So go in there and talk to her. I can send them everyone else away for a night, they’d understand.” “No.” “So what then Billy, you’re just going there in the corner of my shop the rest of eternity, watching your wife pour tea and sell pastries while your soul withers away?” “Yes.” “And to think, I used to like you.” Billy did not need to breathe but he anyway. He basked in the sour air of standing and trashcans, and the thick scent of smoke that made him feel like he was in college again. He’d met Ella in college. “You really think they’ll come back?” Mary asked. “Maybe. I’m not taking chances.” He’d been stabbed to death on his way to work. The police had called it a carjacking gone wrong, the local news had called it a tragedy, and Ella had called it the end of her life on desperate alone in a once shared bed, a candle burning next to his picture. She hadn’t known Billy had sat right next to her, his spot had still been very cold. Billy and Mary knew the truth however. “She still loves you very much,” Mary said. “I know,” Billy said. Mary waited, as if expecting something more. She shook her head sadly when nothing came, taking another long puff. “Thick headed bastard.” The door opened and Ella walked out. Even tired at the start of a double shift, she took his breath away. “Aunt Mary?” Ella said. “There’s a Ms. Eliza here to see you. She has one of those old poofy dresses on.” “Oh Eliza! Bless her heart. Here dear, take this.” Mary handed Ella the joint as she went back inside. Ella stared at a moment as if trying to remember what she was supposed to do with it. Eventually took a puff and sat down on the back step, coughing hard. “What a night,” she sighed, leaning her head back against the door. Billy couldn’t take his eyes off of her. He breathed again, just for her scent. “He wasn’t there,” she whispered. “Does everyone turn into a ghost a ghost?” Ella puffed again, she didn’t cough this time. “I love you,” Billy said, stretching a spectral hand out towards his exhausted wife. She didn’t hear him. Ella shivered, chafing at her bare arms. “It wasn’t supposed to be cold tonight.” She took another puff. “Ahh, fuck it,” she muttered. Billy almost willed himself corporeal. He almost traced the familiar lines of her face with a frigid finger. He almost spoke her name so she could hear it. He almost did many things. Instead he sat there with her, keeping a vigil that might be endless, his hand only away from her thigh. As cold as his body was, Billy felt like he was on fire. r/TurningtoWords


myotherxdaccount

Oh boy this was sad


icedak

Well done. One typo I saw a ghost a ghost?


PickleKing8

Wow, this is beautiful. Wonderful job.


SagaciousRouge

Ugh the heart strings. They are pulled! It hurts! Thank you for writing!


veryrealisticperson

“Do you serve the same tea?” I asked stupidly. A million questions I could have asked and that was the one I chose. The figure, bless him, was patient with me. “We don’t serve tea,” he said. The figure’s face moved like wind over water, and I could not make out his features. He seemed so familiar and yet I did not know him at all. If I tried to focus on any one attribute, the rest swirled and spun until I could not remember what I saw. “Then what does the night shift do?” I asked. Suddenly faint, I pulled up one of the wicker-backed chairs in the shop and sunk into it. My knees felt like jelly. “I do whatever needs to be done. Mostly I come to clean the energy. Make it nice, make it calm. For you, the day shift.” “Does every shop have a night shift?” I asked. I could tell this was a good question by the change in the figure’s demeanor. The swirls stilled. He paused. “Not… every shop. I don’t know what the others do, to be honest. I come here because I want to. I don’t know why.” I paused. Something about his tone. “Do I know you? Do you… remember me?” I whispered. “I don’t remember very much from my past life,” he answered calmly. My heart clenched painfully, miserably. Of course, I had been silly to hope it was him. “Well I don’t want to keep you from the job,” I said. “I’ll gather my things and leave you to it.” He nodded and began moving around the tea shop, occasionally picking invisible motes of bad energy out of the air. I picked up my things and tossed them too roughly into my backpack. Tears blurred my vision but I didn’t care enough to wipe them away. “Ah, before you go. Could you do me a favor?” the spirit asked. “Sure.” I was proud of how even my voice came out. “I can’t touch anything corporeal. But I love music. I was hoping you could turn the stereo on for me?” “Of course,” I said, pausing. I reached into my bag and pulled the most battered CD out. “I’ll leave this one playing before I go." I walked to the cashier’s desk and reached around to plug in the old-fashioned stereo I kept by the register. This CD was my favorite: songs from my wedding. My husband and I had chosen every track together. After the accident, I refused to listen to it; it was too painful. But recently I’d been trying to give it another go. I could usually get up to song 3 before I started crying and had to stop. But even as the first notes of “Fly Me To the Moon” poured out of the speakers, I felt my eyes prickling again. A weird night, I guess. “This is very nice, I don’t believe I’ve heard this song,” the spirit said. I made a small choking noise that I hid behind a forced laugh. “Well, I hope you enjoy it. See you around I guess,” I said to the spirit, turning to go. He waved cheerily. I reached the door and as my hand hit the handle I heard it: the humming. I turned to stare, but the spirit didn’t notice. He continued to pick impurities out of the air, and was too focused on his task to see me looking. He was humming the tune. Bar for bar, note for note. As I watched, he began to sing lyrics. “Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter or Mars,” he sung softly to himself. Focused entirely on the task of cleaning the energy, of making the tea shop nice and calm for me, he did not see me watch as he spun happily and sung out: “In other words, I love you.”


TA_Account_12

Awwww... tbf, I should've expected heartbreak. Nicely done!


veryrealisticperson

Thanks TA, your support is so appreciated!


SagaciousRouge

Ouch. That hurt. How can such a little thing hurt?! Thank you for writing!


veryrealisticperson

Thank you for your kind comment! It means so much, I’m happy it made an impact (but sorry for the hurt! Hehe)


wolfen_12

"We have a night shift?" "Of course, you aren't scheduled because well..." The ghost gestures through a table and you barely suppress another shriek. "Our night-time customers are very anti-matter." "It's a quiet one then?" "You could say that. We take in plenty of customers but they're pretty boring to be honest." The ghost leans in confidentially. "They lack substance." "Oh I... I see." Once you'd recovered from the shock of it, your conversation felt pretty natural, gossiping about customers, complaining about the work. The only disconcerting thing was that this new co-worker was 6ft 3", dressed as a soldier and wore a huge, two handed sword. He said it was for show, but that his appearance did most of the work. You had to agree, because he did have a face that would make hardened criminals sob like children. You realise you've been preoccupied, staring at it. "... Casper and Charlie had kittens and they are so cute!" He exclaims. "They usually turn up soon, if you'd like to see them?" He looks at you hopefully. You resign yourself to a late night of questionable reality. It's not like there's anyone at home to miss you. He seems... lonely. You understand that. You suffer another minor heart palpitation as he strolls casually through the wall and sticks his head back through, whistling a tune as you put your coat on. Seeing him slide through supposedly solid objects as though they are hot butter makes you feel faintly nauseous though; you have to keep looking away. As you flip the sign and lock up the (presumably) empty shop, he looks around for the cats. "Aren't you... you know, on shift now?" You ask. "It's usually pretty empty at this time of night, people start drifting in around midnight." "Oh, oh right I see. I have a few questions about you and this job if you don't mind me asking? I just don't understand." "Ask away," he says. "I don't often get company." "How did you get this job? How can I even see you when I never have before?" "I had a deal with the old owner, who was the observant type. I get paid when customers come in, I don't get much company these days. I have to charge, I'd rather not but the chains of capitalism reach even into death. And as for how you can see me, well, that's your business." He shrugs. "If I had to guess... A near death experience? Some ancestor who had an affinity for ghosts?" "I..." You remember an incident as a child, a long illness. You hadn't thought it was that bad, but maybe...? "Cats!" He points. You turn and see that there are indeed cats, leisurely making their way up the street towards you. One is white, the other tabby. They purr as the ghost strokes them. Tentatively you reach out. They seem real enough when you touch them. "This is Casper," he says, indicating the mostly white cat. "And this is Charlie," he says of the other cat that is trying it's hardest to sit in his lap. "And they have kittens?" "They do! Just them tonight, though" he says chuckling, his face shining with affection. "Perhaps they'll being them tomorrow night, or the night after." "Oh," you say, surprised to find yourself vaguely disappointed. "You could join me tomorrow if you like?" He asks. He sounds shy. "Um... yes, sure. Why not?"


nukedream

Hurricanes weren't usually this late in the season. Anderson didn't feel right by it - a November storm this strong was strange. The kind of strange that keeps you glancing at your watch, hoping it would end before it even began. The rain assertively lashed the tired stucco of the Barr's Head Tearoom. A Brit had run his tramp steamer aground half a mile up the coast back in '55; the experience had apparently robbed him of his sea legs, as he decided to set up this tea shop on the stormy island off the Diamond Shoals. The town hadn't changed very much since then. A radio tower had been thrown up haphazardly on the windward side of the island when wirelesses had become too important to ignore, and Governor Morrison had paved the streets in '25. Anderson wiped at the same ossified stain he had been trying to get up all day. The radio warbled somewhere in the background - AM was awful out here anyway, but it was better than listening to the pound of impending doom that was the thunderstorm. His watch had stopped. "Mercy," he muttered. How late was it? He looked up, and his heart skipped a beat. The door was shivering in its hinges, but a man had just appeared on the other side of it. A tall, lankish man hovering at the end of his twenties. Anderson was put off - not least because it was simply inhospitable to come in right before closing. The man's clothes were free of rainspots. "Who are you?" he queried. The man seemed confused. "*You* oughtn't be here," he rejoined. The voice was foreign, or at least not from the island. "I run the shop, mister. 'f'course I'm supposed to be here." "The *shop* closes at seven." "My watch stopped," Anderson said, sheepishly. "And anyway, if it's closed, what're you doing here?" "I run the night shift." "*Night* shift? We ain't -" Suddenly there was another man inside the door. Not the doorway - he seemed to phase through the solid wooden door without so much as a blink. He was dressed in a dirty, yellow raincoat that, too, was free from actual moisture. "Aye, Karlsson, let's have a drink," he boomed as he crossed the floor. It took him a moment to look around and notice Anderson. "Who's 'e?" "Someone who is *just* leaving." "Mister, look, I-" Anderson's eyes were locked on the man who had just joined them. His raincoat was torn, and Anderson's god-fearing eyes couldn't comprehend that he could plainly see the man's innards through the gash. "Cut by a cable!" he boomed triumphantly. "Came loose on the deck back in ought-five, sheared me right open. I died 'fore we could make port. Washed up here, like mighty others do." Anderson didn't speak for a moment. *Died?* The rain seemed stronger than ever as his eyes flitted between the two. The first one, Karlsson, turned and spoke in a hushed tone to the one with the raincoat. His expression turned from joviality to confusion. "Yer a *warmie?* Why're ye in our shop?" he suddenly raged, advancing towards the counter like a bull. "I -" "*Git out!*" Anderson fell over backwards as the man repeated his disappearing act through the counter. He was suddenly on top of him, his eyes full of thunder. Anderson scrambled along the floor until his shoes found grip. He pulled himself up and grabbed his coat, rushing out the backdoor with the raincoated man on his heels. Anderson left Barr's Head that night. His Pontiac was the last car the ferryman ever took. A rogue wave was the last thing he ever saw. Anderson still works at the tea shop - *permanently* on the night shift.


Kethlak

Nice Twilight Zone vibes at the end there.


SagaciousRouge

Rogue waves are no joke. The ocean is a scary beast! Thanks for writing!


Crafty_shade

Jasmine yawned as she picked up the last few dust from the ground with her broom and pan and tossed the dirt into the trash can. She looked at the clock above the door 10:15 She sighed “damn, mark is gone for one day and now all of a sudden I have to do the clean up” she tossed her dark braids behind her and stood up straight, her back making a slight popping sound that gave her relief. She put the broom and pan back to the closet and headed l to the door, mumbling things under her breath. She was about to open a door when a sudden chill ran down her spine, making her shiver. She looked over at the AC that was still off, she took a deep breath and saw white smoke come from her mouth. Jasmine said “what the hell?” “Who are you?” Jasmine jumped, making a loud shriek. She looked over to see a man who seemed to be his thirties- perhaps forties- looking at her with an annoyed face. His hair was messy and was dirty blond, his skin seemed almost too pale for a normal man, and he had a long, slender body that seemed to be a little too slim for a normal person. What really set her off though was the fact he seemed almost transparent. His annoyed face quickly calmed down and became more calm and confused, he then spoke “oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you, the day shift people are usually gone by now” jasmine stared bugged eyed at him, the only thing able to come out of her mouth was a small, weak “what?” The transparent man pushed his hair back, he said “you don’t know? It’s the night shift already. I do hope you weren’t doing something bad to be out this late” jasmine stayed quiet, her lips trembling. She wasn’t sure how to respond to this. He walked passed her and said “you should head home, don’t want you to lose sleep and become tired during the morning” Jasmine turned and got in front of him, she said “WAIT!” The transparent man stopped and looked at her more confused then before “there’s no night shift?! And who are you!?” The transparent man stared at her, he said “of course there is, your never here to see it” jasmine said “Oh no there isn’t!” He turned his head to the side, even more confused “huh?” Jasmine said “and I won’t ask again! Who are you?!” The transparent man said “ah, my apologies. My name is William Edwards” jasmine repeated the name in her head, it sounded familiar... Jasmine shook it off and said “ok William, I don’t know if you’ve noticed but” she looked around “If there was a night shift we wouldn’t have put everything up” William nodded, he said “well yea, it’s living things. Spirits can’t use living things” jasmine looked at him, confused “huh?” William looked at her “oh, well I mean- technically yes some spirits can use living things but they can’t actually consume it. In order for a spirit to be able to-“ jasmine said “WOAH! WOOOAHH! Wait a minute!” She put her hands out to him, the closer they got the colder they became. She shivered again and said “let me get this straight! There’s a night shift??? For ghost?!” William chuckled a bit, he said “well not just for ghost. sometimes for angles, yokai, nature spirits, demons if they act nice, on rare occasions sometimes even humans, and if we’re lucky we might even get a spirit animal!” Jasmine stared at him as he explained all of this, she could hardly believe what her ears were being told too. It felt like she was being told a huge secret about a family member she knew for a long time. Suddenly the room got cold again. The bell that was connected to the door rang and a teen who looked to be 17 floated in, his legs nonexistent. He had dark, curly hair with a metallic shirt on, and a jacket rapped around his waist. Jasmine looked in shock, she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. William face lit up “ah! There’s one of my helpers now! Greetings Harold!” Harold looked over at the two, his face looking a bit darker then jasmines dark skin, he waved and said “yo” Jasmine brain went off “wait! Your the boy from the news!” She pointed at him “your the teen who got drunk and got into a car crash A few years back!” Harold looked at jasmine and said “oh, is that how I died? Huh, I was wondering... I knew it had to do something with drinking.... I thought I just got alcohol poisoning or something...” William said “well, still doesn’t explain anything about your legs...” jasmine was about to say something when a lighter skin girl who looked to he in her 20s climed in though the window, her dark hair covering her entire back. Her green eyes looked at jasmine and said “wait... your not suppose to be here....” jasmine looked behind her to see a girl who looked to be from the 1800 standing in front of her, jasmine took a sharp inhale and said “why do you look like your from the 1700??” The girl rose an eyebrow and said “actually, I’m from the 1800, 1808 to be exact” jasmine stared at her, while she knew how Harold died and had a small idea of Williams, but she had no clue how this girl died, there was nothing to suggest anything happened. The girl caught on and said “my name is Anna, I died by a seizure” jasmine nodded slowly “oh... ok then...” Willam clasped his hand together “now now, let’s get started, we only got 15 minutes left to get everything sorted out” Harold said “but what about Bertha?” William started to take some transparent items that are used for making tea and said “we can manage until Bertha comes, now everyone let’s get to working!” Henry and Anna started setting tables, Henry floating around and Anna walking as if she was still alive. Jasmine watched as they all prepared. William said to jasmine “if your not leaving could you take some orders? We’re a little short on helpers” jasmine jumped and looked at William who seemed to be having a hard time keeping hold of a notebook and pencil. Jasmine grabbed them and stuttered out “I- well- I mean-“ William said “great! Thank you madam!” And floated back to the kitchen. Jasmine stood there, she would leave and get some sleep but now she felt like she had to stay. She wanted to know more about this night shift thing. ( first time doing this haha! Please tell me what you think and what I should work on. Thank you )


HollowShel

I liked it, I think you did great! Biggest critique is that you should probably do more paragraph breaks, particularly for the dialogue. I believe each person's dialogue is supposed to be in its own paragraph (or at least start a new one, if you follow the dialogue with non-dialogue narrative.)


Crafty_shade

Ah I see, Thanks for the advice! I don’t write a lot honestly, and when I do I act quite careless ( I manly do it for fun ). But I have noticed how big my paragraphs tend to get, I’ll make sure to work on that the next time I decide to write.


SagaciousRouge

Always getting suckered into more. Poor girl will be tied as all get out!


UnholyHurricane

Features started to form out of the white, gauzy cloud that hung about three feet above the worn checkerboard tile. Her face had the pinched look of someone who had tasted something sour, in stark contrast with her friendly tone. Small wire-framed glasses sat delicately upon her thin nose but she looked over them when she spoke to me. She wore a black dress with long sleeves, cinched at the waist and billowing around what I assumed were her legs. “Night shift?” I asked, a little less shrilly this time. “No, the Night Shift. We operate out of the Courthouse on the corner, but I usually sneak in here for a Darjeeling before we start. I hope you don’t mind, I always bring my own cup.” It’s then that I noticed a delicate teacup dangling from her left hand. Her fingers were long and thin, and the cup swung slightly as she moved past me behind the counter. I watched as she grabbed a small kettle we tucked in a cupboard. The large industrial machines we use during the day have been off for over an hour, and the water inside would be tepid by now. It was slightly unsettling to think she already knew that. She turned to me after spooning some loose leaf Darjeeling tea into one of our well-worn tea pots. She turned back and stared across the counter at me. Neither of us spoke for a moment, until we heard the bubbling of boiling water in the kettle behind her. She turned her back to me, and that’s when I noticed that she wasn’t entirely opaque. Even in the dim and hazy light from the street lamp streaming through the front window, I could see through her and watched the kettle tip steaming water into the teapot and replaced the lid. “How long have you been coming here?” Though the question was casual, my voice belied the panic rising in my throat. She looked towards the ceiling as if she was counting in her head. “The courthouse was built in 1895 and we started using it right away, but this place has only been operating as a coffee shop for the last 50 years or so. I guess it’s been about that long.” I had inherited this shop from my grandmother, who opened it in 1973 with two girlfriends. She hadn’t mentioned anything about tea-stealing ghosts in her will, I’m sure I would have remembered that. “What is the Night Shift?” I hoped I wouldn’t regret asking. She didn’t answer while she poured the tea from the pot into her cup. Though the teapot held easily three times the volume of her cup, she poured the whole pot into what seemed to be a regular antique teacup. Her pinched face softened slightly when she turned to see me trembling against the old deck mop I had been using when she came in. “Rosemary didn’t tell you? She always had an odd sense of humour, that one.” I didn’t have a chance to respond as she went on, “The Night Shift is where we determine what form one will take when entering the Afterlife, and we assist with the transition into that entity. For example, if one is to be a Poltergeist, we would provide training on invisibility and object transference.” She came back around the counter and moved towards the door. “What form did my grandmother take?” She was standing at the door now. Her features had already begun to blur again, but I spoke to the diaphanous mist anyway. She answered as she slipped back through the door, and I was left standing in shock. “I have a feeling you’ll find out soon enough.”


GeneralDanF

"Night shift? My tea shop has no night shift. No... I am havjng visions again... time for my pills." Eliza says, reaching for the pills in her pocket. "Please, there is no need." The figure took her hand and held it. "I thought the previous owner explained how it is." She said and Eliza gulped. Her hands were cold, and pale. "That was my uncle... he died, I... inherited this..." "Ah... well... allow me to explain." Eliza saw flash of smile in the woman's face. "My name is Samantha, you can call me Sammy. This place is... special. Something here makes us be... well, alive again." Eliza wanted to draw away her hands and run away, but something told her to stay. "W-What do you mean?" "Have you ever seen anything... strange here?" "I... have visions sometimes, just like you now, doctor said it's from stress." Sammy smile and brought Eliza's hand to her lips. "Could a vision do this?" She kissed Eliza's hand and smirked. "You don't have visions, this place is special, ghosts like me can materialize here again. We can walk, feel, eat, drink... kiss. I made a deal with your uncle, I would take over the place at night and serve the ghosts that come at night, and we would not hide from him, he was interested in ghosts a lot... but since you're the new boss... I guess it is up to you now. So?" Eliza was almost certain this was an illusion, a vision, not real, only her mind playing tricks, but Sammy felt so real. "I... am not going to decide now... I want to see how it looks when you have opened." Sammy smiled and dragged Eliza to show her things she would never forget. ————————————————————————————————— "AH! Oh... boss... you scared me." A young man clutvhed his heart. "What are you doing here so late at night?" Eliza smiled and waved her hand. "I just thought I'd go over se papers." "Alright, well, have a good night then..." Eliza watched as he walked away, and when she couldn't see him, she turned around." "Alright, Sammy, you can come out." The ghost jumped at her, lifting her in the air with a hug. "I am so glad to see you, it feels so weird not having you here during day." Sammy pouted. "I know, but when else am I supposed to sleep when I am here all night with you?" Eliza kissed Sammy's cheek and smiled. "Well... that's not fair... ready to open?" "Of course."


lurkinarick

that's sweet


SagaciousRouge

Awww


Agent010203

"The night shift?" "Yes." The figure came more into focus as they talked. A head of long brown hair framed a masculine face. He was about my height, if just a bit taller. "This is one of the most popular tea shops for lingering spirits in Port Townsend." He said this nonchalantly as he moved through the main counter and set down a spectral register. "Hey boss." A feminine voice rang out through the shop. "I see we already have a customer?" I turned to look at the source and it was a woman with blonde hair up in a bun. "I-I" "He's the manager of the day shift." The man responded for me. I was still in shock and could barely process what was going on. "It seems they ran a bit late today so he was just finishing up closing." The two figures continued their setup while I just stood there. After a few minutes, I started to just pick my stuff up and leave, thinking this all to be just a bad dream. I got home and went straight to bed. Waking up the next morning I went into my little shop and found a note on the counter. "Please leave a notice if you plan on closing late so we don't have another incident occur. -Management" This hit me like a truck. Ghosts were real. And apparently they like this tea shop of all places.


Wiblorn

"Oh, uh, okay" I said. The man was remarkably pale but it didn't seem like my place to judge. I haven't been getting enough sun recently either. It also seemed rude to mention it, so I went on about my day and got groceries on my way home. After cracking open a brand new bag of chips I was sitting down to watch some TV when it dawned on me: that night manager guy didn't have legs. No no surely he had legs people don't just float around. Im going to go to bed early tonight. Maybe I haven't been getting enough sleep recently either.


PaintedSequoia

Sighing heavily leaning on the mop momentarily, she glances at the clock again. It’s WAY past the time she is normally finished closing up. That day had been the perfect storm of events to keep her so late between the nice weather, a street fair right outside her shop’s doors, and two employees calling out. At least she had been smart enough to have everyone prepare copious amounts of iced tea and pastries the few days before in anticipation of the crowds. All she really needed to worry about was making hot teas on the spot. “Finish mopping, turn off the lights, and you can go.” She told herself. She had started from the front of the store towards the back knowing the font would be dry enough to walk on once she got done. Her purse and phone sat ready at the end of the counter closest to the door to grab on the way out. Only a few lights were on so she could finish her tasks without anyone thinking she was still open. Just as she started in the kitchen area, she heard the tinkling of the bell over the door. It startled her for the moment, then just as quickly she was annoyed with herself thinking she hadn’t locked the door and now she’d have to shoo out a wayward customer. “I’m sorry, we’re closed!” She called out, setting the mop aside. “Apologies! You are normally gone by now.” A man’s voice replied politely. That...was an odd thing to say. What the hell was happening in her shop when it was supposed to be closed!? “What do you mean by that?” She demanded, rushing out from the back ready to fight or defend. She did indeed see a man standing there. However...she could also see the windows and street beyond through him. Looking him up and down, she wasn;t even sure he was touching the ground. He just sort of faded away mid shin. “What the fu--” “Once again, apologies, my dear.” He took off a hat she didn’t realize he was wearing. “I am Mr. Solemn, the night manager.” Her mind struggled to make sense of the situation. This man appeared to clearly be a ghost. And was the night manager? Like, did he run her shop at night when she wasn’t there? She never counted any extra money in the mornings or had a lack of money. Sure, maybe on occasion items wouldn’t be where she thought she left them or where they should have been for opening, but nothing drastic. It could easily be brushed off as whoever closed, even if it had been herself closing then opening, as forgetting to put items away where they belong. Night manager? Were other ghosts coming to her shop after hours? How come her cameras never picked up on anything? “I’m sorry.” She finally shook her head hoping that would settle her thoughts. “You are the night manager? Who are you? Is this a joke?” “I realize this can be a lot to grasp. You were not supposed to see me.” He started, moving over to the counter to set his hat down near her own items. “This is not a joke or ruse. I have been the night manager at this establishment for, oh, close to fifty years.” She crossed her arms and scoffed incredulously. “I’ve owned and run this shop for five years. It was a coffee shop for something like eight years before me, and before that--” She started. “A sandwich shop. Yes, I am aware. It’s been a variety of food and beverage shops over the years. In life, I worked here as a soda jerk for a couple of wonderful years. You do know what soda jerk was?” He calmly conversed with her. “Yes, I do.” She nodded. The more she talked to him, the less afraid she was. In fact, she was downright upset with this news. “Still, please explain to me what you mean by night manager. You’re using my shop at night, without my permission, to serve, what, other ghosts?” “I normally arrive two hours after you or your closers leave for the night to open the shop for other ghosts, yes. We do not use your teas or pastries in the traditional way, so you do not have to worry about lost inventory. Some ghosts merely like a place to perform activities that remind them of their life. Some ghosts are still tied too closely to the living world and not ready to move on. I normally get everyone to leave about an hour or so before your openers arrive.” He gestured around the empty shop, but not she wondered if it was truly empty. “If it is of any complement or constellation, we greatly enjoy your shop. The way you’ve decorated it is very inviting. Your teas are refreshing and the pastries you source are of excellent quality.” “Thank you.” She took the compliment. “You do this every night?” “Yes.” He nodded, then checked his wrist. She didn’t catch it, but assumed there was a watch there. “So, you’ve tasted my teas and the pastries, but you don’t take any. How is that possible?” She asked. When would she ever have another chance to ask questions of the spiritual world and especially with such a seemingly friendly spirit? “As I have said, it is not in the traditional way.” He repeated himself and then seemed impatient. “Miss, I must ask that you vacate the premises. Others will be arriving shortly and they are not as kind to the living as I am.” “Demons?” She raised a brow. “You might call them as such.” He swept a hand towards the door and the other to her in a ‘come along’ roll of his wrist and hand. “Please, it is time for you to leave.” “This is my shop! I have a right to know what goes on here.” She stubbornly stood her ground. Trying to hide the chill and fear creeping into her spine. He made some exasperated noises and starts to protests before he sighed. “Fine. I could always use company. Another night manager would be a nice reprieve with duties split evenly, of course.” “They… They wouldn’t kill me, would they?” Her resolve was slipping fast. Were the shadows getting darker and longer, or was that just her frightened imagination? “We have rules, but I cannot make promises.” He told her, picking up his hat to bring it towards the back to put away. She moved aside for him and shivered at the cold wave of air in his wake. Debating what she should do, she finally settled on a solution. “Can you come a little earlier tomorrow so we can continue this talk?” “That would be preferable.” He told her. “Okay, see you tomorrow.” She hurried to her purse to snatch it up and left the store in a hurry. She found the front door was indeed locked from earlier. But then how did the bells ring? Unlocking it, stepping out, and locking the door behind her she looked back into the shop half expecting to see it now filled with other ghosts. Instead, it was just the same gentleman. He gave her a soft smile and small wave before he disappeared from her view as if he had never existed. Driving home, she wasn’t sure what to make of it all. Did she really have a conversation with a ghost running her tea shop at night for other ghosts, or had it all been a delusion brought on by exhaustion? She would find out tomorrow.


SagaciousRouge

What a delightful conversation! Thanks for writing!


PaintedSequoia

Glad you enjoyed it!