The Specter- a short story
The pounding ache behind Lowell Abernathy’s temples hadn’t subsided in weeks. He knew it was from the mounting pressure of the upcoming trial. The stakes were high and he was still unsure of how to keep the very guilty defendant from being found as such. Having been top of his class at William & Mary and the youngest partner in the history of his firm, Lowell wasn’t used to courtroom losses.
When his doctor recommended a relaxing seaside visit to reduce his stress, it didn’t take Lowell long to find the perfect place away from the bustle of Charleston. The young couple he decided to rent a room from was a fisherman and his wife. The fisherman would be away all day on his boat and the wife was on strict instructions from her own doctor to rest, as she was in very delicate condition and was needed in Charleston for an important matter next week. Lowell looked forward to the peace and quiet.
“Hello, Mr. Smith,” the kindly fisherman greeted Lowell at the train station by the alias he had given. It was irresponsible for Lowell to leave town so close to such a big trial and he wasn’t eager to draw attention to that detail.
As the old horse slowly pulled the wagon along the dirt road, the fisherman chattered away about the best place in the entire inlet to see the sunrise and about the July 4th festival the next day. He then sucked in his breath awkwardly before asking, “If it ain’t too much trouble, I ask that yer stay close to the porch at dusk. That’s when the specters come out an’ I can’t have those around my Louisa. Just one look an’ it could harm our baby. You can’t tempt ‘em to come too close by goin’ out and rilin’ them up.”
Lowell stifled a laugh with a polite cough. He knew that country folks were more superstitious, but the idea of a ghost causing harm to an unborn child seemed utterly ridiculous. Afraid he hadn’t been quick enough to hide his initial reaction, Lowell feigned interest. “How do you keep specters away?”
“Well, mostly, just don’t bother ‘em,” the fisherman explained. “But if you do see one, it’s best to just shoot at it. You’re not gonna kill it o’course ‘cause it’s a specter, but the noise really bothers ‘em and they leave.”
“I didn’t bring my rifle,” Lowell said. “But I will be sure to let you know if I happen to see one.”
“You do that, Mr. Smith. Because I don’t want ‘em near my home.”
When they arrived to the cottage, Lowell went to his small bedroom and immediately started back to work, trying to find a solution for the defendant. After a few hours, he went to the porch to enjoy the specter-less sunset that the fisherman had clambered on about earlier.
To his surprise, Louisa was already sitting on the porch. He greeted her with a nod and a smile. She returned both and then said, “I do hope you won’t mind if I sit out here a bit with you. The fresh air makes me feel better and sunset’s my favorite time of day. I love watching the evening fog roll in from the inlet.”
They sat watching the fog swirl around the rocks at the edge of the fisherman’s property. Louisa prattled on about her garden and how she missed Charleston. She’d grown up there and wanted to raise her family there, but she had witnessed a murder and the stress of being the only witness had caused her husband to move her to his family’s home here. Lowell tried to listen, but the strange shapes the fog made played tricks on him.
He found himself lost in the fog while still safely on the porch. More than once, he swore he saw something like a person by those rocks. Could it be the specters that the fisherman feared? No. That would be crazy. And yet, that is really what it looked like, though it was hard to make out anything definitive in the mist. Concerned by his own confusion, Lowell excused himself and went to his room for the evening.
The next morning was July 4th, so Lowell decided to take the couple mile walk into town alone while his hosts went about their normal routine. He enjoyed the stroll, making sure to send a telegram to his partner before stopping by the train station where he saw the performers coming in for the festival. Then he stopped by a lady’s clothing boutique and selected a beautiful grey summer shawl for Louisa as a thank you for her and her husband’s hospitality.
Once back at the cottage, Lowell left the shawl and a note by Louisa’s bedroom door before heading back to his room to rest. When he awoke from his afternoon nap, it was evening again. It was time for him to meet Louisa for the promised sunset rendezvous. As he went to the porch, he noticed the thick fog out by the rocks was swirling around in the breeze again. This time, he knew he saw something more.
His pulse racing, he went back inside. The fisherman was just getting back from his day on the boat and saw the look on Lowell’s face.
“Whassa matter?” he asked immediately.
“That specter—it’s out by the inlet,” Lowell pointed to the grey figure by the rocks. “You have to go shoot at it. Don’t wait!”
The fisherman nodded as he rushed to the back room for his rifle. “You go check on Louisa, ‘n I’ll take care o’ it.” He stumbled over himself and out the door. There was no way he would let the specter hurt his family.
Lowell went to Louisa’s room, but not to check on her. He gathered up the note he’d written her and shoved it in his pocket. He waited until he heard the gunshots. One. Two. Three. Then he grabbed his bag and strolled out the front door and to the carriage he had hired to wait for him.
The carriage brought him to the train station, where he left on the 6:00 train for Richmond. He wouldn’t return to Charleston until long after his father’s murder trial was dismissed. He couldn’t risk anyone recognizing him as the Mr. Smith that advised the poor fisherman to shoot his own wife, the only witness to his father’s crime.
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This type of short story is a flash fiction. Flash fiction work is incredibly short, usually less than 1000 words. This story won third place in the History Goes Bump 2021 Flash Fiction Contest.