Bob Gillen

Healing through story

Tag: spirits

shortfiction24 – enough of self-pity

April 10, 2024 / / 2 Comments

Sally lost her husband two years ago. She’s slipping into finding solace in a bottle of scotch.

Enjoy the story.

Enough of Self-Pity

Bob Gillen

Sally eased her Subaru into the carport and carried coffee and a bag of bagels to the house. Her headache throbbed. Too much Johnny Walker Black last night. Her mistake – watching an episode of Jesse Stone on TV. In the story Stone had settled into his worn leather chair in his secluded beach house at the end of the day, his dog at his side. Stone told himself one drink was enough. Half a bottle later he fell asleep in the chair till morning. 

Life imitates art. Sally had done the same. 

Her drinking came too easy. Easy to enjoy. Easy to excuse. It had been two years since she lost Vaughn, her husband of forty years. Since then two more years of continuing to avoid alcohol, as she and Vaughn had promised each other years back. Enough alcoholism in our families, they had both agreed.

Sitting one night in front of the TV, watching a musical movie Vaughn had loved, Sally had broken into tears. A thought wormed its way into her mind. Why go on avoiding drinking? Vaughn is gone. What does it matter any more? 

The result – two drinks every night. Until she knocked off half a bottle last night.

Sally opened the front door and put the coffee and bagels on the kitchen counter. She took a few gulps of the coffee. Cleared her head for a moment. She moved to the living room and opened the patio blinds. 

“Hi, Sally.”

“Holy shit!” She clenched her hands into fists. Whirled around to find the voice.

“Vaughn?” A whisper.

A man sitting in her chair nodded.

Sally shook her head, blinked her eyes hard.

“Not possible. You died. Two years ago.”

“I came back.”

“How? Why?”

“Move away from the window. You’re backlit. I can’t see your face.”

Sally slid over to the couch and sat.

She saw that Vaughn was wearing jeans and his usual faded polo that still hung in his closet. The closet she had not yet cleared out.

“This isn’t possible. You were cremated. You’re dead. How?”

“Sally, I had to talk to you.”

“What? I’m dreaming, right?”

“I only get to do this once, Sally. Listen carefully.”

“Vaughn, you sound so business-like. It’s me. Sally. Your wife.” She leaned forward on the couch.

“I am limited by how much emotion I can bring to this visit. It’s real, but it isn’t.”

Sally again shook her head in disbelief.

“Sally, you’ve been drinking.”

“Is that what this is all about? A few drinks?”

“Your father was a nasty drunk. So was mine. We stopped drinking to avoid that for ourselves.”

Vaughn sat still, did not move to gesture or point. His face was almost expressionless.

“Enough, Sally. Stop before you get in too deep.”

“But it’s only me now. Who am I going to hurt?”

“Yourself.”

“Come on, Vaughn. You came back only to tell me this? To stop having a couple of drinks at the end of my day?”

Vaughn gave an almost unseen nod.

Sally jumped up from the couch and stared out at the patio. She ran her hands through her hair. She laughed. “Vaughn, my coffee is getting cold. Can I warm it up while we keep talking?”

No reply. Sally turned. 

The chair was empty. No Vaughn. 

She shuddered, hugged herself. Am I hallucinating?

She approached the chair. Patted the cushions. Ran her hands over the arms. 

“Vaughn?”

Silence.

She dashed to the bedroom, looked in the closet. The polo Vaughn had worn still hung there, dust on its shoulders.

Sally edged back to the kitchen. She warmed her coffee in the microwave. Sliced and buttered a bagel.

Sitting in her chair, coffee and bagel in hand, a half-smile crept across her face. 

She set the food aside, returned to the kitchen. She pulled a half-empty bottle of scotch out of the cabinet. 

She watched the contents gurgle down the sink drain.

***

shortfiction24 – shot dead in the ER

July 12, 2023 / / 0 Comments

Riley Rowan did not expect to die in her own ER. The spirits were ready to escort her to the afterlife. Riley had other thoughts.

I hope you enjoy the short story. Comments and Likes are always welcome. And for all you short-film makers out there, my stories are available for rights.

Shot Dead in the ER

Bob Gillen

Riley Rowan’s spirit hovered over her body. Her bloody, lifeless body. The scene in the ER was chaotic. A gunshot victim had succumbed to his injuries, despite the efforts of Riley and the rest of the trauma team. As Riley had been covering the body with a sheet, a security guard escorted an already distraught brother of the victim into the ER bay. Riley had turned to the brother, said “I’m sorry,” when the brother whipped out a handgun  from the waistband of his pants. He shot Riley three times in the chest before the security guard wrestled him to the floor, kicked away the gun and handcuffed him. 

The trauma team rushed to Riley’s side. The trauma doctor found her unresponsive, no pulse. The overhead florescent lights gleamed against the pool of blood spreading across the floor. The doctor called the time of death. 

As the trauma team stood in shock, some in tears, a spirit appeared at Riley’s side. “Hello, Riley. I’m here to escort you to the afterlife.”

“Who’re you?” Riley’s spirit asked.

“I am Jonny Angel. Your escort.”

“Jonny Angel? Seriously?”

Jonny’s spirit took a step back.

Riley ignored Jonny Angel, watched as a degree of routine settled on the ER. 

“Riley, it’s time to move on.”

“No, no. I’m not ready. They need me here.”

“Riley, you’re dead. You can’t do anything for them now.”

“Don’t spirits hang near loved ones? Talk in their ears?”

“Doesn’t happen as often as you think.”

“I gave eighteen years of my life to this ER. I train new RNs. I have to stay.”

“Riley, I repeat. You’re dead.”

“Says you. I can still help here.”

Jonny Angel swirled around Riley.

“Look,” Riley said. “This is my life. Saving people. I don’t want any part of the afterlife.”

“You don’t have a choice. You’re already on your way.”

“Nope. I’m not the kind to sit around all day listening to harp music. I need to be doing something.”

“First of all, there’s no ‘time’ in the afterlife. No one sits around all day, as you say. They simply are.”

“Boring.”

“It’s pure joy…forever.”

Riley’s spirit shook its head sharply. She pointed down to the ER. “This is pure joy. Saving lives.”

“And you did it well. But it’s time…”

“Not yet.” Riley swirled off to the hospital’s operating room. A man lay on a gurney in pre-op, his left leg black with gangrene. She moved close to him, whispering in his ear. “It’ll be okay. No worries.” The man did not react.

She swirled off again, this time to the ICU. An elderly man lay alone in a cubicle, tethered to multiple IVs and lines. Riley hovered next to him. The man opened his eyes. Sensed Riley’s presence. He took a breath. Closed his eyes. Died. Alarms went off and staff rushed to his side. His spirit was already apart from his body. Hovering. Then gone.

“See, Mr. Angel. I can help patients with their illnesses. I can make a difference.”

“It doesn’t work that way, Riley.”

“I’m not going with you.”

“You don’t get to choose.” Jonny said, “Come with me.”

The two spirits moved to the oncology unit. Jonny lead them into a room. A twelve year old girl lay in the bed, her bald head covered with a scarf, tethered to multiple IV lines and monitors. The gir’s mother sat next to the bed, holding the girl’s hand.

“Her name is Meghan. She will pass any moment now.”

Riley saw another spirit appear next to Meghan. Jonny said to the spirit, “I got this one.” The spirit disappeared.

Monitor alarms beeped as Meghan passed. Her mom rushed away tears, got up and stroked Meghan’s cheek. An RN rushed in but it was too late. Meghan’s spirit appeared to Jonny and Riley. 

“Hi, I’m Meghan.”

“Hello, Meghan. I’m Jonny. I will assist you as you pass to the next life.”

“Who’re you?” Meghan asked Riley.

“She’s transitioning too, but somewhat reluctantly.”

“I just died down in the ER. I’m trying to convince Jonny I’m not ready to go.”

Jonny said, “Riley was an ER nurse for quite a while. She was shot by a distraught relative of a gunshot victim.”

“Oh, wow. Right here in the hospital?”

Riley nodded.

“Did you like your job?”

“I loved it. I lived for the thrill of saving lives.”

“You were lucky.”

“Yeah, I was.”

“I was twelve. I never got to reach any of my goals and dreams.”

“What was your dream?”

“To  a marine biologist.”

“That sounds exciting.”

“Who knows? I never got there. And look at my mom. She never got to see me graduate with a degree. Never got to see me work. She didn’t even see me get to grow proper boobs!”

Riley smiled. “I did okay in that regard…And yeah, I was lucky with my life.”

Jonny said, “It’s time.”

Riley said, “Can I see the ER one more time?”

Jonny shook his head. “Afraid not.”

Riley said, “Jonny, I guess you got me. Meghan, see you on the other side.”

The three spirits disappeared.

***

shortfiction24 – not ready for us yet

November 2, 2022 / / 3 Comments

This past May we left the spirits of Vinny and Lewis tangled together after their cremated ashes were intermingled at the crematorium. They are struggling to separate and continue their journeys to the next world. Nothing has worked so far.

Here’s the link to the original story. Enjoy their further escapades.

I should note that some of my stories have become series. I don’t plan these continuing stories; the characters simply continue to live. So – I have no pre-planning for these series.

Not Ready For Us Yet

Bob Gillen

Margie Pasquilino sat in her backyard, warmed by the sunlight of a fresh morning. A mug of coffee rested on the arm of her husband Vinny’s favorite red Adirondack chair.

Vinny and Lewis squirmed in their box of ashes, buried under the bottlebrush tree in the yard. “Morning.”

“Back atcha,” Vinny said. “Is it another day?”

“I think so. I can kinda feel warmth. A new sun.”

“Let’s go up.”

The two wiggled up out of the box into the fresh air. 

“Margie,” Vinny said, smiling in her direction. Margie did not look over. “She can’t hear me.”

“We kinda knew that, didn’t we?”

Vinny moved around, taking in the scene. Only a few days till Halloween. Margie had placed a pumpkin over the burial site. A long white skeleton hung from the tree.

“She did a little decorating, huh?” Lewis said.

Vinny was silent. He gazed at Margie, lit by the early sun. A long shadow hung across half the yard, the sun blocked by the house.

“She looks like a Hopper painting,” he said.

Lewis stared for a moment.

“Yeah. Cool. You got a good eye.”

“He was always one of my favorite artists. Solitary figures. Sunlight and shadow.”

Lewis’s spirit twirled around slowly. “Speaking of art…Listen to me, Vinny. Trust me. This is our moment.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Did you and Margie ever go to the theater? A play, a musical?””

“Long time ago. ‘Oklahoma,’ I think.”

“Okay, think back. There’s a special moment in the theater. The moment when the stage lights and the house lights go dark. The moment the audience grows silent. That wonderful moment of anticipation. For the performers, all the hours of rehearsal are behind them. For the audience, they are ready to put their daily grind behind them. They all wait in darkness. And it only lasts a moment. And then…lights, music, movement, dialogue, action. Then performers and audience become one.”

Vinny shook his head. “I don’t remember.”

“Vinny, look. You’ve rehearsed your whole life for this moment. You’re ready. Now you can enjoy an unending performance.”

Vinny’s spirit stopped swirling. “You really think so?”

“What else could this be? Think about it, Vinny. You die. Then there’s a moment of blackness. That’s what this is. Admit it. You can feel the anticipation. And then, bam, the lights will come on. You’re in the show. Forever.”

Vinny hesitated.

“Vinny, you know how people who have had a near-death experience talk of seeing a bright light?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe some of us gotta do a bit of transition to see the light. First, a moment of darkness.”

Vinny’s spirit shrugged. “I’m not saying you don’t make sense.”

“Okay! Let go. Let’s go home.”

And the bright sunlight intensified, enveloped them, pulled them up out of the yard…

And dumped them back in the yard again.

Lewis was the first to speak. “They’re not ready for us yet…why? What are we missing? Didn’t we get our shot just now?”

The two spirits shifted over and sat on the pumpkin.

“You sound like a theater guy,” Vinny said.

“To the core,” Lewis said. 

“What was your favorite role?”

Without hesitation, Lewis repled, “Duvid, the missing husband, in the play A Shayna Maidel. Two sisters separated in World War II. Rosa escaped Poland to Brooklyn. Lusia survived the Holocaust, then reunited with her sister and father in Brooklyn. Duvid found them later.”

“I don’t know it.”

“What about you? What did you do?”

“Transport driver for the film industry. Drove cast and crew from staging areas to their shooting locations.”

“Union, right?”

“Yup. I did all right.”

“Meet any famous actors?”

“Lots. Like Vegas, what was said in my van stayed in my van. One actress, years back, well-known now. She was a stutterer. She struggled as a girl and teen. A speech therapist noted she did funny accents and voices. He encouraged that. It helped her get past the stutter. Got work as a voiceover artist, cartoons, animations. Landed a role in a horror movie. Took off from there.”

“I get the stutter thing. Every actor has to get out of themselves, inhabit a character.” 

Vinny and Lewis grew silent, each searching for a clue on how to separate. Margie went back inside the house. As afternoon came on, the sky darkened.

“Thunderstorm coming in,” Vinny said. “Rare for us in LA.”

“I wonder if we’ll feel the rain.”

Hours later the sky fell to black, clouds low. 

“I say we retreat to the box till this is over.”

The two slipped back down to their burial box.

Thunder boomed, lightning flashed. The yard lit up like day when a lightning bolt struck the bottlebrush tree. The tree split in half, scorched black, seared branches clawing at the sky. Fire lit the exposed center of the trunk.

An hour later the storm had passed and blue sky edged out from behind the departing clouds.

Vinny and Lewis came up.

“Holy shit,” Lewis said.

The bottlebrush tree stood unrecognizable as anything but a scarred stump. The skeleton decoration lay blackened and twisted at the base of the tree. 

Smoke seeped from the trunk, from the roots. Wisps of smoke seeped up through the skeleton.

“The roots must be burning,” Vinny said.

As they watched, the wisps of smoke grew more intense. They stared.

Spiraling smoke around the skeleton began to take shape. A spirit emerged, smoldering, shaking off bits of burnt material. 

Lewis wrapped himself tightly around Vinny.

“Back off. You’re killing me.”

“You’re already dead. Remember?”

The spirit moved toward them.

“What the fuck?” Lewis gasped.

The spirit turned to face Vinny and Lewis. “Is that any way to greet a lady? I’ve been trapped down there for going on thirty years, and the first words I hear are, what the fuck?”

“Huh?”

“Who are you? What’s going on?”

“My name is Fanny. Me and my husband lived here before you moved in. I died of natural causes…all my organs basically failed. My husband – his name was Joseph – he was a loving guy…but a cheap bastard. He would squeeze the guts out of a buffalo nickel before it left his hands.”

“Tell me about him. He wouldn’t negotiate at all when we bought the house.”

“Anyway, I died. Joseph told everyone I died in the hospital. He did a little private service here in the yard, had people in for coffee and sandwiches. He kept my body here in the house till my rigor mortis softened up. We were having yard work done. That’s when we planted this bottlebrush tree. He dug a small grave one night, folded me up and buried me here. He wrapped me in layers of burlap. I’ve been rooted to this spot all this time. Rooted. Ironic, isn’t it? The roots caught fire, ignited the burlap that had not yet rotted away, and here I am. Free of that hole in the ground.”

Fanny’s spirit darted up high over the yard, flew in circles over the scene. “I’m free.”

She settled back down in front of Vinny and Lewis. “So, what’s your story?”

***

shortfiction24 – my dance space

May 4, 2022 / / 1 Comment

This week’s short story

Not all spirits move on right away. I offer you a story of two spirits intermingled after death. It’s quite loosely inspired by George Saunders’s book Lincoln in the Bardo.

Having some fun with Vinny and Lewis, a couple of dead guys whose spirits are stuck together in the transition. Can they move on?

My Dance Space

Bob Gillen

Margie Pasqualino slipped out into her small backyard after dark, pulling her sweater tight around her torso. The moonless night wrapped the neighborhood in silence. 

A ten-foot tall bottlebrush tree graced the rear of the yard, a handful of rocks circling the base. Margie knelt in the grass near the tree, next to the hole she had asked the gardener to dig for her. About a foot square, eighteen inches deep. A square of sod and the excavated soil sat on a flat piece of cardboard to the side of the hole.

Margie held her dead husband Vinny’s ashes in her hands, in a box made of thick biodegradable paper. She kissed the box gently, lowered it into the hole. With a garden trowel she scooped dirt over the box. When it was level with the rest of the lawn, she patted the soil firm. “Rest in peace, my love.” Tears fell, soaking into the soil. 

Eighteen inches below the surface, Vinny Pasqualino’s spirit moaned, stretched, wriggled into his new home. “Sure beats sitting on the bookcase,” he told himself. “I love my yard.”

“Move back. Gimme some room here.” A voice squeaked in the space.

Vinny’s spirit swirled around. “Who’re you? What are you doing here?”

“My name is Lewis. Lewis Bomer. Most of me is somewhere else, but a bit of me is here.”

Vinny stared at the wisp of a figure. “What the hell are you talking about?”

 “I got cremated before you. Some of my ashes got left behind as they cremated you…so here I am.”

You want a piece of me?

“Shit, this is my space.”

“You know the old line? ‘You want a piece of me?’ Well, you got a piece of me.”

“This is my yard.”

“Yeah, I get it. This is your dance space.”

“Dance space?”

“Yeah, you know, dancers don’t like to be crowded.”

“Okay, okay. Let’s start over. You’re Lewis. I’m Vinny.”

“Hi, Vinny. Was that your wife put us in here tonight?”

“Yeah. Margie. We were married fifty years when I bought the farm. Heart.”

“Good for you. I was single, still playing the field. Drunk driver got me.”

Vinny shivered. “Okay, so what the hell? You stuck here with me?”

“Beats me. My first time doing this.”

“Cramped in here. Can we move out of this box?”

The two spirits scrunched and wiggled, and found themselves up in the yard in the fresh air.

“Hey, this feels good,” Vinny said.

“Quiet here. Peaceful.”

“It would be more peaceful without you attached to me.”

“No worries. We’ll figure this out.”

Vinny nodded toward a faded red Adirondack chair. “I spent lots of hours after dinner in that chair. Margie would fall asleep watching her TV shows, and I would grab a cold longneck and sit out here.”

Lewis smiled. “The yard feels right for that kind of sitting.”

“I barbecued every weekend. Mostly burgers. My last year even some vegan burgers. Docs were all over me about my heart.”

“I had a studio apartment in the city. Cooked ramen noodles in a microwave.”

“Ouch.”

“I wasn’t home much. Ate a lot of snacks and happy hour food in bars.”

Dragging Lewis, Vinny’s spirit drifted around the yard. He hit a wall a few yards in each direction. “Looks like we got some restraints here.”

“Won’t last long, if we’re lucky.”

“How does this whole thing work?” Vinny asked. “I don’t think we’re supposed to be floating here forever.”

“Yeah, you know, shouldn’t we be part of that whole spirit world now? Back in touch with everyone we knew?”

“Sounds right.”

“This is truly weird.” Lewis shook his head. “Maybe some kind of transition.”

Vinny tested the boundaries again. No change. He said, “I feel like I should be standing in a rowboat paddling with one oar down a long dark tunnel with mist swirling around my feet, Phantom of the Opera music wafting around me.”

“Hah,” Lewis said. “More like going through Disneyland’s It’s a Small World ride.”

Vinny held up his hand. “Don’t make that song the last I ever hear.”

Lewis peered around the space. “I wonder where the rest of me is. I have no idea what my mom would have done with my ashes.”

“Maybe in her living room.”

“I don’t know…she would be too sad looking at me all the time. She’s kinda the move-on type.”

“My ashes will be here for a long time…my spirit, that’s another issue.”

Lewis laughed. “You know what would be cool?” 

He paused.

“You gonna finish that thought?”

“I would like my ashes to be stuffed into a giant fireworks canister and shot off on the Fourth of July.”

He gestured to the sky. “Spread everywhere… in a blaze of glory.”

Vinny shook his head. “Who’s going to do that for you?”

“I know a guy, who knows a guy, who works on the fireworks barges for the Macy’s celebration every year.”

“Yeah, but does he actually fill the canisters?”

“He could just tape my ashes to one of the canisters.”

Vinny shook his head.

“No, really. Think about it. My ashes would explode high over the East River in New York, then drift down all over the city.” He laughed again. “Picture this. Some tourist is walking down Fifth Avenue looking in all the store windows. He takes in a deep breath. Says to his wife, ‘What a beautiful night’… while he breathes in a speck of my ashes. Don’t you love it?”

“I gotta hand it to you, Lewis. You got a big imagination.”

“I’m feeling kind of diminutive right now, if I may use a big vocabulary word. I wish I knew where the rest of me was.”

“So do I.”

“Hey, not my choice to be here.”

Scraps of night fog began drifting into the yard. 

“Am I missing the obvious?” Vinny said. “Are we expected to let go…somehow? Are we keeping ourselves here?”

“Like I said, it’s my first time. And I’m not all here.”

“No argument there.”

“You won’t let this go, will you?”

Vinny shrugged.

“I should consider myself lucky, you know? My ashes could have mingled so much with yours that we became one spirit.”

Vinny pointed at Lewis. “Maybe you got a point there. If I can figure out how to move on, you can just come along with me. Find the rest of you at the next stop…wherever that is.”

“What are you saying? We swirl together and float out of here? Like the fog?”

“Yeah,” Vinny said. “We twirl around, mingle our spirits, drift up and out of here.”

“Sounds too easy.”

“Got a better idea?”

Lewis whirled his spirit around Vinny’s. The two mingled. Spun together. Shaped themselves into a single wisp. 

Nothing happened. 

“This is bullshit.”

“Damn, I can’t find the rest of me till we move on. We’re stuck together.”

Can’t stay here forever.

“Yeah, I’m not happy with the situation either, but it’s the best we got.”

“Can’t stay here forever.”

“Maybe I can stay here. I like my yard.” 

Lewis shook his scrap of a spirit. “Think of moving on in this way, Vinny. You can have an endless longneck. Ice cold, condensation running down the bottle, every sip crisp and cold.”

Vinny shrugged. “If I go, I would have to spend time with my dead in-laws, right? They hated my guts…”

Lewis wrapped himself around Vinny’s spirit. “What would you love to do, Vinny? Something you never got to do in your lifetime?”

Vinny did not hesitate. “I always wished I could play the guitar. Just one song. The delicate guitar melody Jerry Garcia played on ‘Ripple.’ You know, the Grateful Dead. That is one fantastic line.”

“Yeah. The song had such cosmic wisdom.”

“Don’t get sappy on me. It’s just a good song.”

“Ironic, though,” Lewis said.

“Huh?”

“Ironic you would want to do a song by the Dead.”

“I get it. Yeah, ironic.”

“Wouldn’t that make you want to move on? Spend forever playing ‘Ripple’ with a cold longneck at your side.”

“You’re starting to make sense, Lewis. Scary if all of you was here. You’d have me running to hug my in-laws.”

“Come on, Vinny. This life is over. Time to move on.”

Vinny smiled. “Maybe you’re right. Let’s try again.” He floated around the yard one more time.

“Bye, Margie. I’ll play guitar for you when you join me.”

Vinny and Lewis faded into the night fog.

Silence.

“Shit!”

“Yeah.”

“We’re still here.”

***

Let’s see what happens with Vinny and Lewis. More story to come.

© 2025 Bob Gillen

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