“This is New York City speaking,” said the woman’s voice on the other end of the hotel phone. “Ask for something impossible.”
It was a strange call, but it had been a strange trip. It was strange from the beginning, when an anonymous donation had paid for the class to visit New York. Max and his classmates had speculated about the identity of the mystery donor, but in the end the source of the money didn’t matter much. They were in New York City at Christmas time, and that was worth accepting on faith.
The strangeness of the trip hadn’t ended there, however. Everywhere they went, traffic cleared out in front of them, vendors gave away free samples, fees were waived. A mounted policeman had offered their class an escort through Central Park, which Miss Hudson had only declined after noting the marriage band on the handsome officer’s finger. Upon arriving at their hotel, they learned that a mix-up had resulted in their rooms being double-booked by a business party whose flight out of Kennedy had been delayed. The apologetic manager supplied them with rooms at a sister establishment — a spa hotel far nicer than his. And there, the division of rooms had been uneven. Max was sleeping alone. When he walked into his room, after the events of the day, he was almost unsurprised to see a palatial suite spreading out before him. On the pillow of his bed had rested not chocolate or mints, but a large green apple.
He looked out now over the skyline view. The Statue of Liberty was just visible between two skyscrapers. The apple’s skin was waxy beneath his clammy fingers. He held it against his cheek, and clenched the white phone handset tightly. “Who is this?” he asked.
“New York City,” repeated the clear, lightly accented voice of the woman. “I want you to ask for something you know you can’t get. And no, this isn’t Justin Thomasino’s sister playing a joke.”
Max opened his mouth and closed it again. He looked out at the glowing Statue of Liberty. He believed the woman on the phone. Everything had gone perfectly on this trip — something impossible was happening, whether he could explain it or not. The words stuck in his throat, then he took a breath and got them out. “My mother was murdered here when I was a year old,” he said. “I want her to be alive again. I want to meet her.”
The skyline winked and glowed. The apple was cool against his cheek. “Well, congratulations,” snapped the woman’s voice before she hung up. “That’s the one thing you can’t have.”
—
(Continued in Part 2)
2 responses to “Zeitghost: a short story”
PS: Technically, there’s a lot more to this story, involving a search for redemption by the Spirit of New York — but I have no idea when or how to get it written. So I just thought I might throw the intro up here as a short to see what you thought. Any comments would be appreciated!
i’m interested. i want more.