Charlie Stone: Some Enchanted Evening (© Daniel Lee) This contribution is part of a series:- 1. Charlie Stone: Undertaker (Revised 14-Apr-06) (24-Feb-2006)
| In a world where the dead walk and returning them to their graves is a booming business, there's no one better than Charlie Stone. I've left it as a cliff-hanger not having a better way at the moment to end it. | 2. Charlie Stone: Some Enchanted Evening (28-Jun-2007)
| This is another Charlie Stone story - Linda Campbell and Charlie go out for a night on the town and are having a perfect evening before a couple of ghouls ruined it all. | 3. Charlie Stone: The Commission (Part One) (19-Dec-2007)
| The first half of another Charlie Stone novellette. Charlie gets a visit from an old friend whose bringing bad news. A zombie snuff director is operating out of Berry Hill and he has a score to settle with Charlie. | 4. Charlie Stone: Roadside Service (10-Aug-2011)
| A very short road trip for Charlie. Coming back from a job his hearse breaks down and the first mechanic who shows up is anything but helpful... or living. From one problem to another, he has to comfort the poor, novice wrecker driver who has never seen a zombie before today as they load up the hearse.' |
Page 1 Author’s note: This was
originally intended as a bridge in the novelette Charlie Stone: Undertaker. I
couldn’t make it work so instead wrote it as a short story and finished the
novel as two novelettes.
The life of an
undertaker is a lonely one. Most women find it hard to be aroused by a man who
plays with dead things for a living and it narrows a man’s choices in the
dating world. Linda Campbell was not your ordinary woman, however, and as such
had invited me to dinner at a place down town called Franc's. She did it not
so much as a gesture of romantic interest but as a business proposition; she
needed a story for her weekly column on the undead and as the head of the local
funeral home I was the man she needed. Being the gentleman my grandfather had
tried to teach me to be meant I had to pick her up at her place and, worst of
all, dress for the occasion. When your standard attire is a black coverall
with an undertaker’s badge and a side arm, a suit and tie can become
uncomfortable. I showed up at a
quarter till seven at her front door, my three day beard freshly shaven and my
shirt barely tucked into the only pair of decent dress slacks I owned. I was
nervous and unsure of what to do. Her exact request had been something along
the lines of asking me to dinner as part of an interview for her column and had
somehow become a more extravagant affair. My bid for Tupee’s Cafeteria had
been quickly shot down and replaced by the more upscale Franc’s in the downtown
area near city hall. To that end she was dressed and ready to go when I
arrived, looking far nicer than I had expected. Linda answered the door
wearing a blue blouse, top buttons opened to show of her most ample assets and
was complimented by a dark colored mini-skirt and silver necklace. She had
curled her long black hair and colored her eyes a light blue to match the rest
of her outfit. And I looked like a
used car salesman. I ushered her down
the narrow stairwell and into the parking lot where my old green Cutlass sat
idling. I wasn’t really afraid of anyone stealing the twenty year old P.O.S.
as it had more rust and body damage than half the vehicles at the local scrap
yard. She smiled and gracefully slid onto the cracked vinyl seats as I held
the door for her. She must have seen me looking her over and blushed a little. "I don’t get
around like I did in college so I thought I’d try and look decent
tonight." "You look great."
I answered and blushed out of reflex. It was amazing how a pretty girl could
turn any man into a bashful, uncertain teenager with her smile. We made the trip in
an awkward sort of silence arriving at Franc's before eight. I felt like I was
sixteen all over again, inexperienced with the girl in third period riding
beside me on our way to a show. Only this wasn't a date, it was an interview
and I was supposed to be a professional. Then again, she didn't seem very
professional either, fiddling with her purse and dodging my glances every time
we made eye contact. We arrived a bit before eight at a small covered entrance
where a man in a red vest greeted my car. I looked him over, found a name tag
that read "Steve" in crooked letters and hesitantly handed him my
keys. "Should I park
this or take it to the scrap yard for you?" he asked, thinking he was
clever. He wasn’t. "Just don't
scratch it," I told him as he got in. "You won't like what happens
to you if it comes back scratched." A wild sort of fear
filled his eyes as he drove off into the night with my car. I extended my arm
to Linda who graciously accepted. "So what
happened to the last guy that scratched your car?" she asked as we climbed
the stairs. "He was a
rotter." I answered, opening the door. "He smashed my windshield
with a stick and knocked off my rearview mirror. It really pissed me off so I
shot him. Pardon my French." I added the apology as an after thought; a
thing I hadn’t done since I was a boy. We were seated at a
little table near the kitchen, a checkered table cloth and soothing candle
light adding to the intimate atmosphere as people buzzed and talked about us. [ Continue to page 2 ] |