Goodbye to Singer Swannby Kay Reynolds Published in Horrors! 365 Scary Stories
I was keeping to myself that night – trying to make my bourbon last and keeping a low profile – when Chrystal Swann walked into the Intermission. Right away she homed in on Paulie Moncman like a sacrificial pigeon. Oh shit, I thought. Here we go again. "Hello, Paulie," she said. "Singer likes your new Firebird. That's a great car." "Get lost and get a life," Paulie snapped, mean and sharp. But nervous, too. Chrys only said, "Singer's still waiting. He wonders when you're going to keep your promise. I told him I'd ask." Moncman's party had gone real quiet real sudden. Ira raced over to try to keep things cool. I beat him to it. "Hi Bracey," she said to me and gave me her sweetest smile, full blast. "It's been a while, Chrys." I thought I sounded like an idiot but, lucky for me, no one seemed to notice. "Let's take a hike and catch up." Ira shot me a half-grateful, half-aggravated look as we took off. Paulie Moncman, however, is screaming: "I can't take this any more! That crazy bitch follows me everywhere. When is it going to stop?" I slammed the door on his bellowing. It was a loud, wounded noise, a man with a bad conscience going toxic. I didn't believe Chrystal actually followed Paulie. They just kept turning up at the same place. Like a curse. Outside, the night-quiet seemed awkward to me but talking was worse. Chrys proved it by starting up: "Singer's so unhappy. He's cold and awfully lonely. None of his fans know where to find him. He's still got fans, you know." Her voice went confidential. "He's afraid Paulie is going to let him down." Absolutely. Paulie Moncman is the worst kind of vampire – a rock'n roll agent. You could SRO Madison Square and not run out of people Paulie's let down. But that's old misery. What's rough is hearing Chrystal talk about her brother as if he's still alive. Which he is not. Singer Swann has been dead for over a year now. If you don't remember, Singer was what folks call a one-hit wonder. After that, nothing. He toured and toured on the strength of that one glory and was still raking in the bucks until he got sick. Funny how disease can finish a career. It can sure wipe out a bank account, even an account like Singer Swann's. Still, you'd think there'd be enough left to provide a proper headstone. Something to say, Here there was a life. Moncman promised Singer he'd take care of it. Personally. Yeah. Right. Chrys and I kept walking. After a while I said: "I miss Singer almost as much as you. Sometimes it's hard to say goodbye but you've got to do it. You're only going to make trouble for yourself if you keep on like this. Moncman is a mean bastard. He'll hurt you if he can." "Singer told me you'd say that." Chrys smiled again. "It's okay." God. It is definitely not okay. I struggled to think of something better when, suddenly, there's this noise like thunder – loud! Yellow light washes over us, flame without warmth. I grab onto Chrys and start to run but she's rooted like stone on the pavement, staring ahead. It's Paulie Moncman and his new Firebird bearing down on us. He's finally cracked – big time. Chrys grabs onto me, too, and drags me into her panic. That's not hard to do. I am wishing we could just levitate out of there when I notice we're not alone anymore. Someone is standing between us and Paulie's death machine. A suicidal idiot, I am thinking. Then there's no time to think. No time at all. The car goes up. Then it goes over – flips back on its top, flips again and keeps going. When it stops, it's one long, flaming metal slab pointing up at the sky. "Never diss my family, Paulie, or my fans," Singer Swann says. His voice sounds pretty normal ... for a ghost. I've got no clue what to say. Except: "That's a hell of a tombstone, Singer. A genuine landmark." "Yeah." He grins as sweet as his sister even while he's fading. "I always knew Paulie would come through for me." I shook my head. Hell. You could have fooled me. |
