#TimeTravelingGhost Part 33: Episode 2: 1937: The Hindenburg Part S

#Wss366 #TimeTravelAuthors 17. How athletic are your characters?

“You look pale,” the man said, his voice made harsh by a German accent.

Pale? Of course I was. I was being interrogated by an unknown German, surrounded by Nazi rabbits that no one but Emily and I could see. My instinct was to run, but that would have been futile. I’d never been athletic, and even if I could outrun them, where on the Hindenburg could I go?

I supplied a plausible answer to the man’s question: “Last night’s fish may not have agreed with me.”

I had trouble keeping my eyes off the rabbits, so I focused on the man’s face. It faintly resembled Bismarck’s except for the bits of food in his walrus mustache. It was a ludicrous note that helped restore my equilibrium. As long as I kept my eyes off the rabbits, I’d be okay.

“At what theater will you be appearing? I would like to see your show, and I think my friends would enjoy it too.”

With his thick accent, I couldn’t tell if he’d emphasized the word “friends.” I instantly pictured brownshirts dealing with a suspected spy—me. It wasn’t fair, but with his SS companions, I couldn’t help it.

“Bijou, I think. My manager handles those things, but I’m pretty sure that’s the name.” It was the first likely theater name to pop into my head. They certainly couldn’t know all the stages’ names.

Then, behind me, I heard Emily say, “It’s on the Lower East Side. You’re part of a festival planned around the showing of ‘The Great Gambini.’”

I repeated what Emily said.

“Good, I will be sure to book tickets for your show, and maybe you can read my mind. I’ll be thinking sweet things about the woman I’m with,” he finished with a leer and a wink. It reminded me of my #father.

With that, he left to join his table, leaving a #wake of unease behind him. I signaled a steward: “An LZ-129 and whatever Miss Pang is drinking.” The order gave me time for the rabbits to wander off, and LZ-129’s orange juice would help wash away the taste of that last wink.

As the rabbits exited the lounge, I joined Miss Pang. I smiled, raised my old-fashioned glass, and toasted her. The tangy orange juice combined with the mellow bite of quality gin soothed my ruffled nerves. It was going to be a long day.

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#TimeTravelingGhost Part 32: Episode 2: 1937: The Hindenburg Part R

#Wss366 #TimeTravelAuthors 15. Injustice

After dinner, I returned to my cabin and updated Emily. She listened attentively. At first, her brow creased, and I imagined her thinking me a dunce for not sticking to our plan. But as I continued, they smoothed, and she nodded. I finished: “So I have an appointment with Miss Pang to discuss mind-reading tomorrow.”

“That was well played. And you’re right; Miss Pang will suspect you of being from counterintelligence.”

Then her brow furrowed again, and she changed the subject. “I’ve been wondering why you’re so eager to help me, when you could travel to wonderful, exotic places rather than spend time on a doomed ship.”

“I’ll give you three reasons. First, the Hindenburg a world class experience, with good food and pleasant company. Second, while I’m no social justice warrior, the Nazis are a blot on human history. You can’t imagine the depth of their crimes. The injustices laid at their door would boggle your mind. Third, I came here looking for a travel companion and found you—reason enough for me.”

“You have a colorful vocabulary: ‘social justice warrior,’ ‘laid at their door,’ ‘boggle your mind.’ I get what you’re saying, but watch it when talking to Miss Pang.”

That led to another lesson on 1930s idioms. After that, I had great success experimenting with sleep.

In the morning, breakfast went without a hitch, and I got to sample clotted cream with my fruit—not bad—and was careful to tip discreetly.

By early afternoon, I’d settled into the lounge. Miss Pang came in later, but I held off talking to her until she had a few drinks.

I’d switched back to Champagné cocktails on Emily’s advice. She had also suggested the Kir Royale or LZ-129. She said they were more ladylike than whiskey sours. The #latter had some appeal, but it was late in the day for orange juice. So, I selected what I had ordered the day before, Champagné cocktails. I needed to drink something alcoholic. A sudden interest in sobriety would raise suspicions.

As Miss Pang finished her second drink, Emily took a place at the door, watching for SS rabbits. Taking a last swig of my Champagne, I set off across the room, and I had almost reached Miss Pang when a German-sounding fellow stopped me. “You’re the magician, aren’t you? Your trick impressed me yesterday. Such precision; it really looked like someone had picked up the glass, and there were no visible wires. Wunderbar!”

I nodded politely, hoping he wouldn’t ask me to join him for a drink. That was when Emily signaled, and three rabbits entered. At first, I thought the German fellow was a blessing in disguise, since I was talking to him, not Miss Pang.

But only at first, because the three of them marched over and surrounded us. The cold, hard glint in their eyes was as terrifying as the death's head insignia and swastika of their uniforms.

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#TimeTravelingGhost Part 31: Episode 2: 1937: The Hindenburg Part Q

#Wss366 #TimeTravelAuthors 8/13. Wednesday POST-SIZED snippet

I was seated at a table with three other unaccompanied women, including Miss Pang. I resisted altering Emily and my plan for fear of spoiling it. That didn’t mean I would waste an opportunity if it arose.

When the youngest woman asked me what I did, I replied, “I’m a prestidigitator, commonly called a stage magician. I do the usual things, but I specialize in reading minds and foretelling the future.” Any other answer would have been suspicious and awakened fears from Miss Pang who had witnessed my performance in the lounge.

There was a rapid plunge in my social capital in the #wake of this announcement. Oh well, only Miss Pang concerned me, and she ignored the conversation.

“Do a trick for us,” the young woman asked.

“I’m sorry. I don’t have any of my gear. Most involve sleight of hand, except for the divination and mind-reading. I’m an experienced medium.” I hoped my memory was correct that spiritualism was in vogue.

“Oh, tell my fortune, please,” the woman said.

I smiled inwardly, knowing she was playing right into my hands. “That is a bit of a problem. Ever since getting on the Hindenburg, I can’t see anything, just darkness and… Anyway, it’s never happened to me before, but I’m sure it’s nothing.” I tried to make it sound slightly ominous while not overplaying my hand.

“You read minds as well?” Miss Pang finally deigned to notice me. “Surely you haven’t lost that?”

“No, ma’am, or should I say, Miss Emily Pang, the reporter from Arkham. You’re someone with an interest in mind-reading. Oh… well, that’s enough. Perhaps we should talk later. Tomorrow, privately?” With anyone else, I wouldn’t have tried that, but I knew that Miss Pang took mind-reading seriously.

I could feel her appraising me and imagined her thinking, “Is she German counterintelligence, a humbug, or the real thing?” It was time for me to stop; otherwise, I would seem too eager.

“You must read my mind too,” the young woman jumped in again.

“I think that is enough on the subject,” I said.

The fourth woman finally spoke. “Indeed, more than enough.”

“Tomorrow, then,” Miss Pang said.

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#TimeTravelingGhost Part 30: Episode 2: 1937: The Hindenburg Part P

#Wss366 #MastoPrompt #TimeTravelAuthors 8/11. Cold/freezing in your story

By the time we got to the cabin, Emily had calmed down. Instead of a lecture, she said, “The steward must have been in a cold sweat. There he is, fishing for more tips, and you turn out to be a health faddist. Do people in the future actually eat that stuff?”

“It’s popular. You can find it at any supermarket — you do have supermarkets, right?”

“We do, but not in Arkham. Boston has an A&P and a Safeway.”

“I’m sorry, I should have known yogurt might be an anachronism.”

“Forget it; that’s past and gone. It’s hard to believe that yogurt and probably whole wheat bread would become popular.”

“That too, but no flying cars or personal jet packs, but we have no-#fault auto insurance.”

A smile tugged at Emily’s lips. “That’s disappointing. Now, about tipping…”

Once Emily finished her quick lecture on current idioms, we turned our attention to testing our new abilities. We shared the same standard skills, though we each had our own drawbacks. Anything involving dematerialization fatigued me: flying, passing through walls, invisibility. Anything involving materialization fatigued her: visibility, picking up objects, etc. Overdoing it left us cold, shivering, and unable to move.

“I’m worried about your plan,” Emily said. “What if you materialize halfway down and fall? We don’t have any proof you can’t die. You just assumed that.”

“It’s a risk, but we can’t test it. Please don’t test it!” I threw my hands in the air with a look of mock alarm.

Emily missed the joke. “Good Lord, of course I wouldn’t test that.”

That was too much, and I broke out laughing. “And that’s how it happened! To test the theory, the intrepid spy fired three shots from her pocket revolver. The ghost dodged, only to be engulfed in flames as the bullets ignited the hydrogen. And now we return you to our sponsor, Hydrolux, the dish detergent you can count on.”

Emily’s expression set me off again; a moment later, she was laughing too. “You’re quite a card, you know.”

The dinner chime cut off any witty retort I might have had.

“I’m looking forward to it. The menu says we have a choice of Dover #sole or fillet of beef with mushroom sauce—but no flaming cherries jubilee for dessert. Such a shame, just chilled brandied peaches.”

“Better hurry, or you’ll miss it. It wasn’t the spy who caused the explosion; it was the cook when they flamed the crème brûlée. The sole survivor was the dishwasher, who fell into a tub of Hydrolux suds. Seriously, though, watch out. Dinner could be a conversational minefield; you do come out with some odd turns of phrase.”

I gave her a thumbs up as I departed. If she said anything more, I didn’t hear it over the announcement of dinner.

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#TimeTravelingGhost Part 29: Episode 2: 1937: The Hindenburg Part O

#Wss366 #TimeTravelAuthors 9. Saturday excerpt (optional word: strong)

We decided to approach Miss Pang the next day after she’d had a few drinks. We hoped her irritation with me would have eased by then. I would start by approaching and apologizing. The lounge had its risks; she might protest loudly, or the rabbits might choose that moment to check on her. Emily would keep watch for them unless I signaled I needed help.

With the plan set, we needed an empty spot to test our abilities.

“Mademoiselle Bijou, if you please.” The steward caught us at the lounge door and held out a slip for my signature. “Just sign, and it will be charged to your account.”

I scribbled something illegible and noted the room number: 14. The world appeared to adapt to my presence. I had worried a steward might arrest me as a stowaway. Instead, I had a cabin registered in my name. It was handy how reality bent politely to accommodate me.

Thoughtfully, I added a small cash tip, three or four Reichsmarks I had found in my pocket.

The steward quietly hid them and then asked, “And before you go, is there anything I can tell the chef you would like for breakfast? Continental is standard, but if you would like something special, I will try to arrange it.”

“#Fruit, yogurt, and coffee would be fine,” I replied, only then seeing Emily shaking her head and making a cutoff motion with her hand. I wondered what I had done wrong. Time travel was turning out to be complicated.

“I don’t believe we have yogurt; would clotted cream do, Mademoiselle?” His tone was respectful, tinged with regret, and perhaps a little stiff.

Even so, I had clearly messed up. Emily’s alarm was so #strong that it was amazing the steward didn’t feel it too. He, however, had maintained a calm, unruffled look. A few Reichsmarks seemed to have smoothed over any weirdness on my part.

Emily, realizing she could speak, instructed, “Order cocoa, a croissant, and coffee with a plate of fruit. That’s very French. And if you must tip, be discreet about it.”

I did so and departed. Emily’s scowl told me I was in for a scolding.

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#TimeTravelingGhost Part 28: Episode 2: 1937: The Hindenburg Part N

#Wss366 #TimeTravelAuthors 7. Time-travel, frequency?

Little bits of my past were coming back. No memories except that scene with the boy in the car, but fragments of who I was: an angstless lesbian with a good grasp of history, spoke several languages, was left-leaning, knew my liquor, maybe drank too much, and was probably a film buff. Morocco had been a pretty old movie by the time I’d have seen it. Was there anything else? I was curious, polite, considerate, and well-spoken. I seemed like a nice lady. Oh, and adaptable: I’d taken to being a time-traveling ghost, accepted Nazi rabbits, and mind-reading with very little fuss.

“And after we get the film?” Emily asked.

“One, we could hide it on board. But it would melt in the crash, so that plan’s out.”

“Two, find someone to carry it off for us. Cons: What if we pick the wrong person, they forget it, panicked abandoning it in the crash, or die in the fire?”

“Skip what doesn’t work.” Her tone had turned prickly again. She definitely wouldn’t be a congenial partner, maybe not even for traveling.

“Three, we put the film in an envelope and address it to your handler. When we’re over New Jersey, I’ll fly down to earth and mail it. If I can’t fly, you can carry it down.”

“It’s hard holding things. I don’t think I could carry it to the ground. And who’s going to believe a random letter about mind-reading? My handlers would write it off as a crank letter.”

“I believed you.”

“True, but you’re a ghost. Which is unbelievable too.”

I patted myself. “I’m here all right, not a crank illusion.”

Emily smiled, which was the whole point. It was also nice knowing she had a sense of humor. That was a positive in her favor.

“Number four. The last plan. Once we’re at the aerodrome, we fly down. When survivors reach the ground, I approach your handlers and tell them Ms. Pang gave it to me. You bravely died trying to stop saboteurs and the #March of the German war machine. Plan B: if I can’t fly, I’ll drop the film to you and you deliver it. Then slip out, never to be seen again.”

She nodded. “I like it. One thing, you keep saying ‘Ms.’ I don’t know what that means, and neither will they. It’s ‘Miss’ I’ve never been married.”

“Got it,” I said.

“Swell—I know I’ve said this before, but I appreciate you putting up with me. I’m prickly when I’m tense.”

“Well, I do have an ulterior motive. I’m looking for a travel companion as I skip through time. After this is over, do you want to join me? With no strings attached, we could part at any time.”

“For Pete’s sake, you sound like a man putting the moves on me. ‘Hey, honey, want a little adventure?’” She laughed and winked, then continued, “Sure, that would be grand.”

There was a pause and a sly smile. Checking that no one was watching, she stole my mineral water and toasted, “The bee’s knees.”

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#TimeTravelingGhost Part 27: Episode 2: 1937: The Hindenburg Part M

#Wss366 #MastoPrompt #TimeTravelAuthors 8/5. Jobs/work in your story.

I raised my hand to order another drink, only to withdraw it when Emily said, “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”

She softened her tone and continued, “It would be best if you were clear-headed while we plan this.”

“Sure,” I said. “I hardly feel alcohol, but if we slip up, who knows what those rabbits or Emily might do.”

“That’s what I mean. You loused up calling her Emily, not Miss. Pang. Little things like that can get you killed in the spy business.”

While I couldn’t die, and I wasn’t a spy, Emily was right; a minor mistake might set Ms. Pang off.

We stopped talking briefly as the steward arrived. I ordered a club sandwich and soda water. I’d taken Emily’s advice: no more alcohol.

“So tell me about your secret life,” I said.

Emily thought for a minute and turned scarlet. Whatever she was thinking must be juicy for our matter-of-fact reporter/spy to blush.

“For months, I was convinced I had to take orders. I even asked one of the school nuns. I was sure I’d go to hell after necking with a girl in one of the bathroom stalls. It was my first time.”

I was taken aback that she’d share that while stone sober. My face grew hot picturing it. I even had a quick flash of being groped in a car by a boy.

“That might be too personal,” I said. “Ms. Pang will think I’m a stalker from her high school days.”

“Right. Sorry. Let me think. When I was a kid, I let our pet hamster out to play. Then a friend dropped by, and I ran out to meet her, forgetting all about him. Mom found the cat stalking Billy, and my brother got blamed. I still feel guilty for never owning up. Father could be mean when he was angry, especially when he was in the #bag.”

“That’s good. How about some follow-up information?”

“Let’s see.” She paused again as my meal arrived.

When the steward was gone, she rattled off the information. “Someone once climbed through my window and broke the little crystal swan my mother gave me. Who it was is a mystery, but I kept it to myself. I didn’t want my parents to know I could shin down the oak at night; the first time I got drunk was in Germany, when I was an exchange student—on cheap schnapps; Miss McGuire never knew who let the #air out of her tires; my mother gave me a stuffed bear, it’s still on my bed; my favorite film was Morocco. Marlene Dietrich in white tie and top hat was as racy as they come.”

“That should do, and you can stand behind me, feeding information if I need it.”

“Morocco,” I thought. “She at least has good taste. Marlene’s scene in the club was indeed hot.”

Note: From the next chapter: "I was possibly a professor or librarian."

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#TimeTravelingGhost Part 26: Episode 2: 1937: The Hindenburg Part L

#Wss366 #MastoPrompt #TimeTravelAuthors 8/1 Tell us about your time-travel story (optional: end with "out of time")

I signaled the steward for another whiskey sour. Alcohol didn’t hit me like it used to, but I still felt lightheaded and too ready to indulge my feelings. And right now, I was peeved. Emily had asked me to speak to her living counterpart. I was doing her a favor; there was no need for sarcasm.

I was being petty, sure. But I was just loopy enough to let it ride. Besides, the Hindenburg mixed a great cocktail. The whiskey sour used top-shelf ingredients: good rye, real lemon, and just the right touch of egg white. I held the glass up to the light, studying it. It was crystal, a short-stemmed coupe, shaped like a champagne glass. That was new to me and nothing like the ones I’d used at airport bars.

“Wow,” I muttered. “So, new details about my life: I used airports and knew my alcohol, maybe too well.”

While I savored my drink, Emily drummed her fingers on the table again, harder but still silently.

Halfway through my drink, I figured it was time to act like a grownup. “If you want my help, please don’t be so critical.”

“My, my, a thin-skinned ghost.” She frowned, hesitated, then leaned forward with both hands on the table. “Sorry, that was uncalled for. I’ll try to be nicer, but that’s the way I am: blunt, pragmatic, and utterly irritating.” She leaned back and shrugged. “The best experts have told me so.”

She took a deep breath. “I really appreciate your help. I was at my wit’s end trying to figure out what to do.”

“Apology accepted,” I said and tossed off the rest of the drink. The lounge looked brighter now, and the mural’s tropical palm swam.

“Plan C,” I said, trying to judge if my words were slurred. They didn’t seem to be. Getting drunk as a ghost was going to be a pain.

I said again, “Plan C is I tell her things I shouldn’t know about you—is she more likely to believe I can see the future or that I’m a time-traveling ghost?”

“Neither, I’d assume you were unwell and obsessing over me,” Emily said.

“That’s a risk,” I said. “But I’m out of better options. It has to be stuff not even a stalker or a deep-cover spy would know. The truth—that I’m some kind of amnesiac, time-hopping ghost—is probably too much. Clairvoyant sounds simpler. I just hope she buys it before we run out of time.”

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