#TimeTravelAuthors May 29 How much violence in your story?
#TimeTravelingGhost Part 6

“I pity the GochiUsa girls,” Ghost said. “It’s like having bratty little brothers.”

“Who you pitying?” Jeckle said.

“Yeah, it’s like having snotty big sisters!” Heckle said.

“I love being a big sister. You can count on your onee-san,” Hoto Cocoa said.

“Crarrk, Cawwk, boo, hiss.” #HeckleAndJeckle screamed as they threw food at the girls and random bystanders.

“This is as violent as this story gets,” Author said.

“No, no, no. You need to hurt Poe and TM,” Ghost pleaded.

“We’ll see,” Author said.

“For a time-traveling ghost, you’ve been here a long time. – Charles Dickens, 1843.”

“What?”

“Goodbye.”

Puff

#MicroFiction #NMPrompts #NMTTA #Drabble
#IsTheOrderARabbit #ご注文はうさぎですか? #GochiUsa #ごちうさ
#Plushies #SpyXFamily
@ShadowPlay @plush_bot

#TimeTravelAuthors May 31 Author choice
#TimeTravelingGhost Part 7 (Long)

The word “Goodbye” resounded like a pen’s ultimate declaration, and Ghost found herself in a dark room smelling of mildew. In front of her was a moth-eaten four-poster bed with a figure struggling to arise.

“Have you come to call upon me as well?” inquired the figure, an old gentleman whose nightgown hung on him like a shroud, his cap askew, and blankets heaped around him. “I assure you, good spirit, I am a reformed soul. Pray, tell me, who are you?”

“Time Traveling Ghost, and who might you be?” Ghost took the chance to look around. She found herself in a bedroom furnished only by the bed and a writing desk with a lone bowl, a spoon handle protruding from it. Underfoot was a threadbare carpet with an incongruous holly leaf and three red berries scattered on it.

“Ebenezer Scrooge!” came the astonished reply. “But I was given to understand — most solemnly — that there would be three spirits, and three alone. What business have you here?”

“I think it’s a joke by Author.” Ghost said, as perplexed as Scrooge at the turn of events. She cast her eyes about and spotted Heckle and Jeckle in the corner. “Damn, just my luck they would come along,” she muttered so low Scrooge couldn’t make out the words.

The elder blinked at him, befuddled. “I know not this Arthur of whom you speak, nor have I an appetite for riddles at this hour. The cock has not crowed, and come dawn I am beset by more tasks than I can bear. Go your way, sir, and take your visions with you.”

“I don’t suppose you’d spare me a farthing for a morning cup of coffee?” Ghost asked. “As you say, it’s rather early.”

“Not a farthing, nay, not a penny, ill-begotten beggar!” Scrooge cried, waving his arms as if to banish a vapour. “Begone, figment conjured by the tyrannies of undigested mustard!”

“Changed man,” Jeckle croaked, “Not.”

“Coffee? You’re a ghost,” Heckle screeched. “Hey buddy, can you spare me a dime?”

Scrooge pivoted to where the voices came from. “And what ill-begotten jesters are these? Vile emanations of prunes left too long to stew. Begone, thou late-born fragment of muddled sleep! Coffee indeed! Brazen haunt, seek you an almshouse, not my abode.” And with that, he dove under the covers.

#MicroFiction #NMPrompts #NMTTA
#AChristmasCarol #CharlesDickens #pastiche
#HeckleAndJeckle

#TimeTravelAuthors 06/01 Tell us about your story
#TimeTravelingGhost Part 8

Ghost drifted out of Scrooge’s house, where she hadn’t felt welcome, and sat on the steps in the grim pre-dawn light. As the light grew stronger, a ragged, dirty boy sat down beside her. Silence stretched between them until the boy tentatively began talking.

“Sir—if you please, sir—are you quite deceased?” the boy inquired, tugging his threadbare cap.

“Yeah, it sucks.”

“If it wouldn’t trouble you greatly, sir, I should like to hear your story. I expect I shall be dead soon myself, what with the hunger and all.”

“Sure. Then I’ll take you someplace where there’s food—Bob Cratchit’s house.”

There’s an author who writes silly things, and she wanted to write a story for a prompt (#WSS366). #HEAVEN knows why! So, she made a “Lass” who... (Let me cut that short.) Anyway, she killed the Lass most cruelly. Then she found another prompt for time travel stories (#TimeTravelAuthors) and had the Lass summon me. I think I’m a kind of ghost, but not really. (Frankly, it makes little sense.) The ghost can time travel and is named “Time Traveling Ghost.” (That’s me.) “Ghost,” for short. Only Author (that’s her name in the story) hasn’t told Ghost how to time travel. All Ghost wants is to get revenge on the people who killed Lass (Poe and Time Manager—TM for short). The—

The boy raised a hand. “You believe the strangest things, sir,” said the boy, wide-eyed. “But I dare say the world is full of such strangeness, if only one’s stomach weren’t growling too loud to hear it.”

Jeckle, who perched below them on Scrooge’s steps, added, “She sure does, don’t she, Boy? Let’s EAT!”

Heckle, sitting next to Jeckle, screeched, “Chow down. Chow down. Get yer feed bag!”

#MicroFiction #NMPrompts #NMTTA #AChristmasCarol #CharlesDickens #pastiche #DavidCopperfield #HeckleAndJeckle #Crow #Corvid #Plushies @ShadowPlay @plush_bot

#TimeTravelAuthors 06/01 Dreams in your stories – Now I have.
#TimeTravelingGhost Part 9

The boy looked at Ghost. “I had a dream, sir. If it ain’t too silly to say so.”

“There was a man in black, like one of those mimes in Piccadilly, only black, not white. I even know his name, bless me. It was on his chest, proud as a toff with his misses. ‘Quasi Temporal,’ it said. I remember quite distinctly.”

“He handed me a box, square, warm… Oh, but the smell, like all the food vendors had piled their food in your lap, so fine it made my mouth hurt. When I opened it, there was a great round of bread inside, all covered with cheese. Cheese all melty and shining, like the sun on a morning like this.”

The boy stopped and pointed at the sun, which had just peeked through the buildings across the street.

“Sir, the taste. It was the best thing I’ve ever eaten. I was quite the pig. I ate the whole thing, every crumb, sir. A mouse couldn’t have found a bit to eat. I know I shouldn’t have, not all at once, but I couldn’t help myself.”

“And then, I said, very soft-like, not wanting to be rude, ‘Please, sir, may I have more?’”

The boy’s eyes got wide with wonder and excitement. “And he gave me more. A stack of them, like plates at a feast.”

“And just when I thought I ought to say a proper thank you, he vanished like chimney smoke.”

This time, the boy pointed to the coal smoke rising from the houses.

“And he says, ‘Anytime Time Traveling Pizza,’ just like that. I don’t know what it meant, but I wish he were real.”

“Then I wake up, so hungry and not anything to eat except my shoes and dust under the bed. You mentioned food, sir. Could we go? I’ll be like at church and make no more noise than a mouse. Please, sir.”

“Boo, hoo, creeek, hoo” Jeckle cried.

Ghost floated up and held out her hand. “Sure, let’s go, little sir.”

#MicroFiction #NMPrompts #NMTTA #CharlesDickens #pastiche #DavidCopperfield #HeckleAndJeckle #Pizza
@QuasiTemporal

#TimeTravelAuthors 06/07 Saturday excerpt #Focus
#TimeTravelingGhost Part 10

The ghost and the boy walked through the waking streets of London, threading their way through the bustle of people getting ready for the day. Periodically, they heard shouts of Merry Christmas and other holiday salutations.

Ghost led the way through poor back-alley streets, past mean penny-a-day inns and crowded tenements. But she never hesitated. As long as she focused, he knew where the Cratchits lived. Arriving at a run-down house, the Ghost stopped.

“What’s your name, boy?” Ghost asked. It seemed silly to keep calling him “boy.”

“David, sir, if it pleases you, sir. David Copperfield.”

Ghost nodded, not being well-read. He didn’t recognize the name. She knew enough ghost lore to know the story “A Christmas Carol,” but there were no ghosts in “David Copperfield.”

“This is what you do, David. Knock on the door and say you have a message from Mr. Scrooge. Say he has had a change of heart, and a generous present will soon arrive. Lastly, say that Mr. Scrooge could not pay you to deliver the message, but he was sure the Cratchits would share a meal with you. You can add that line, ‘I’m so hungry,’ if you like. You do it very well. It would melt a heart of stone.”

“And you, sir. Surely you won’t run off now. I shall sorely miss you if you do.” David grabbed at Ghost’s hands, but it was like trying to catch the morning mist.

“I must; I have someone to find,” Ghost said and closed her eyes, imagining a new place and time. A woman’s name popped into her head. “I will visit her.”

Q: Who did Ghost think of, i.e., where shall we go next?

#MicroFiction #NMPrompts #NMTTA #CharlesDickens #pastiche #AChristmasCarol #DavidCopperfield #Poll

#TimeTravelingGhost Episode 1: 1926: The Folies Bergère Part 1

#TimeTravelAuthors #MastoPrompt

A brightly lit street replaced the scene of grime and despair. Before me stretched an avenue thronged with people in search of tonight’s delights. Neon signs blazed above doorways, proudly naming the city’s temples of amusement. Down the boulevard, the Moulin Rouge flaunted its red windmill, turning lazily in a bath of neon. Not far from it, a grand neoclassical façade flashed a marquee in red, white, and blue:
“Casino de Paris — Maurice Chevalier — To-Night!” On a lamppost was a sketch of a woman in a skirt of bananas.

And directly before me, under the glow of neon lights, the Folies Bergère shimmered. Its sign read:

“Josephine Baker — Masquerade (Private)”

A red carpet lay unfurled across the sidewalk, cordoned off with velvet ropes. Burly attendants held back curious onlookers as men and women in fantastical costumes stepped gracefully from chauffeur-driven touring cars. Somewhere close by, I heard a pair whisper:

“Is that Hemingway?”
“No costume. So gauche.”

I stood mesmerized. So many lights! So many people! How could such opulence exist along with the squalor I had just seen?

A red-gloved hand tugged at my sleeve, and a woman’s voice, heavy with a Hungarian accent, said, “Charming a ghost. I needed a companion tonight.”

She was wearing a 17th-century-style dress of deep crimson satin, but with décolletage that was totally 1920s. It was further accented by black lace and tiny rubies or, more likely, red glass that could have been mistaken for droplets of blood in this light. Her mask was delicate, enameled porcelain, shaped like a weeping face from a church tomb.

She linked arms with me. Unlike the hand that had tugged my sleeve, it had no glove, displaying long, talon-like scarlet nails. They were hands that never worked beyond claiming what she thought was hers by right.

Having secured me, she gently took me in tow and entered the theater. The crowds parted for her with a small murmur, “The Countess.” Just as she had claimed me without regard to my wishes, she entered the building, brooking no interference.

#MicroFiction #NMPrompts #NMTTA #JosephineBaker #CountessElizabethBáthory

#TimeTravelAuthors 06/11 #Harmony
#TimeTravelingGhost Part 12

Once inside, we were surrounded by partygoers in costumes that would have put modern cosplayers to shame: tigers in rich yellow and black outfits, a peacock woman with a full peacock’s tail, pirates flashing gold teeth, and costumes that would get you canceled today. The whole thing moved in a Folies Bergère harmony of silk and chaos.

“We are fashionably late,” my mystery date said. Her Hungarian accent made it hard to understand her. My French was already weak; add a dash of Eastern Europe and full comprehension was dicey.

The woman continued, “But we are in time for Sidney Bechet’s sweet harmonies. Shall we sit and have a cocktail or dance?”

“Sit. I don’t seem hip to any of that jive rug cutting,” I said, immediately unsure if I’d used that right.
Indeed, the dancers dansaient comme des diables, cutting loose with spins, flips, Charleston shakes, and Black Bottom hip grinds.

“Dancing is for the young, is it not? There was nothing like this when I grew up,” the Countess said. (For want of another name, I shall call her that.)

“Has Bechet shot that woman yet?” I asked.

“Oh, will he shoot someone? Divine. I must try to be there. No one tells you how dull life is if you live too long.”

A server in a risqué sequined dress arrived, and we promptly had Champagne cocktails, along with a tin of black Russian cigarettes for the Countess. She removed her mask, but I only got a hint of her appearance. The veil, appropriate for her costume, was fine black lace studded with red droplet stones; blood and shadow in perfect harmony. I could just make out her face, pale, almost as pale as the mask.

“Order what you like. I meet so few ghosts, and believe me, you are more intriguing than most. Dreadfully dull, always bent on revenge or hanging on to what they had in life. They should have worried about that when they were alive.”

She waved for two more cocktails and continued, “Mademoiselle Baker is best appreciated after a few cocktails.”

(To be continued)

#MicroFiction #NMPrompts #NMTTA #SidneyBechet #JosephineBaker #CountessElizabethBáthory #Jazz #roaring20s

#TimeTravelAuthors 06/15 Do your characters ever use/encounter #AI.
#TimeTravelingGhost Part 13
#WSS366 #Toast

The Folies Bergère exploded with cheers as Sidney Bechet wrapped up his set. Partygoers toasted him, setting off poppers that laced the air with tinsel streamers. On the floor, dancers finished with a final Black Bottom grind, or maybe a Snakehips slide.

The Countess raised a glass. “Isten, bor, és vér—három, ami sosem hazudik.” (God, wine, and blood—three things that never lie.) “Bechet stirs the room, but she’ll set it alight.” She barely finished her toast when a slender, mocha-skinned woman glided onto the stage. Her banana skirt was as intriguing as her face.

I sat in rapt attention. Her voice, sometimes a lilting siren song, sometimes a wild, savage beat, held the room in spellbound silence. What could one say? This was a dusky goddess descended to earth.

Josephine Baker.

I would never forget that wild, tumultuous dance, the shimmying bananas, the sway, her face alight with divine pleasure and mischief.

When she finished, the room erupted. If I had thought the applause for Sidney Bechet was overwhelming, this was a tempest. Tinsel streamers flew, settling like multicolored cobwebs across the crowd.

“A toast,” the countess said, pouring from a magnum of Champagne now resting on the table.

“To the talk of Paris. Egészségedre! Egészségére!” (To your health! To her health!)

“She has fire, such spirit. I could drink of her essence all night. Just sitting here, I feel years younger. You are an American, yes? Is America not a land of machines and industry? Do you think a soulless machine could match such majesty? It could jiggle on stage; spout clever words; parrot wisdom and nonsense, maybe. But never this. God made man, the Devil, but copies it.”

I feared the Countess had drunk too much.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wmw5eGh888Y

#MicroFiction #NMPrompts #NMTTA #JosephineBaker #CountessElizabethBáthory #Jazz #Roaring20s #jazzhistory #Dance #NMV366

#TimeTravelAuthors 06/28 Balance
#TimeTravelingGhost Part 14

Fallen Angel

Josephine’s act ended, and Ghost sat there, stunned. More than the godlike dancing, it was the joy on Mademoiselle Baker’s face—mischievous, radiant, pure puckish abandon—that stayed with Ghost.

“Would you like to meet the goddess in person?” Countess’s voice broke the spell.

A juggler had taken the stage, balancing a plate on their nose while juggling three balls. The shift was as jarring as vaudeville following Shakespeare at the Globe. Ghost nodded, still too dazzled to trust her voice.

Countess drained her Champagne and snubbed her cigarette in the empty glass, where it briefly sizzled. “Shall we go?” she said softly. The veil had fallen again; red gems sparkled where once were crimson lips and pale skin.

She threaded unsteadily through the tables where tipsy revelers sat, pieces of costume strewn around them. Tinsel clung to her like cosmic threads, a fallen star personified, cast down but radiant still. Voices called out her name: La Comtesse de Pougy, La Duchesse de Gramont, even Madame la Comtesse. She nodded to each with gracious indifference, letting every title stand.

“Who was this woman?” Ghost wondered. The veil was only the beginning—a symbol of an identity woven from shadow. Not even her familiars agreed on her name. The dark hints she dropped made her think perhaps she was someone even older and more sinister than any of them realized. Or perhaps they ignored her subtle hints.

“Madame la Comtesse,” the stage doorman greeted us. “Here to see Mademoiselle Baker? This way, she is expecting you.”

“How are the kids, Louis?” Countess’s voice shifted; no trace of Hungarian remained. It rang with the false warmth of a politician: hearty, too familiar.

“Well, Madame. They were grateful for the gifts.”

“Good. Here is the door we can see ourselves in. Tell the wife I say hi.”

The man hurried back to his station, a smile on his face.

The Countess looked after him, and then in her Hungarian-heavy French asked me, “Do you hate kids too?”

She lit one of her black cigarettes, waiting for an answer that never came, and finally added, “Loathsome creatures. On God’s great balance wheel, less than rats.”

#LesbianHistory

Liane de Pougy: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Liane_de_Pougy
Élisabeth de Gramont: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/%C3%89lisabeth_de_Gramont

#MicroFiction #NMPrompts #NMTTA #JosephineBaker #CountessElizabethBáthory #Roaring20s #Lesbian #Sapphic

#TimeTravelingGhost Part 15A: Luminelle Bijou

#TimeTravelAuthors 06/27 #WSS366 #MastoPrompt 06/28

Countess—Comtesse? Duchesse?—waved for me to open Josephine Baker’s dressing room. Her gloved hand moved with languid grace, a silent reminder of who held the upper hand.

I glanced at her other hand to reassure myself of my memory. Indeed, oddly, a pale hand showed below the red sleeve of her dress. The absence of a glove could hardly be accidental, but I was unsure of the meaning.

My knock was greeted with, “Entrée.” We entered, finding Mademoiselle Baker #fanning herself before a large mirror. Cosmetics fanned across the vanity in a delta of disorder.

“Comtesse de Pougy, I was expecting you.” Mademoiselle Baker’s French had a heavy American accent. She then gave me a quizzical look. “Your friend’s a vampire, no?”

Countess replied, “A ghost. I didn’t get her name. She is a big fan. She was delightful to watch as you performed. Eyes so big, mouth so wide. Ah, to be young again.”

I was unsure about her comment. “Mouth so wide” didn’t sound like a compliment. And now that she brought it up, I wondered what my name was. “Time Traveling Ghost” and “Ghost” weren’t real names but descriptions. Instead of asking either of those, I asked a third question. “Mademoiselle Baker, how did you know I was dead?”

She tapped the mirror with the fan she had been using. “Your reflection, Mademoiselle Ghost—what may I call you?”

I looked in the mirror. Indeed, the mirror didn’t reflect me. But what caught my eye was Countess' ungloved hand. Not the ungloved hand itself, but its absence. There were red velvet sleeves, one with a gloved hand and one empty. I glanced back at her, and there was a pale hand where the mirror showed a void.

#MicroFiction #NMPrompts #NMTTA #NMV366 #NMMP #JosephineBaker #CountessElizabethBáthory #Roaring20s

#TimeTravelingGhost Part 15B: Luminelle Bijou

#TimeTravelAuthors 06/27 #WSS366 #MastoPrompt 06/28

“Mademoiselle, she is asking your name,” Countess said.

“Who was she, Countess Elizabeth Báthory? Countess Mircalla Karnstein? Marguerite Chopin? Countess? Comtesse de Pougy turned? All, some?” The names tumbled through my head.

Still puzzling over her identity, I began, “My name, I—I don’t know what…” I caught myself. I had meant to say, “I don’t know what your real name is, Countess?” But that wouldn’t do. How could I #trust that some evil might not befall me if she sensed I suspected?

My tone turned #querulous. “My name? I don’t think I have one. Mademoiselle Baker, you would honor me if you gave me one. I’d always remember your dance—and your face—whenever someone called it.”

The Countess clapped silently, fingers fluttering like moths, and exclaimed, “Charming. Quite charming. So romantic.”

Josephine touched a finger to her chin, as if pointing to the dimple in her cheek. She tilted her head, thoughtful, then smiled. “Luminelle Bijou,” she said. “Mademoiselle Luminelle Bijou. My radiant jewel. A fan I shall always remember.”

At that moment, there was a light knock at the door, followed by the doorman’s voice. “Mademoiselle Baker, a Monsieur La Rothchild is here to see you. He has some magnificent flowers.”

Josephine brought her palms together with a theatrical sigh. “Please excuse me. I must see this important person. But I am happy you came, Comtesse, and I was delighted to meet you, Mademoiselle Bijou.”

#MicroFiction #NMPrompts #NMTTA #NMV366 #NMMP #JosephineBaker #CountessElizabethBáthory #Roaring20s

#TimeTravelingGhost Part 16: Names

#TimeTravelAuthors 06/29

Once out in the hall, Countess turned to me. “You have been a delightful companion. Thank you ever so much…” She paused. “Mademoiselle Bijou.”

Was there a hint of mockery there? I was unsure.

“But now, we must part ways,” she continued. “These days, I dine alone. I do hope that doesn’t disappoint you.”

Not at all. I welcomed the parting. That was when I decided: I didn’t like this woman. Not that I regretted meeting her. After all, she had introduced me to Mademoiselle Baker, but I could do without her future company.

“Comtesse? May I know your full name?” Parting made the question feel safe.

“But of course. I am presently la princesse Ghika. Here at the Folies, I am la comtesse de Pougy—or simply Pougy, to friends.”

She laid her ungloved hand on my arm; it was soft and warm—unexpectedly human. With her other hand, she drew back her veil, revealing a matronly face: no longer young, but not yet old.

“Until we meet again, Mademoiselle Luminelle Bijou.” And this time, the mockery was unmistakable.

Her veil dropped. I thought I heard, “or even Elizabeth.” But perhaps I imagined it.

So—where next?

#MicroFiction #NMPrompts #NMTTA #NMMP #CountessElizabethBáthory #Roaring20s

#TimeTravelingGhost Part 17: Episode 2: 1937: The Hindenburg Part A

#TimeTravelAuthors 7/3. What are your characters fighting for?

The backstage faded, half there and half not. The Countess’s form receded in a haze. I paused to reflect on her. I didn’t hate her, but I certainly didn’t like her. She had been subtly cruel and hinted at a deeper darkness, but I had enjoyed her company, which made me realize that my ghostly existence might be very lonely.

Last time, I wished to be in Paris during an era of bright lights and gaiety. I had appeared at the Folies Bergère. That was as bright and gay as it could get. If time travel worked like that, you make a wish, and poof, you were there. Then why not do it again?

“I would like to go somewhere where I can find a friend. Someone who can come with me on my travels.” That would be nice, while I tried to figure out who I was—why I existed.

“I want to meet a fellow traveler!”

The last traces of the backstage faded, revealing a brilliantly lit room. I blinked, then assessed my new surroundings.
#MicroFiction #NMPrompts #NMTTA #NMV366

#TimeTravelingGhost Part 17: Episode 2: 1937: The Hindenburg Part B

#Mastoprompt #TimeTravelAuthors 7/5.

My first impression was one of Spartan elegance. It was jarring after the roar and excess of 1920s Paris. Instead of the riotous laughter of the Folies, I heard the murmur of people talking and the occasional clink of a glass all #around me. The room was a lounge lined with aluminum tables and chairs, all lightweight and purposeful. Soft-colored fabrics upholstered the seats: beige, lavender, and gentle pinks. Murals adorned the cloth walls in dreamy pastels: parrots, palms, and Rio’s own Sugarloaf Mountain. It was utilitarian and efficient, a tasteful example of modernism.

From the murals, my eyes were drawn to windows showing the countryside drifting below. A sparkling river was so close that the people on the barges were visible. #Beyond, quaint villages nestled in the morning mist.

Finally, a couple arguing caught my attention. On second glance, the argument seemed one-sided. A woman in a white linen dress addressed her twin sister, seated at one of the tables, in a shrill, New York-accented voice. “You need to listen to me. Please, it’s important. You’re going to die.”

Her sister paid no attention and instead calmly talked to the man across from her. She took languid sips of a red cocktail. Despite her sister’s vehement words, she was as unruffled as the liquid in her glass.

Then it hit me. No one was paying attention to the woman. Normally, if a person makes a scene, people peer at them. Instead, everyone continued their conversations, reading their papers, or watching the scenery go by without blinking.

The woman at the table looked past her sister in my direction, said something to her companion, and laughed. Whatever she said caused the woman in white to turn around. Our eyes met, and shock spread across her face.

She stared. “Madam. You can see me?”

#MicroFiction #Serial #NMPrompts #NMTTA #NMMP

#TimeTravelingGhost Part 18: Episode 2: 1937: The Hindenburg Part C

#TimeTravelAuthors 7/5 Loops 7/9. POST-SIZED snippet (Word: sky)

The standing sister repeated herself, “You can see me.” This time it was a statement rather than a question. The seated sister remained oblivious to us.

I studied them again as I decided how to act. They were more than sisters. If they’d stood side by side, I'd not have been able to tell one from the other, except that one wore white and the other mauve.

I nodded and walked over. “Yes, I see you.”

The seated sister looked up, lips pursed. “Excuse me? Were you talking to me?”

The standing one took my arm. “You must help me, please.”

“I don’t understand,” I said.

The seated woman’s eyebrows pinched. “Neither do I. Now, please stop bothering us, or I’ll call a steward.”

“Come, please,” the other woman pulled on my arm and pointed to an unoccupied table. “Let’s talk over there.”

We were barely seated when she began speaking. “I’m Emily Pang, and you might not believe this, but I’m a ghost. That’s me sitting over there. I’m still alive, and I have to warn myself—them. But you think I’m crazy, don’t you? Ghosts, who believes in ghosts? I don’t—didn’t. But it’s true, I’ll be dead in a few days...”

I held up my hand to stop the torrent of words. “I…”

The woman rushed ahead. “...If you would explain to them. I must save them. Please. It’s crazy, but…”

“Stop!”

She shut her mouth with an almost audible snap.

I kept my hand up while I studied her. She looked to be in her forties. Plain, but with a touch of class that her white linen dress accented. Its long lines made her appear taller, but I guessed she was of mid-height. I couldn’t see her hair because of one of those bucket-like hats popular during the Great Depression. Her #sky-blue eyes, almost indigo, were her most outstanding feature.

A steward appeared, perhaps summoned by my raised hand. He gave me an odd look when I ordered Champagne cocktails for the pair of us, but he took the order without comment.

When he’d left, I spoke. “I believe you. I’m a ghost too. Luminelle Bijou, that’s my name.” I almost blushed remembering Mademoiselle Baker.

I would have continued, but she launched into speech again, “Then you must have died here too.”

“Maybe, I don’t know. Actually, I don’t know where here is.”

“The Hindenburg, May 3rd, 1937, on the 6th I burn to death!”

The Hindenburg crash. I’d picked a wonderful spot to appear.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hindenburg_disaster
#TootFic #Serial #NMPrompts #NMTTA

#TimeTravelingGhost Part 19: Episode 2: 1937: The Hindenburg Part D

#Wss366 & #TimeTravelAuthors 7/11 Romance/love triangle?

“The Hindenburg,” I repeated. “And that’s not your sister, but you?”

I took a sip of my Champagne cocktail while I put my thoughts in order. I savored the taste to settle my mind. The drink was simple but elegant, not quite up to the ones at the Folies Bergère. There, they rimmed the glass with vibrantly colored sugar crystals and poured with flair. This had been served politely, without fanfare. That kind of flourish would have clashed with the quiet elegance of the Hindenburg. It was a fine drink, fitting for the airship.

Emily stared at me. “You drank that?”

“Yes, try yours. It is quite good.”

“No, you’re a ghost and you drank that!”

I hadn’t thought about it, but I couldn’t remember any stories about ghosts drinking. Didn’t Buddhists even make a big deal out of how some ghosts drank and ate but could never feel nourished? That must relate to why I stayed inebriated for so short a time. The first part, not the bit about the hungry ghosts. I found the light fizz and warmth of the drink very satisfying.

I shrugged in reply. “So it seems.”

“And your clothes, they aren’t very appropriate.”

True, they were 21st-century casual: jeans and a short brown sweater dress. They must have passed as a costume at the Folies Bergère. I imagined myself in a dress matching Emily’s and wah lah I was in period attire. I #add(ed) a black pearl necklace for flair.

“Don’t do that!” Emily hissed. “You’re putting on a spectacle.”

“My bad.” She was right, of course. Doing things like that where I could be seen wasn’t clever. “This ghost thing is all new to me.”

“I’m new to ghosting and even I know that was stupid,” she added.

I’d wished for a travel companion, and I guessed Emily Pang was it. Not that she was romance material. Heavens, no. I like other women that way, but sharp-tongued women never appealed to me. Besides, she wasn’t even my type. I would just help her and then ask her if she wanted to do some traveling. That’s all.

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#TimeTravelingGhost Part 20: Episode 2: 1937: The Hindenburg Part E

#Wss366 #TimeTravelAuthors 7/13. Most famous person in your story.

We sat staring uncomfortably at each other. The polite chatter in the Hindenburg’s lounge did nothing to ease our awkward silence. Ms. Pang picked up the Champagné cocktail and took a drink.

“Wow, I drank that. It never occurred to me I could eat or drink,” she said.

“You probably shouldn’t. They’re all staring.” With my sudden change of clothes and a floating Champagne glass, we’d made quite the spectacle.

I stood up, took a bow, and announced in a loud voice, “My show opens next week on Broadway. I hope to see you there.” It was probably gauche, but it covered up our various mistakes.

“That was clever,” Ms. Pang said. She had put the glass down and didn’t pick it up again. “Let’s start again. I’m Emily Pang, but you can call me Emily. I’m—I was a reporter. The Nazis revoked my press card, so I was traveling home. In a few days I’m going to die, burn—n… I don’t want to think about it. It was horrible.”

“I’m sorry.” No pointless comfort. What else could I say?

“I’m Luminelle Bijou. You can call me whatever you want except ‘late for dinner.’” The joke fell flat, but it got a grimace, which was an improvement from the distress I’d seen on her face.

“I’m new to this ghost business,” I said, “so there isn’t much I can say about it. Nor can I tell you about my living self. I have no memory of my life. Not even my name. It was Mademoiselle Josephine Baker who christened me Luminelle Bijou.

“She’s quite famous. A communist.”

“I think you’re confused. She’s a patriot and helped us against the Nazis, no matter what Walter Winchell says.” https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Walter_Winchell

“I’m sorry. I should know better than to repeat gossip. Though I thought Mr. Winchell was her friend.”

I thought for a moment. “I’m getting my timelines confused. The war and Walter Winchell’s slander are in the future.”

“Oh, you’re from the future? Interesting… I wish I could see what happens. Does everyone end up with personal gyrocopters, that kind of thing?”

I almost spit out my drink. At first, I thought she said ‘gyno-copters,’ which would be a very different invention. One I wouldn’t mention in mixed company.

“But tell me, who else famous have you met?”

“I may have met Elizabeth Bathory and Camilla Karnstein.”

Emily looked blank.

“One is famous for bathing in blood, and the other is a vampire from a novel.”

“You do have charming friends,” Emily said.

“Josephine Baker is it, but I’ve thought about visiting Joan of Arc and Amelia Earhart.”

“You’d like Mrs. Earhart. She is a pleasant person. Delightful, but she’ll talk your leg off about aviation.”

Emily began smiling. I liked it. Her face lit up, and her eyes sparkled. They were almost cobalt blue at the moment. The smile faded, and she whispered, “Don’t look, but THEY are here.”

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#TimeTravelingGhost Part 21: Episode 2: 1937: The Hindenburg Part G

#TimeTravelAuthors 19 Saturday excerpt (optional word: line)

Emily’s mistake was forgetting that if you say to someone “don’t look,” they, of course, will.

I slowly turned my head, as if finding a waiter to order another drink. In the lounge doorway stood a rabbit. I think of rabbits as cute, but this one was anything but cute. It was roughly the size of a twelve-year-old and wore a Nazi SS uniform. The unfastened holster revealed the grip of a Luger. After discovering I could time travel and meet a probable vampire, a Nazi rabbit shouldn’t have surprised me, but it did.

I turned back to Emily and mouthed, “Oh.”

She said, “I’ll tell you later. Watch me… The other me.”

Ms. Pang, the living one, was cheerfully talking to her friend. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the rabbit make a bee-line for her. It stopped next to her and appeared to be listening. After a minute, it turned around and left the lounge.

Once it was gone, Emily spoke again. “I don’t know what they are, but they’ve been following her ever since she got on the Hindenburg. That’s another reason we need to warn her. I was carrying some important papers that burned in the crash.”

The pronoun switch threw me briefly. It must be strange talking about yourself that way. But was easier to understand if she spoke about her live self as like another person.

“Do you want to tell me more, or is it a secret?”

“It’s a secret, but I guess I can tell you. It’s notes on the German’s research into mind-reading.”

I sighed, mind-reading. What next, alien abductions?

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#TimeTravelingGhost Part 22: Episode 2: 1937: The Hindenburg Part H

Prompts: #Wss366 #MastoPrompt #TimeTravelAuthors 7/23

“Let’s go look out the observation window,” I said. I needed to think about the rabbit hole I’d fallen down, a hole complete with ghosts, time travel, vampires, mind-reading, and now Nazi rabbits. Each a #symbol of how far I had fallen. And, as if that god-awful hodge-podge of impossibilities weren’t enough, I had a dozen other questions. Who or what controlled this time-travel business? Should I get involved with Ms. Pang? Would she really be a good travel companion—wait, I hadn’t stipulated “good,” only that she could be a travel partner. Folklore said wishes were tricky, more likely to bite you than befriend you.

I sighed and put the questions out of my mind. It was pointless to speculate about this time-travel business or even who I was. I had no information. The same was true for this woman. She “could” be a travel companion, and only time would reveal if I wanted her to be.

I found a spot at the window that wasn’t near anyone. Outside, #water spread as far as the eye could see. A few boats dotted the surface, but they were shrinking. “We must be rising,” I thought. Using a soft voice, I said, “Okay, tell me about the rabbits and the papers. Then I will tell you if I’ll help.”

“You’re not on their side or a communist, are you?”

“I don’t know who ‘their side’ is, but I’m not a Nazi or fascist. I don’t think I was a communist. It bothered me when you casually called Mademoiselle Baker a communist. She was a symbol of freedom, not tyranny. So I might have been a liberal. If you’re worried I’ll betray you, forget it. The worst that happens is I jet to another time and let you worry about the ship crashing.”

She nodded. I’d learn that was a habit. “I was a colonel in military intelligence, and no cracks about there being no intelligence in the military.”

That stung until I took into #account my “late for dinner” joke.

“I worked very hard to be promoted and am the highest-ranking woman in the intelligence service. My employer, the Arkham Daily Star, plays along. I was in Germany investigating some top-flight American psychologists who’d taken jobs in Heidelberg. I discovered they’d been hired for top-secret work researching mind-reading. Awful stuff, using human test subjects. It’s too gruesome to talk about—trepanning and electrodes, that sort of thing.”

I didn’t point out she was already talking about it. I was just glad she moved on.

“They must have caught on because they revoked my press card and hinted unpleasant things might happen to a nosy woman if she didn’t leave the country. I had all my notes with me, and I think that’s why they sabotaged the ship. Those papers must get to US intelligence.”

“And the rabbits?” I asked, afraid of the answer.

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#TimeTravelingGhost Part 23: Episode 2: 1937: The Hindenburg Part I

#Wss366 #MastoPrompt #TimeTravelAuthors 7/25. Jewelry and fashion in your story.

“I didn’t see any rabbits when I was alive,” Emily began. “There was no warning of a problem, just suddenly there were flames. My last wish before I blacked out was to go back and warn myself. When I came to, I was no longer on the Hindenburg; instead, I was in Frankfurt on the day I’d left.”

The first thing I tried was speaking to her in her hotel room. I remember standing in front of the door, frustrated that I didn’t have the key. I gave the door an angry shove, and to my surprise, my hand went through it. That’s when it really hit me: “I’m a ghost.”

“It’s tricky going through things, but I managed to enter the room.

“There I was, putting on a long blue…” Emily began, and I waved my hands for her to get on with it. Clothing wasn’t what I was interested in. I wanted to know about Nazi rabbits and mind-reading studies.

“Anyway, I tried talking to her, but she couldn’t hear me. I was #nagging and yelling at her by the time we reached the lobby, and that’s when I saw them. There were two rabbits dressed—the way you saw—in those awful black SS uniforms, talking to the ‘kind’ officer who had ‘volunteered’ to drive me to the aerodrome.”

“I didn’t know if they could detect me, so I made myself inconspicuous. I wasn’t getting through to her anyway.”

“All I could do was drift along above the car, following them to the Hindenburg. It felt like floating through a movie scene, #severed from reality.”

“Wow, Emily is one adaptive person.” I hadn’t tried any of those things: passing through walls, floating, flying, and God knows what else.

Emily continued her story. “When we got to the aerodrome, there were two more rabbits. I don’t know if they were the same ones. They had the same black uniforms and death-head insignia. They watched me—her—board the Hindenburg. My driver nodded to a rabbit, a major, and they also boarded. I don’t know how many are on the ship, but at least three.”

“That’s the story. You saw me trying to talk to… myself. Oh, and I tried possessing myself with no luck.”

I thought I understood, despite the tangle of “I”s and “me”s. But for the future, I said, “It will be easier for both of us if you refer to your living self as ‘her’ or ‘Ms. Pang.’ And you”—I pointed at her—“as ‘I’ or ‘Emily.’ Is it all right if I call you Emily?”

She nodded.

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#TimeTravelingGhost Part 24: Episode 2: 1937: The Hindenburg Part J

#Wss366 #TimeTravelAuthors 29. Masks (literal or figurative).

“So, are you going to help me? Getting those papers to the right people is important. We can’t let the Nazis get mind-reading first. I wish I’d handed my papers off in Germany,” Emily said, staring unseeing out the observation window.

I looked out at the clean blue ocean instead of answering. We were high enough that I couldn’t see whitecaps, and ships were dots. There was no land visible, and there wouldn’t be any until we got to New Jersey.

“Let’s sit,” I said. “I need to think.”

We walked back to our table, and I flagged the steward down. I ordered a whiskey sour and drank it and studied the #art on the walls while thinking. Emily sat across from me, drumming her fingers in eerily soundless impatience.

“Yes, I’ll help,” I said, putting down the empty glass—the cherry at the bottom staring up at me—“but realistically, there is only so much I can do.”

She nodded, but her wrinkled brow delivered a mixed message.

“I know people survived,” I said, getting to business. “Where were you during the explosion?”

Emily grew pale, and her lip trembled. “It’s hazy. I remember the fire and screaming in agony. It was awful.”

“Sorry for making you remember this stuff,” I said. “Unfortunately, I have to know.”

“It’s alright. I’m asking for your help. But I don’t remember where I was.”

I didn’t beat around the bush. No matter how I said this, she wouldn’t like it, so I jerked the band-aid off with one motion. “I don’t think I can save her.”

“You said you’d help!”

“Listen. Provided I convince Ms. Pang and she convinces the captain—both unlikely—where would Ms. Pang get off? I hate to be blunt. You wore the mask of a journalist, but as a spy, you knew the risks.”

Emily stiffened at my statement.

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#TimeTravelingGhost Part 25: Episode 2: 1937: The Hindenburg Part K

#Wss366 #MastoPrompt #TimeTravelAuthors 31. Author’s choice.

A long moment followed my blunt retort: “You wore the mask of a journalist, but as a spy, you knew the risks.”

While awaiting Emily’s angry response, I observed subtle details of my environment: the floor tilting under us, enough to notice; a passerby muttering, “Turbulence;” someone swearing in German; the steward artfully handing someone their drinks.

When the passerby was gone, Emily nodded. “I knew the risks.” It was a wry statement of acceptance.

I breathed a sigh of relief. It hadn’t been my most diplomatic moment, but we’d survived. With that over, I continued. “That said, the important thing is to see that those papers get into the right hands. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Just imagine the Nazi Party with mind-reading.”

“The good news is, there is no evidence they used mind-reading during the war. I think they would have won if they had known our leader’s plans.”

“So we fought a war with them? Appeasement didn’t work? Of course it didn’t. The idiots.” Emily didn’t sound surprised, only bitter.

“But we won?” She was staring intently at me, seeking confirmation.

“Yeah, it was a bloody, nasty war. Germany occupied France and the Netherlands, and for a time, it was touch and go for England.”

“Serve the cowards right. Appeasement, what fools!”

“Be that as it may, our job is to see the papers survive and reach the right hands. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

“So the first thing is to get the papers. I have a couple of plans for what to do after that.”

Emily nodded.

“First, do you know where the papers are? The easiest thing would be to steal them.”

“They’re on film, and I have… Ms. Pang has them on her person. Always!”

“Well, that leaves out stealing them. Gah, and they will melt if we hide them on the ship. That’s a couple of plans out the window.”

“Next plan?” she asked. The anger had faded, replaced by resignation, as cold as #worn #stone.

“I’ll have to talk her out of them. How about I pretend to be your contact and use your passcodes to get them?”

“She’ll think someone compromised our cell.”

“That leaves the direct approach. I’ll convince her I know the future, and she needs to accept our help to prevent the film’s destruction.”

“And how will ‘you’ do that?”

I didn’t appreciate her sarcasm. She was the one who approached me to talk to Ms. Pang. All in all, this supposed companion could be exasperating.

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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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#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 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 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 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 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.

#MircoFiction #TootFic #Serial #PulpFiction #TimeTravel #NMPrompts #NMTTA #NMV366 #NMTTG

#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 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 34 EP 2T: 1937: The Hindenburg

#Wss366 #TimeTravelAuthors 23rd

“I can’t believe you did it,” Emily murmured from behind me. “I cracked.”

“Oh, ye of little faith,” I thought. Not that I blamed Emily for being surprised, but it was too soon to congratulate myself. I didn’t have the film yet.

I looked down, finding my glass empty. I’d been putting those cocktails away. Another wouldn’t hurt, and I needed something to calm my strained nerves. I waved for the steward and ordered a Champagne cocktail. Miss Pang declined my offer to buy her another drink.

Using my “mind-reading” ability, I sensed she thought I was trying to get her drunk

Bull’s-eye, she would be right.

“And a Monte Cristo,” I added to the steward.

His foot scuffed the floor, and his gaze wavered, but he didn’t say anything. Behind me, Emily groaned. I’d done it again. Maybe the drink wasn’t a good idea.

“That’s a ‘Croque monsieur’ that’s dipped in egg and pan-fried.”

“That we can do, Mademoiselle.” The steward resumed smiling, thinking, “Miss Moneybags will be happy, and I’ll be richer.” Heavy tipping on a luxury #cruise like this had its perks.

“So, the next thing,” I said when the steward was gone, “is I tell your fortune, you’ll doubt me, and then I’ll tell you a few more things to #restore your confidence in me.”

“Okay, read my future.”

I looked to see if anyone else could hear, then lowered my voice. “The Hindenburg will blow up in New Jersey at the mooring mast. You are not among the survivors.”

Her face went as blank as the steward’s a few minutes earlier. Then she asked, “I die?”

At least she wasn’t laughing. “Yes, and the film is destroyed at the same time.”

Her eyes widened. “So you’re a spy!”

“If I were a spy, I would have the captain arrest you and confiscate the film. It’s really a harebrained idea to convince you that I can read minds and see the future when I could have you arrested. That’s why I showed you evidence of my sincerity.”

I jumped as she waved her hand. “My God,” I thought. “She’s going to have me arrested!”

The steward appeared at her shoulder. “Jack Rose, please,” Miss Pang said. “My friend is paying.”

“That’s it? You believe me?”

“Let’s say I don’t disbelieve you. I still don’t know what you want. But given the things I’ve seen…”

Her statement shifted into a question: ‘Where did I see them?’

“Heidelberg. But that’s something a spy would know.”

“True, but for now, I choose to believe you—with reservations.”

“Well, that was easier than expected.”

“I could make it harder. What am I thinking?”

Our drinks arrived, and I waited until the steward was out of earshot.

“You want to get roaring drunk, find out who I am, and see if I’m any good in bed.”

Miss Pang choked on her drink, and Emily gave the back of my head a solid smack. But if Miss Pang believed my prediction of her imminent demise, what else could she be thinking?

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

#Wss366 #TimeTravelAuthors 8/27

“I might have had some of those thoughts,” Miss Pang replied to my injudicious comment. Rather than shocked, she sounded amused. She had drunk almost as much as I had, but unlike me, she didn’t have ghost-given resistance.

“Pardon me,” I said. “I may have had too much to drink. Let’s say two out of three. The third is something two ladies shouldn’t discuss.”

“Nice save,” Emily said, “but don’t press your luck.” Remembering the whack she’d given me, I didn’t want to find out what would happen if I blew things.

“To the first, then—beastly drunk. And a pardon in advance for anything either of us might say while in that condition.” Miss Pang raised her glass, and we clinked. After that, I could hardly refuse.

“And to the second,” she said, lowering her glass. “Who are you really, and what do you want?”

“I am Luminelle Bijou, and I truly can tell the future. And what I told you is true. I also see that we are on the eve of another great war, and if…”

I stopped to look around, forgetting Emily was keeping watch.

“If the information you have doesn’t reach the right hands, the Germans will have an unbeatable trump card. I can get it into those hands, and please don’t ask; it’s an occult secret.”

“So you know how to escape but won’t share it?”

“Miss Pang, I wish that were true, but when this is over, I'll be as dead as you. If it is any consolation, I know a great #adventure awaits you on the other side.”

“Save your platitudes. They make your story less believable. Dead is dead; the priests lie.”

Miss Pang’s words were beginning to slur, and her sentences were a trifle disjointed. I pushed half of my sandwich her way. It wouldn’t do if she passed out.

“I know nothing of God’s will or even if there is a God, but we'll meet on the other side. You don’t want to face me knowing you passed up the chance to get one over on them. I hate the Nazis as much as you do. Let me help you.”

“Okay. How about number three, and you can get it personally?”

Behind me, I heard Emily say, “Don’t you dare!”

“I will have to decline. I am tempted, but it would complicate things when we meet again.”

I hoped all that #computed because if not, I would have to take her up on the offer and face Emily’s fury later.

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#TimeTravelingGhost Part 34: EP 2: 1937: The Hindenburg Part T

#Wss366 #MastoPrompt #TimeTravelAuthors 8/29. Is anyone late?

We had a few more drinks and some drunken conversation. My alcohol tolerance came in handy; while I grew noticeably tipsy, I was steadier than Miss Pang, who was two sheets to the wind by the end. She lamented it was too late for love, reminisced about her hometown, and asked me the meaning of life. When she began railing against the Nazis, I put her to bed.

Emily tactfully didn’t follow us into Miss Pang’s cabin—which was just as well, given where Miss Pang had hidden the film. Otherwise, I maintained my ghostly virtue.

When I returned to my own cabin, I was feeling sober. I announced, “Got it,” and held up the film.

Emily responded with a wry smile to my news. Then she promptly changed the subject. “I want you to forget all that. I was beastly drunk and dealing with being told I was about to die.”

“Oh, you remember me talking to you from when you were alive.”

“Vaguely. This flight is a blur to me. The image of fire blots it out. But I’ve remembered flashes of you.”

“I wonder if that is history rewriting itself or proof that you can’t change history?”

“I don’t remember much. Do you… Did we…?” She stopped, with a smile #pasted on her face.

“I forget.”

“What? How could you forget?”

“You told me to forget, so I did. I’m a good, obedient little girl.”

She shook her head in frustration. The least she could have done was boo.

“No, we didn’t. I’m not that kind of woman. I may have been a lush and a glutton, but drunk seduction is out of my league. Even when you’re the one doing the seducing.”

The comment earned me the evil eye, but I couldn’t #help myself, she was fun to tease.

“I was very drunk; I’m not like that.” She repeated.

“Now it’s you who needs to forget it; it’s water under the bridge.”

The rest of the voyage was uneventful. We saw the rabbits occasionally and concluded they were keeping tabs on Miss Pang. She avoided me except at meals, when we were polite strangers. The only interesting thing was Emily and me discussing what to do next. It turned out to be an intriguing list. A compilation of everything from time tourism to noble attempts to change history. Ultimately, we postponed the final decision until after we delivered the film.

[Time for readers to decide where to go next.]

#TootFic #MicroFiction #Serial #TimeTravel #NMPrompts #NMTTA #NMV366 #NMMP
.

#TimeTravelingGhost Part 35: EP 2: 1937: The Hindenburg Part U

#Wss366 #MastoPrompt #TimeTravelAuthors 31

When the fateful day arrived, Emily and I stayed glued to the observation windows. Passengers came to admire the New Jersey countryside below, and then left to pack.

Miss Pang took a seat in the lounge near us and ordered a Champagne cocktail. She glanced my way, but no more.

Next to me, Emily said, “I’m watching you. If we don’t crash, I want to catch you before you slip away.”

Her use of "I" confused me, but I followed her gaze to Miss Pang. I nodded. “I wouldn’t expect less of you. If we don’t crash, I’ll be happy to hand her the film and apologize.”

The landing mast came into view, a tall, spindly structure. Below was a mixture of pine forests and sandy fields. The aerodrome building loomed large, and I could see the people clearly. “Which one will I be giving the film to?” I asked.

“He’s next to the terminal. I’ll lead you to him.”

“There’s a crowd down there. Are they all needed to land this thing?” I asked, looking at the lines of men in uniforms. What I mainly noticed a field of bobbing white hats.

“First time, bud,” the man next to me said. “Don’t worry. They’ve got it down to a science. We’ll be on the ground in a jiffy.”

I nodded thanks, wondering if he would remember those words later.

The tableware in the room rattled, and the ship groaned.

I felt sick to my stomach. Things were going to get very bad soon. Some people around me might die. I hoped the steward survived. He’d treated me well. It #frustrated me that there was nothing I could do to help these people.

A stray thought popped into my head: “What will they think when they can’t find my body? Mlle Bijou was on the #manifest, or will my name disappear?”

I glanced at where Miss Pang had been sitting, but she’d disappeared. The cocktail was untouched—a mocking symbol of an unfinished life.

I wondered about her absence, but there wasn’t time to think about it.

“Passengers, please prepare for landing,” the captain announced over the intercom, repeating the message in German.

I took Emily’s hand. “Ready.” My voice sounded unsteady. She nodded, and I focused on dematerializing. A process that always seemed to take forever, though in truth it was only thirty seconds. The man next to us gaped as he stared at me. The next few minutes would scar him for life. My disappearing act was only the beginning.

I tugged on Emily’s hand and stepped through the wall. It was like walking into a gale. The wall was thin, and I was outside the ship in an instant. The ground looked very far away.

My head spun, and my stomach lurched. What if I fell? I had no idea what would happen if I ran out of energy and materialized again. Emily had carefully pointed out that I only thought I couldn’t die. Even if I were right, I suspected a fall from this height would hurt.

“My God, I’m going to fall!”

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#TimeTravelingGhost Part 35: EP 2: 1937: The Hindenburg Part U

#Wss366 #MastoPrompt #TimeTravelAuthors 9/1

“You can fly! Come on, Bijou! Fly!”

I could hear Emily’s voice in my ear. I believed her, but my stomach was in free fall. The ground was fast approaching.

“#Please!” Her voice failed to puncture my panic.

Blood pulsed in my ears
     Heart pounded
         Crashing
             into the soldier’s
                 white hats

“Bijou, fly!” Her order cracked through the air.

I closed my eyes, spreading my arms.

          Be a raven

                    Swooping for food.

                              On the porch

Then, the air stopped rushing by, and I opened my eyes.

I was gliding away from the airfield over a sandy field, toward a tree line, away from our meeting spot.

My arms were so tired I’d never get back there.

I aimed for the trees instead. I could materialize there and rest.

My landing would have been disastrous except I passed through the bushes, slowing my momentum. Then, I was down, in a heap, under a pine tree. Too exhausted to move, I waited.

That’s where Emily found me. “There you are. That was touch and go, wasn’t it?”

Her tone was forced; too jovial. But I tried to respond in kind. “I’ll try not to keep you in #suspense in the future.”

She helped me sit up and said more seriously, “You look awful. It’s like you’re not all here. Really. You seem transparent. Like—like—a white beach pebble. Translucent—that’s the word.”

“I feel more like a hollow stone—a gray, worn stone.”

“I hope flying wasn’t too much.”

So do I. I was looking forward to gallivanting around time with you. There are so many interesting places and people to see.”

“It sounds fun. We could be the world’s greatest tourists.”

I closed my eyes; the light was hurting them.

“Bijou?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re an ace. You didn’t have to help me; you could’ve taken advantage of me. Hold fast; don’t wink out.”

“I’ll try.”

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#TimeTravelingGhost Part 36: EP 2: 1937: The Hindenburg Part V

#Wss366 #MastoPrompt #TimeTravelAuthors 9/3

I woke up to #soft sunlight filtering through the branches of a pine tree. At first, I didn’t know where I was, so I rolled over to sleep off my hangover. It wasn’t the first time I had awoken in an odd spot. At least this was better than a park bench covered with newspapers.

“Thank goodness. I was afraid I’d lost you.”

The voice was familiar.

I sat up, feeling the pine needles #snap under me, and looked into the face of Miss Emily Pang, the ghost.

“How long was I out? Our mission?” my reply #stilted by remnants of sleep.

“An hour, maybe half. We still have time if we hurry. Make yourself look like you barely escaped.”

When we emerged from the trees, we could see the Hindenburg. It lay in a tangled, smoking heap. The ship’s braces were twisted or broken. I gasped. The pictures I had seen didn’t capture the true devastation and tragedy of the accident.

“If only we could have prevented it,” I said, hurrying to catch up with Emily.

#TootFic #MicroFiction #Serial #TimeTravel #NMPrompts #NMTTA #NMV366 #NMMP #Hindenberg

#TimeTravelingGhost Part 36: EP 2: 1937: The Hindenburg Part V

#Wss366 #MastoPrompt #TimeTravelAuthors 9/5

The scene was chaotic when we arrived at the crash site, which allowed us to #zoom through the crowds with ease. Fortunately, Emily’s contact was still waiting at their rendezvous point, a look of concern and alarm on his face

He was a regular-looking bloke, except for a #pumpkinish head. He looked nothing like the spy I had imagined

“Are you Dr. Hadron?” I asked, walking up to him. Actually, I was confident he was Hadron. Emily had led me to him and now stood back to watch how I did

“Survivors should go to the building over there.” He pointed to the nearby building, making it clear that he wasn’t interested in me

“If you’re Dr. Hadron, Miss Pang gave me something for you. She said it was important”

I had his attention, and as Emily had predicted, he looked suspicious. “And where is Miss Pang?”

I dropped my voice. “She went to stop saboteurs. I don’t know where she is. Here, sir. This is for you.”

I handed him the envelope with the film and turned to leave.

“Wait,” I heard behind me. I had no intention of waiting and dodged the hand he tried to put on my shoulder.

“I said, wait!” It wasn’t a request anymore but a command.

Pretending I didn’t hear, I ducked into a crowd.

“Stop him,” I heard, and panicked.

I considered running, but that would suggest I had something to hide, making the film suspect. I took a deep breath, then another, and continued at a leisurely pace into the densest group of people around me.

Once I was out of his line of sight, I changed my travel outfit into a Red Cross uniform modeled after one I had seen nearby. It was just a matter of reimagining it. There was a risk with so many people around, but I had to take it.

When I stepped out of the crowd, I resisted looking toward where Dr. Hadron was and a few moments later slipped around the corner of a building and stopped. Only then did I look back, breathing a sigh of relief at seeing no pursuit.

“I’ve got to hand it to you—you think fast,” Emily said. “Though you didn’t have to worry so much, no one was listening to him.”

“Thanks. You should have told me. Anyway, we should leave before he finds help. That means deciding where we’re going. I’m still in favor of visiting Amelia Earhart.” I knew how she would respond and was ready for her when she disagreed.

“We should kill Hitler and head this war off. We could do some real good.”

“Before we tamper with history, we should learn more about how things work. So let’s compromise and find someone who knows about time travel.”

She looked dubious and then shrugged. “You can do that?”

“I can try. I found you that way. Come on,” I said, taking her hand. “Think along with me: ‘Take us to someone who can explain time travel.’”

Emily nodded.

“On the count of three,” I said. “One, two, three.”

Continued in—EP 3: 2025: Arkam Part A

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#TimeTravelingGhost Part 37a: EP 3: 2025 Miskatonic University

#Wss366 #MastoPrompt #TimeTravelAuthors 9/9

The building at the aerodrome and the throbbing #drum of emergency vehicles faded, replaced by the trilling of crickets, the splash of a fountain, and a courtyard containing a central statue and a fountain. Night enveloped the scene in eerie shadows. Grass carpeted the courtyard, silver-gray paths threading through it in the moonlight.

“I know this place,” I said. “But I can’t put a name to it.”

“Miskatonic University, the Metaphysical Research Building.” Emily supplied a name I instantly recognized.

“It’s very familiar to me, but I don’t know why,” I said. “I can even tell whose statue that is, Dr. Armitage. That’s the building’s official name: the Henry Armitage Building.”

“I don’t think the building was called that when I wrote about it. The students’ preferred name was Hex Hall.”

Is that you, Henrietta?” A man called to us from one side. I turned and saw a gentleman with a neat goatee, long, shaggy brown hair, and suit past its prime.

Near him was a rabbit. Instead of wearing a Nazi uniform, this one had on a t-shirt with a coiled rattlesnake and the words “Don’t Tread On Me,” cargo pants, and a red cap emblazoned with the MEGA logo. The final touch was an AR-15 slung across its back.

“Why, I thought you were dead. It was quite the scandal…”

“Professor Skully,” I cut him off.

The rabbit was paying far too much attention to our conversation. I sensed it would be dangerous for the rabbit to know who I was.

“You’re mistaken.” I continued. “Let’s go somewhere private and talk. I’m struggling with the #current assignment you set us.”

I hadn’t fooled the rabbit, though. It formed a gun with its fingers and pointed it at me, taking careful aim. Then pretended to shoot me. A smile creased its lips, and then it mouthed “bang.”

It was like an electrical #current passed through me. The rabbits had a personal interest in me!

Note: TimeTravelAuthors 9/9 Tone of your story. I think this bit sums up my tone nicely: creepy, weird, with many homages, and a tongue-in-cheek flavor.

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#TimeTravelingGhost Part 38b: EP 3: 2025 Miskatonic University”

#Wss366 #MastoPrompt #TimeTravelAuthors 9/11. How do you keep up urgency in your story?

I hustled Professor Skully into his office. Emily stood outside the door, keeping watch. The prevalence of fascistic rabbits, supernatural creatures, and disasters was enough to #instill a sense of urgency in my life.

“What’s going on, Professor Dubois?” Skully sputtered. It was a wonder I’d gotten him away from the rabbit without his going off. “If this is a game, the university will be most displeased. Body parts scattered in various cemeteries, your lab vandalized, and now you waltz in at the middle of the night. If I weren’t #monitoring the courtyard, who knows what you might have gotten up to.”

“I assure you, this is no game. Before I explain, I need you to answer one question: Are you in league with the rabbits?”

“Rabbits?” Skully’s eyes bulged. “What are on about? I warned you not to experiment on yourself!”

Either he was an excellent actor, or he knew nothing about our invisible rabbits.

“Well, never mind them. I just had to check.”

I held up my hands to stop him from speaking. “What I am going to tell you will sound fantastic. But I assure you it is the truth. Please, I need you to accept it and then answer some questions.”

“I’ll take your comments under advisement, but make no promises.”

“I’m a…”

My statement remained unfinished because of Emily’s warning from outside the door. “It’s coming.”

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#TimeTravelingGhost Part 39c: EP 3: 2025 Miskatonic University

#Wss366 #MastoPrompt #TimeTravelAuthors 9/13. Saturday excerpt (optional word: fire)

“As melodramatic as this sounds, listen: Your life may depend on it,” I said to Professor Skully. His face was dubious before I even started. “I need you to pretend that I’m a confused student with an assignment question. It sounds crazy... but I have no idea what you wanted us to do the other day.”

My sudden, nonsensical change of words was because I could see the rabbit standing and listening at the office window. Finished, I mouthed, “Please.”

Skully’s eyes bulged, and his hands were positively twitching. “I don’t know who you think you are, coming into my office with this poppycock, but I’ve had enough.”

I would obviously have to do some fancy dancing.

“If you give me some time, I can explain. I assure you, I thought that’s what you wanted. The equations may be garbled, but I wouldn’t submit an assignment as a joke. I need you to work with me.” I emphasized some words, trying to convey my message.

“Very well, I’ll hear you out, but no more of your poppycock about…”

I cut him off. The cat would be out of the bag if he said “rabbits.” “Of course not, Professor. I thought you would laugh at some nonsense. I didn’t know it would #bug you. You know how I like a little joke now and then.”

“Indeed, you were always a bit of a card.” His tone indicated he was being polite, and he considered me far more than a “card.”

Emily waved at the window, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

“#Bless you for playing along. Things are complicated, so you’ll have to take some of this on faith. I am a ghost.” Skully opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off with a hand gesture.

“I am probably the spirit of Professor Henrietta Dubois, but I’m a little hazy on those details.”

“Okay, I’ve had enough. Whether you’re insane or a joker, the board of regents will be #firing you, tenure or no. I will see to that.”

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