Steve lurched into the living room,
his head pounding and bright lights
flashing in front of his eyes as he
groped through the darkness for his
easy chair. The television flickered on,
softly illuminating the room with a blu
ish glow.
“Need some light?,” Samantha
asked.
Steve threw a sidelong glance at the
screen, but didn’t answer. He stum
bled, then collapsed into the soft
leather of his favorite easy chair, his
eyes shutting tightly as lightning
flashes of pain ripped at his mind.
“You don’t look so good, Steve,”
Samantha said.
He opened his eyes slightly and
stared at the screen as he pulled a cig
arette from the pack in his pocket. Sa
mantha stared back, her eyes filled
with concern.
“Another migraine?” she asked.
Steve lit up, squinting through the
smoke at the image on the screen. Sa
mantha was half sitting, half kneeling,
an inhabitant of some kind of strange
landscape. Behind her was a lake, its
surface smooth and glassy, except for
the places where dead trees pierced
through and stood bleached and for
lorn, their empty limbs reaching in
vain for the sky.
Samantha stopped staring at Steve
and looked off into the distance at
something unseen. Wherever she
was, it was getting close to sunset.
Steve took a long puff on his ciga
rette, then exhaled slowly, watching as
the smoke rolled in a thick cloud to
ward the television set. In the dark
ness, the smoke picked up the blue
from the screen, then curled upward
as it lost speed.
“Yeah, another migraine,” he fi
nally replied. He put the rest of his cig
arettes and his lighter on the table be
side his chair, then closed his eyes and
began to sift through the events of the
last 24 hours.
He’d been working in his office,
and was more than halfway through
another sixteen hour day. The design
firm he worked for was coming up on
a project deadline and he was trying to
finish a job that was due later in the
week. A pre-deadline headache was
throbbing at the base of his skull and
he knew that if he kept pushing, he’d
be crippled by a painful migraine and
wouldn’t be able to work as long as he
needed to.
Deciding to take a break, he picked
up his coat and made his was out of
the office. He stepped out into the
cool October air, then set off with no
particular destination in mind.
The throbbing at the base of his
skull began to subside as he walked in
the fresh crisp air, and by the time he
reached the local mall, he was feeling
a lot better. He’d skipped lunch, so he
entered the mall and headed for the
food court. After wolfing down a quick
meal, he lit a cigarette for dessert and
began to stroll past the stores.
Steve rarely ever went shopping for
anything besides food because he put
in a lot of time at work, and although
the hours he was putting in were pay
ing off monetarily, he was usually too
beat at the end of the day to go out
and spend any of his hard-earned
pay. Now he felt like a schoolboy
playing hooky as he wandered in and
out of the stores, forgetting about his
project and just browsing for the heck
of it.
It had been so long since he’d
bought something fun that he decided
if anything caught his fancy, he’d buy
it because he deserved something
special for all the hard work he was
doing. He wandered through several
stores, but couldn’t find anything he
even remotely wanted. He was about
to give up and head back to the office
when a display in an electronics shop
caught his eye.
“Hi! I’m Mike! Can I help you?”
Steve turned to the salesman. The
question had come from a clean-cut
kid wearing a suit and tie. Steve
guessed that Mike was probably one
of those enthusiastic wiz-kid types
who was more than eager to show
you how stupid you were by explain
ing how anything in the store worked,
and this guy would probably do it in
excruciatingly minute detail. Mike was
also the type of person who didn’t
mind wearing a tag on his lapel that
said, “Hi! I’m Mike! Can I help you?”
Steve looked down at the television
that he was standing in front of. He’d
been seduced by the set from the mo
ment he’d laid eyes on it, which was
odd since he rarely had time to watch
TV. When he did have some time, he
was content to watch the $60 black-
and-white portable he’d bought when
he was in college. But the remote-con
trolled, big-screen, stereo television
that he was now looking at was some
thing he felt he really needed. The pic
ture was clean and sharp, the color
rich and saturated, and the sound
coming from the twin speakers was
fantastic. It was the “something speci
al” he was looking for.
“I’ll take it,” Steve said.
Mike the salesman dropped his jaw.
Everyone in the store had been try
ing to sell one of these models, but the
sets were state-of-the-art and were ex
tremely expensive. The few potential
buyers that Mike talked to seemed
content to wait until the newness wore
off and the price came down. After
spending so much time trying to sell
one of the sets and using every trick in
the book to persuade someone to
buy, Mike hadn’t said anything more
than “Can I help you?” and was now
sitting on a fat commission. He’d also
be getting a pat on the back from his
boss for succeeding when everyone
else had failed.
“Any chance I could get it delivered
tonight?” Steve asked.
Mike hesitated for a second. The
store normally wouldn’t deliver the set
until the next day, but the commission
and the recognition he’d get for mak
ing this sale were too much to risk los
ing. And besides, he had a friend with
a pickup who owed him a favor.
“I’ll drop it off after work, ” he said.
Steve paid for the TV, gave Mike
his address, then walked back to the
firm and worked until a another mi
graine forced him to stop. He left the
office just after sunset and by the time
he got home, it was all he could do to
drag himself into the living room and
drop into the easy chair. He dozed off
with the headache pounding at his
brain, and woke to the sound of
knocldng at his door.
Mike and his friend were there, the
television in a big box sitting on the
ground between them. They moved it
in, hooked it up and turned it on. Mike
gave Steve a quick lesson on how to
work the remote control, then he and
his friend said goodbye, leaving Steve
to play with his new toy.
He .flWd through the channels, ^
switching from movies to sports to
music to news to educational shows
and back again, staying with a pro
gram until he got bored with it, then
channel-hopping until he found some
thing else he liked.
As the night wore on, the colors
and sounds began to melt into one an
other. Steve flicked the remote control
mindlessly while his eyelids drooped
and his breathing slowed to the deep
rumble of pre-sleep. He’d almost
dozed off completely when the sound
level on the TV jumped.
“Hello, Steve.”
His eyelids snapped open and he
)
playing along with the game.
“My name is Samantha,” she re
plied. “The ‘how’ part of your ques
tion is a little harder to explain. Why
don’t you go to bed and I’ll see you
tomorrow afternoon? I’ll show you
then.”
“Because I won’t be home tomor
row afternoon,” Steve said. “I’m
going to be at work. ”
Samantha smiled. “Wanna bet?”
she asked, then the television shut off.
“That kid is really clever,” Steve
thought as he got up out of his chair.
“I ought to surprise him a little by tak
ing this thing back and telling him that
GHOST
IMAGE
Story and photos by Bill Hughes
watched as the blurry face of a young
woman floated on the screen, then
popped into focus. She was staring
straight at him. Steve had the eerie
feeling that she was in the room with
him and could actually see him.
He stared uncomfortably at the
screen. The young woman stared
back at him, but didn’t say a word.
Steve sat frozen in his easy chair, his
heart racing as he fought to catch his
breath. He was trying to figure out
what to do next, then a smile crept
across his lips.
“I was dreaming,” he thought. The
young woman’s face was still on the
screen, and Steve contemplated
watching to see what kind of program
she was on. But it was late, so he lifted
the remote control, turned the set off,
and resolved to take a vacation as
soon as he finished his current project
He rested for a minute, and was just
pushing himself out of the chair when
the TV set popped back on.
“That wasn’t very nice. How would
you like it if I slammed a door in your
face?”
Steve fell back into the chair, his
eyes widening. The young woman
was back on the screen, staring at him,
a mischievous smile on her lips.
“My name is Samantha, ” she said.
Steve sat in his chair, confused.
Then a light went on in his head.
“Mike! It has to be Mike!” he thought.
“He hooked up the TV so that he
could send a signal to it, and now he’s
playing a practical joke. ”
“Can you hear me?” Steve asked
the girl on the screen.
“Yes,’’she replied.
“Tell Mike that the joke’s over,”
Steve said, pleased with himself for
solving the puzzle so quickly.
“It’s not Mike, ” Samantha said.
Steve smiled at her. “Then who is
it?” he asked sarcastically.
“It’s me,” she answered.
“Then exactly who are you and
I don’t want it because there’s a
strange woman in it that talks to me. ”
He put the remote control on top of
the TV, then touched the cabinet with
his fingertips. It was still warm. “Sweet
dreams,” he whispered, then he went
to bed.
When he woke up, he decided that
he definitely would tell Mike that he
was going to return the TV, just for the
pleasure of outsmarting him. He was
also looking forward to seeing the
kid’s face fall at the thought of losing a
big commission. But his little joke
would have to wait until he was fin
ished with his project.
A cold front had moved in over
night, bringing dark clouds and a
sharp cutting wind along with the
colder temperature, so Steve bundled
up in a heavy coat and wool scarf as
he left his house. It was six in the
morning and still dark out as Steve got
into his car. He started it up, turned on
his headlights and quickly forgot
about Mike, Samantha and the TV set
as he drove to work. By the time he
opened the door to the office, his
mind was working full speed on his
project
As usual, he was the first one in, so
he turned on the lights and started a
pot of coffee, then took off his coat
and scarf, uncapped his favorite draw
ing pen and got to work on the job
he’d left unfinished the day before.
He’d been working for seven hours
when the tiny lights began to flash in
front of his eyes. Fifteen minutes later,
a vicious migraine was ripping at his
brain.
Steve capped his pen, picked up his
coat and scarf and left the office, re
solving to come back later that night
when his head had cleared. Dark
clouds scudded across the slate-gray
afternoon sky as he stepped out of the
front door and made his way to his
car. It was so dark that the streetlights
had come on, and Steve turned his