What Haunts Me Read Online Free Page B
Author: Margaret Millmore
finally gotten out.
The Wharf was crowded with tourists, street performers, beggars holding signs, and people hocking their wares. Normally I wouldn't go there if my life depended on it; the city had much more to offer than this place. But I wanted the crowds and there certainly were plenty of them there. I kept my eyes peeled for people wearing round-rimmed glasses and out-of-date clothing. However, I quickly realized that I couldn't go around poking everyone I saw sporting Harry Potter specs or unfashionable clothes. After all, the glasses were still a popular style for the living, and the city was full of eclectically dressed people. After an hour or so, I decided to give up. I'd reached Pier 39 by then and I turned on my heel and headed back toward Ghirardelli Square and the Van Ness Avenue bus stop.
I was approaching the old Maritime Museum building when I found myself stuck behind a large crowd watching a man covered in silver paint. He was performing as if he was a robot— highly amusing if one was into that sort of thing. I edged my way around them onto the grassy area nearest the museum, and as I stepped back onto the sidewalk, I noticed a man sitting on the curb. He was about my age; his hair was long but pulled back neatly into a ponytail. He had an army jacket on, baggy shorts, and one dirty, worn out athletic shoe. The second shoe wasn't needed, because his right leg didn't exist beyond his knee. In his lap was a cardboard sign with black writing that said, “Wounded in Iraq and homeless.” A pair of crutches lay next to him on the curb, and a plastic cup sat on the sidewalk where his right foot should have been resting.
This wasn't an uncommon sight in the city. We had a large homeless population, but it was still heartbreaking. Sadly, I wouldn't normally have given him a second glance, but the girl standing behind him made me look twice. She was in her late teens and her clothes were definitely vintage, but in a not-so-charming 1980s style. Her blonde hair was highly teased and she wore large pink looped earrings, a denim jacket with matching skirt, and pink leggings. To top the outfit off, she was wearing camouflage high top sneakers. Her glasses were more John Lennon than Harry Potter, a bit smaller, but she had a distinctive look that I was beginning to get used to. These ghosts look solid, but there was something in their expressions that gave them away.
I stared for a minute, and then I pulled my phone out and took their picture. The vet had his head hung in what I assumed was despair, but the girl was looking right at me. I pulled a five dollar bill out my pocket and walked over to him, dropping it in his cup while simultaneously poking the ghost that stood just six inches behind him. She grimaced, and then began to swirl away in a grey mist. As she disappeared for good, I stepped back and was caught up by a large rowdy gaggle of teenagers that had come barreling down the sidewalk, forcing anyone in their path to move forward quickly or get run over by their rude behavior. As soon as I was free of them, I walked back to where the young vet had been sitting, but he wasn't there. I made a full circle of the area looking for him, and finally spotted him just outside the crowd of robot-man people. He was standing on two legs and two feet. I took his picture again and hailed a cab to take me home.
Chapter 6
During the cab ride home, I emailed the pictures from my phone so I could view them on a larger screen. When I arrived at the apartment I went straight to my laptop. As the pictures were downloading, I grabbed a beer and walked over to my bay window and gazed out, unseeing, for a few minutes. I was putting off the viewing for three reasons. First, what if the pictures showed two
different
men, wearing similar clothing, one disabled, one not? What if the pictures showed the
same
man, one disabled and one not? Lastly, what if they showed the ghost? I didn't know much about ghosts; in fact, my
The Wharf was crowded with tourists, street performers, beggars holding signs, and people hocking their wares. Normally I wouldn't go there if my life depended on it; the city had much more to offer than this place. But I wanted the crowds and there certainly were plenty of them there. I kept my eyes peeled for people wearing round-rimmed glasses and out-of-date clothing. However, I quickly realized that I couldn't go around poking everyone I saw sporting Harry Potter specs or unfashionable clothes. After all, the glasses were still a popular style for the living, and the city was full of eclectically dressed people. After an hour or so, I decided to give up. I'd reached Pier 39 by then and I turned on my heel and headed back toward Ghirardelli Square and the Van Ness Avenue bus stop.
I was approaching the old Maritime Museum building when I found myself stuck behind a large crowd watching a man covered in silver paint. He was performing as if he was a robot— highly amusing if one was into that sort of thing. I edged my way around them onto the grassy area nearest the museum, and as I stepped back onto the sidewalk, I noticed a man sitting on the curb. He was about my age; his hair was long but pulled back neatly into a ponytail. He had an army jacket on, baggy shorts, and one dirty, worn out athletic shoe. The second shoe wasn't needed, because his right leg didn't exist beyond his knee. In his lap was a cardboard sign with black writing that said, “Wounded in Iraq and homeless.” A pair of crutches lay next to him on the curb, and a plastic cup sat on the sidewalk where his right foot should have been resting.
This wasn't an uncommon sight in the city. We had a large homeless population, but it was still heartbreaking. Sadly, I wouldn't normally have given him a second glance, but the girl standing behind him made me look twice. She was in her late teens and her clothes were definitely vintage, but in a not-so-charming 1980s style. Her blonde hair was highly teased and she wore large pink looped earrings, a denim jacket with matching skirt, and pink leggings. To top the outfit off, she was wearing camouflage high top sneakers. Her glasses were more John Lennon than Harry Potter, a bit smaller, but she had a distinctive look that I was beginning to get used to. These ghosts look solid, but there was something in their expressions that gave them away.
I stared for a minute, and then I pulled my phone out and took their picture. The vet had his head hung in what I assumed was despair, but the girl was looking right at me. I pulled a five dollar bill out my pocket and walked over to him, dropping it in his cup while simultaneously poking the ghost that stood just six inches behind him. She grimaced, and then began to swirl away in a grey mist. As she disappeared for good, I stepped back and was caught up by a large rowdy gaggle of teenagers that had come barreling down the sidewalk, forcing anyone in their path to move forward quickly or get run over by their rude behavior. As soon as I was free of them, I walked back to where the young vet had been sitting, but he wasn't there. I made a full circle of the area looking for him, and finally spotted him just outside the crowd of robot-man people. He was standing on two legs and two feet. I took his picture again and hailed a cab to take me home.
Chapter 6
During the cab ride home, I emailed the pictures from my phone so I could view them on a larger screen. When I arrived at the apartment I went straight to my laptop. As the pictures were downloading, I grabbed a beer and walked over to my bay window and gazed out, unseeing, for a few minutes. I was putting off the viewing for three reasons. First, what if the pictures showed two
different
men, wearing similar clothing, one disabled, one not? What if the pictures showed the
same
man, one disabled and one not? Lastly, what if they showed the ghost? I didn't know much about ghosts; in fact, my
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