Spirit Lost Read Online Free Page A

relaxed and smiling, talking to Donald Hood and two other men, accountants with the firm. His dark brown hair was mussed slightly, falling down over his forehead, making him look younger than his thirty years, and heradiated good health, good looks, and happiness.
    John grinned to see himself. It pleased him to see himself looking so handsome.
    “Aren’t you something!” Willy whispered to him, squeezing his arm.
    The clapping and shouting and cheering continued in the rest of the room. “All right , John!” someone shouted.
    The slide projector clicked.
THE GHOST OF HALLOWEEN FUTURE
JOHN CONSTABLE LEAVES
THE BLACKSTONE GROUP
    The music changed drastically now, to funereal tones of dark organ and slow drums, storm music, orphan music, death music.
    A picture flashed on the screen. There stood a man who looked like John, with the same hair falling over his forehead. This John Constable was slouching on a sidewalk, dressed like a bum, wearing clothes ragged and torn and three sizes too big for him. His dark hair had gone gray; it was shaggy and dirty, hanging in unkempt lumps around his head. His face was white except for the black circles around his eyes, and his posture had changed; he was shrunken, stooped, and bent. Next to him on the sidewalk was a sign: Portraits and Landscapes One Dollar. Around his feet and leaning against the brick wall were several paintings and sketches, all tattered at the edges, all amateurishly done, stick figures, flat perspectives, jarring colors. There was a hat on the sidewalk with coins in it. It was a portrait of an artist in ludicrous defeat.
    John felt as if someone had just kicked him in the stomach. Willy clutched his arm. “John!” she said. The room went silent around them.
    “Shit, man,” Mark exclaimed from somewhere behind them in the dark.
    A sick sinking feeling filled John, as if a fortune-teller had just prophesied his ruin.
    He felt cursed by this picture, this vision of him as an artist on his own. He wanted to rise and smash his fist through the screen.
    But before he could do so, the slide projector clicked.
    White letters on the black screen read:
GHOST OF HALLOWEEN FUTURE,
VERSION NUMBER TWO
JOHN CONSTABLE RETURNS
TO THE BLACKSTONE GROUP
    Once again was flashed on the screen a picture of John happily relaxing in his office, looking healthy and pleased with himself. The music changed back to a bouncy rock-and-roll song. A few people in the room began to cheer and clap. The music picked up in beat and volume, and the screen changed again.
WE’LL MISS YOU, JOHN!
COME BACK ANYTIME!
BEST WISHES FROM THE BLACKSTONE GROUP
    Now the room was filled with cheering and clapping. The screen went blank, the lights came on, and people rose, some still clapping. A sense of relief rushed through the air, as obvious as a perfume.
    “Harrison did this, the bastard,” John said through clenched teeth to Willy. “I’d like to knock his face in.”
    Willy grabbed John’s arm, held it tight. “Johnny,” she said, keeping her voice low. “No. He meant well. It was stupid, I know, but I’m sure he just wanted to show you how much he hates to lose you.”
    “Did you know about this?” John asked Willy, glaring at her.
    “No, John, I promise,” Willy said. She was surprised at the intensity of his anger. “Johnny, don’t be so upset. It wasn’t meant unkindly, I’m sure.”
    “It’s a fucking curse , Willy, surely you can see that!” John said. “I’m going to tell him off.”
    He half rose from his chair, but Willy pulled him back down beside her. “No, John, now calm down,” she said. “You’re taking this the wrong way.”
    “Dammit, Willy, why do you always want to hide from confrontations; why do you always have to back away from things?” John asked, directing his anger at his wife.
    But there was no time for Willy to respond, because now Harrison Adder was walking to the front of the room. At the same time, the ghostly head was coming out from behind the