Free Ghosts of Chinatown by Wesley Robert Lowe Page A

step seems a minefield waiting to explode but again, it is a quiet, uneventful journey to the kitchen, just like what one expects but…
    Todd’s hands shake as he takes a jar of instant coffee and a cup from the cupboard.  
    He pours the powder directly into the cup then places the cup onto the counter. He turns the tap on, putting water directly from the tap into the cup, but before he takes a sip, the chilling piano sounds begin again. More frightening than music could ever be, it is ... ghostly... ghastly...
    The door to the living room suddenly swings open by itself.  
    Todd jumps back, watching the door swing back and forth, back and forth, until it gradually comes to a stop.  
    Todd hesitantly inches his way in the direction of the macabre piano music.
    Then, the child’s ball rolls across the floor.
    Todd follows it and ventures into the room but instead of finding the ball, he sees something he did not expect to see—Jasmine is playing the piano.  
    Jasmine uses her fists and palms in aberrant percussive rhythms on the keyboard to create the unearthly sound. Totally absorbed in her performance, Jasmine ignores Todd as he grimly approaches her.  
    Color drains from his face, emotion from his voice. “Jasmine,” he whispers, but she either does not hear or does not acknowledge or maybe she doesn’t exist.  
    Todd moves to touch her but his hand passes through her body.  
    Jasmine keeps playing. Over and over, he flails at the alluring apparition. “Jasmine, say something.”
    None of the blows contact flesh. “Why do you do this to me, Jasmine? Why?”  
    He kneels to the floor and closes his eyes. He falls prostrate at her feet, which pump the piano pedals. “Please God, stop it.”
    Suddenly stillness. Quiet. Ominously quiet. Deathly quiet
    Todd opens his eyes to see that Jasmine’s feet are gone. He lifts himself up to see Jasmine calmly sitting on the couch, brandishing the dagger.
    “You’re talking about God? How shallow. Todd Mathers, the altar boy who was raped by a church father, whose daddy left his family for the church secretary. The one who sneered that religion was for losers…”
    Jasmine shakes her head.  
    “And yet, when push comes to shove, even the mighty Todd is grasping at something he doesn’t believe.” Her voice rings with contempt. “If you’ve somehow found your faith again, let’s call a priest to hear your confession.”
    The sight of Jasmine transfixes Todd. Her unbruised and wan unblemished face radiates a pale glow. A tight-fitting sweater, clinging jeans and high-heel blue shoes add to her unearthly sexiness.
    “You talked to me. It’s the first time since...”
    “Since you killed me?”
    “I did not kill you!”  
    “You lie.” With the force of a rocket launcher, she hurls the knife at him. Todd ducks and it implants into the wall. The thud echoes through the room.  
    Todd rushes to the dagger. He uses all his might but cannot pull the dagger out. He directs his gaze to Jasmine. Todd is unable to say anything but he watches… yes, he watches.
    Jasmine, eyes fixed on Todd all the time, slowly takes off her shoes, one at a time, placing then in front of Todd as he cowers against the wall.
    Wary eyes on him all the time, Jasmine takes off her sweater, revealing a shapely, sensual body whose arms are covered in ghastly contusions. A thin string-like bruising surrounds her neck.
    “Jasmine, the script called for a man to be out of control. I became that person. That was me.”
    Ignoring him, Jasmine seductively takes off her jeans.
    “When I play Chopin, I become George Sands’ lover on the island of Majorca. When I play jazz, I’m Herbie Hancock at Carnegie Hall.”
    Jasmine strokes her long, lithe legs that are horribly covered with purple contusions.
    “Jasmine, stop it.”
    Jasmine finally responds, speaking in the tone of the tortured. “Stop it. Stop. I beg you. Stop.”
    She continues taking off her clothes until she is fully unclothed. Her