Free Reign by Chet Williamson

there, and it winked ." Abe could see from the way Harry's expression was changing from amazement to puzzlement that he was not too far from asking how an eyeball could wink without having an eye lid attached, so he changed the subject. "So you ain't too fond of cleanin ' up blood, are you?"
    "Well . . . no. No, Abe."
    "Scared of ghosts?"
    Harry snorted disgustedly. "Aw, come on now, you said you wouldn't talk about ghosts anymore."
    "Well, hell, they can't hurt you, Harry. Now you know we've had them, and you know they've never hurt you, don't you?"
    "Well . . .”
    "Come on, you've worked here what, eight years? Have you ever been hurt in here?"
    "No, no . . ."
    "Well, then, what are you scared of them for? Get that bucket filled, huh?"
    Harry took the bucket over to the large sink, put it in, and turned on the hot water. "I just don't like 'em, that's all. They're creepy."
    "Honest to God, Harry, sometimes I think you're a pussy boy, you're so damn afraid of everything."
    "I'm not a pussy boy, Abe." Harry stared down glumly at the water filling the dingy gray bucket.
    "You sure act like it. And I never see you with girls."
    "I like girls fine," Harry said, then added softly, "but not too many of them like me. Hey! " he said, as though he had just thought of something. "What about you, Abe? You're not married. Don't you like girls?"
    Harry had brought up that point many times before when Abe had accused him of being a pussy boy, but had, as usual, forgotten that he had and forgotten Abe's response as well. Abe grinned and answered. "I like girls fine, Harry. In fact I screw 'em every chance I get. I like 'em so much I pay for 'em, and then I can get 'em to do just whatever I want."
    Harry's eyes widened. "Whatever you want? What kinda things, Abe?”
    “ Nothin ' you'd understand. And I thought we were talkin ' about ghosts."
    " You were talkin ' about ghosts," Harry said, twisting the spigot handle and hauling the full bucket from the sink.
    "Ghosts come outta bloodstains, y'know . Did you know that?" Without waiting for an answer, Abe went on. " Y'ever see that stain up in the costume loft?"
    "What stain?" Harry asked, pausing with the mop over his shoulder.
    "Hell, you know. That dark spot at the top of the stairs to the loft. Back when they were doin ' little theatre here one season, this older woman who was doin ' costumes had a heart attack or a stroke or somethin' and fell down, hit her head, and died up there in the loft, and some blood came outta her mouth and stained the boards up there. It wouldn't come out no matter how hard we scrubbed. Now you gotta understand that she was a real nasty woman, what you'd call an old bitch. But the one good thing about her was that she loved her son, who was one of the actors in the theatre.
    "The first time somebody was up in that costume room alone after this woman died, she heard somethin' up in the loft and thought it was a friend of hers, so she calls and there's no answer. Now she thinks maybe her friend's up there and playin ' a joke on her, so she sneaks up the steps to the loft, thinkin ' of goin ' boo herself. But it ain't her friend up there." Abe paused, knowing that Harry was bound to ask what happened next. He wasn't disappointed.
    "Who . . . who was it?" Harry said in the manner of a patient anxious to hear even a doctor's negative prognosis.
    A sharp smile creased Abe's face. "It was the dead woman. She was standin ' right where she fell, and right where her son's costumes were hanging. Had on the same dress as on the day she died. A red dress, Harry, dark red — like blood — and she just looked at that other woman, just stood there and looked at her, and the woman said later it was like all the blood in her turned to ice water. But it didn't all freeze, 'cause she wet herself — I know, I cleaned it up afterwards." Abe chuckled.
    "What . . ." Harry cleared his throat. "Did she say what she looked like?"
    "Sure did. This old bitch had gray hair before, but