Free The Girl on the Glider by Brian Keene

‘ism’ but at the end of the day, I lack faith-and faith is what is required of any belief system. I want to believe that there’s something after this. I want very badly to believe in an afterlife, but I haven’t been able to. Until now. I don’t know what you are. You might be a ghost or a spirit. You might be conscious. You might just be an echo of time-a psychic after-effect. Or maybe you’re just in my head. I don’t know. But I know that I now believe. So I want to thank you for that. You’ve shown me that a part of us-some vital part of what makes us who we truly are-lives on after our death. I don’t have to rely on a literary legacy of books for people to remember me after I’m gone. I don’t have to bust my ass cranking out one pulp novel after another just to insure that I live on. Something lives only as long as the last person who remembers it. If I get my shit together and change my ways, I’ll live on in the memory of my kids and my grandkids and those whose lives I’ve touched in some way.”
        I reached up and wiped a tear away. I hadn’t realized I was crying until just then.
        “I’m forty-two. I used to think, ‘Well, I’m only in my early forties. I’ve still got plenty of time.’ But I bet you thought that, too, right. And you were only nineteen. You were only nineteen and then suddenly, it was over before it had ever even really started.”
        I ran out of words. My last sentence seemed to hang there in the cold air, just like my breath was doing.
        “I’m not sure what happens next. I’m going to go back down to the house and start living. Try to save my marriage. Try to be a better father. Maybe you should look around for a light or something. They say there’s supposed to be one on that side. I don’t know. If you can’t find one, I guess you’re welcome to stay here. Anyway, thanks again.”
        My shoulders slumped. I suddenly felt very silly. I walked back down to the house, went out to my office, and turned off my computer. My Blackberry was flashing at me, informing me that I had voicemail and unanswered text messages. I turned it off without reading or listening to them. I stayed long enough to pat Max on the head and show him a little extra attention. Then I went inside the house.
        Cassi and the baby were in the living room. The dog and cat were lying on the couch. The baby was playing with his train. He looked up, saw me, and smiled.
        “Hi, Da-da!”
        “Hi, buddy. How are you? What are you doing?”
        “Choo-choo train. Da-da push!”
        So I did. I pushed him all around the living room, and sang along with the toy as I did.
        “Chugga chugga, choo choo, spin around. Every letter has a sound.”
        

ENTRY 16
        
        There was over a foot of snow in the driveway this morning, and when I went outside, I saw footprints in the snow. They started at the top of the driveway, came down to our house, circled both our cars, came up onto the porch, and then went back up the driveway again.
        My neighbor told me later that he saw what made them. It was a stray dog. A Husky, with a collar on. We’re going to try to catch it later, and find it a home.
        Just a dog. Nothing more.
        No dreams last night, and no work today.
        I’ve got more important things to do.
        I’ll work when I’m dead.
        

AFTERWORD
        
         The Girl on the Glider was originally published as a limited edition hardcover from Cemetery Dance Publications. It also appeared in my collection A Conspiracy of One . Both books are long out of print. My plan was to let it stay that way-simply because of the very personal emotional connotations the story holds for me-but so many readers have lamented not being able to read it, so I finally decided to re-release it in digital form.
        This text of this edition is almost identical to that of the previous