Ghosts in the Attic Read Free Page A

tears.
    forty years later
    Lisa wheeled herself across the room. The arthritis in her hands was intense this morning, making it a struggle to move her chair across the floor. She wished she had one of those electric wheelchairs, but she couldn’t afford it. She could barely afford her room in this prison they called an assisted living program. Across the room, her roommate snored loud and frog-like.
    Lisa stopped at the dresser by the window, pulling open the bottom drawer and removing a thick scrapbook. Less than half the pages were filled, but she turned them slowly, lovingly looking over the album covers, programs, magazine articles—all the momentous of her singing career.
    If one could call it a career. Her eyes blurred with tears as she reached the last filled page. Her mouth twisted bitterly as she thought of all the missed opportunities, the unrealized potential. By all rights, she should have filled up dozens of scrapbooks, her shelves should be weighed down by awards, but things had not come to pass that way. As it was, all she had was half a scrapbook of memories.
    Lisa had recorded only two albums. The first had produced one moderate hit, a mournful ballad entitled “Guess I Wasn’t Enough.” The second album had failed to produce even that much, selling only fifteen thousand copies. She was promptly dropped by her label, and no other record company had been willing to gamble on her. She had ended up playing small clubs and dive bars, weddings and high school dances. Her aspirations had shriveled up and disintegrated like a slug sprinkled with salt.
    Lisa put the scrapbook back in the drawer and closed it, sitting back in her chair with her hands folded neatly on her lap. Her expression was blank, slack, unreadable. She exhibited no surprise when she felt the clammy hand on her shoulder.
    “I was wondering when you’d show up,” she said in her raspy, old-woman’s voice.
    The devil squatted next to Lisa; he hadn’t aged a day since the last time she’d seen him. “I promised I would return in forty years, and here I am. To the very day.”
    “I suppose you think you’ve come to claim my soul.”
    “It is mine to claim,” the Devil said with a patient smile. “That was the deal.”
    “You breached our contract, therefore the deal is null and void. You forfeited your rights to my soul.”
    “What do you mean?” the Devil asked, but there was no anger in his voice. Only worry, as if he were concerned for her mental state.
    “You did not live up to your end of the bargain.”
    “I most certainly did. You asked to become the best singer in the world, and I made it so.”
    “But I was a failure ,” Lisa said, a pleading note infusing her voice. “My voice remained unheard throughout my life. You cheated me.”
    “No, I did not,” the Devil said with a sad, sympathetic smile. “You didn’t ask to be a successful singer, only the best.”
    “Shouldn’t one follow the other?”
    The Devil laughed softly. “Dear, you really know nothing about the music industry, do you? Talent, even extraordinary talent, is merely a single ingredient to success. Other ingredients are needed—a certain look, a certain attitude, a certain vibrant charisma—none of which you possessed, and none of which you asked me for. I gave you what you asked for, nothing more. I told you to choose your request wisely; you should have heeded me.”
    “But that isn’t fair,” Lisa said, and she sounded like a petulant child.
    “Perhaps not, but it was our deal. Now it is time for you to complete the trade.”
    The Devil held out a hand, and Lisa took it. Reluctantly, but she took it nonetheless. The Devil helped her to her feet and led her toward the door.
    “If it is any consolation,” said the Devil as they stepped out of the room and off the mortal plane, “I really loved your second album.”
     

THE DELIVERY BOY
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Grayson had just sat down to watch the Bond marathon on