Stones are falling from the ceiling of my apartment. First one, then two, then dozens. I take refuge beneath the kitchen table as they bounce and dance across every surface, denting the toaster, gouging into the old linoleum floor. The Falling Stones are like a rain of hail, but so absurd in this setting that I want to laugh… It is about two in the afternoon, Tuesday, mid-June, with the sun hot on my back and the sky seared and brown-looking above the island. The collar of my shirt is soaked with sweat. Just a block away the Manhattan Bridge creaks ominously in the heat, its abutments age blackened and massive as pyramids. I am wearing an unseasonable tweed jacket, swamp green corduroy pants, a heavy powder blue oxford cloth button-down, and a regimental stripe tie—the only presentable outfit in my closet. I am shaved and sober and calling on Father Rose in the rectory of St. Basil’s Cathedral on Jay Street in Brooklyn… Madeleine’s Ghost by Robert Girardi Share this:TwitterFacebookPinterestLike this:Like Loading...
Vickie Lester November 3, 2014 This is a evocative, historical, character study—not really so scary. The ghost is more of a device to explore the past… Loading...
Marcheline November 8, 2014 I adore scary stories – especially if there’s a good plot! Will hunt this one down. Loading...
I can’t cope with ghost stories. 🙁
This is a evocative, historical, character study—not really so scary. The ghost is more of a device to explore the past…
I adore scary stories – especially if there’s a good plot! Will hunt this one down.