Linda’s Place
A deer ventures into a ghost's diner to try to draw out the souls trapped there.
A heavy drizzle fell from the sky as the deer made his way four blocks down Fifteenth to the restaurant which had caught his attention two days earlier. He'd wanted to pay a visit then and there, but it wasn't a good time. So he waited.
And now the time was perfect.
This was a rougher part of town, although that had not always been the case. Once upon a time, this had been the vibrant core of the city. This was the prime real estate all through the middle of the twentieth century. Then, as things happened, populations shifted, and the land outside had grown more desirable, and the city was drained of its life, and the streets began to decay. Where once was a theatre and restaurants with patios hosting entertainment well into the night, now there was cracked sidewalk and locked doors and broken windows.
A few people still eked out a living here, but it was much tougher now. In another decade, they, too, would be snuffed out.
He'd been advised against coming here alone, but he knew how to handle himself. The trick was to look like he knew what he was doing and where he was going. Those types were generally left alone. But tonight, what with the dreary conditions, there wasn't anyone on the street to see him. Well, he was fairly sure he had passed a drug deal in the alley off Waterfront, and there were a couple stragglers finding their way to a shelter for the night. A block down, he thought he saw a tail disappear from the glow of the street light, but that wasn't going to bother him.
The deer came to the diner. Linda's Place, it had been called. The door was padlocked, and the diner, visible through the cracked windows, was lost in shadow. He looked up at the dark, vacant apartments above. The drizzle carried a bite which stung his eyes. He blinked it away, then looked up and down the street again.
There was a fox walking erratically down the opposite side of the street, but she wasn't paying attention to him or to anyone. He would not be able to help her, yet. But he made the sign of the cross and nodded in her direction.
He sighed. He reached into his coat, pulled out a flask, and drank a sip from it. The liquid warmed his stomach and gave an extra spark to his spirit. He put the flask back, pulled out the crucifix from under his shirt, kissed it. “Hail, Holy Queen, Mother of Mercy. Hail our life, our sweetness, and our hope."
He closed his eyes, firmed his shoulders, and opened the door to the diner with a gentle tug.
Light and sound greeted him. He opened his eyes. The diner interior was clean, if dated—his research said it had opened in the late middle of the century, and it had not been updated much since then—and the atmosphere was warm. The bulbs overhead gave off a comforting, yellow hue. Music from a jukebox played quietly.
He looked around. Two of the booths by the window and one set of tables were occupied. There was no clear pattern to the clientele, who seemed in these small numbers to be from all walks of life. There was a middle-class skunk family of five with food set before them, and they huddled together in hushed, urgent conversation. An older mouse and his wife, fairly well-off based on the clothes he wore and the jewellery on her wrists and neck, occupied the other booth, sharing a milkshake between them. And three ferrets, all males, sat at the table, their noses buried in a shared menu.
A chalkboard sign before him announced the phrase, PLEASE WAIT TO BE SEATED, punctuated by a heart at the bottom right and a smiley wolf face at the top left. As there was no one that he saw manning the counter, and the restaurant had plenty of seating still available, he took a seat at a two-person table in the middle of the room and picked up the menu placed there.
Grilled cheese, three dollars, it said. Grilled cheese with ham, three dollars fifty. Biscuits and gravy, two dollars seventy-five.
“Well, welcome to Linda's Place!" said a voice. The deer looked up. A raccoon with white in her mask and a twinkle in her eye stood before him. Her name tag said, “Linda". “I see you went and sat yourself. Tsk tsk, didn't you read the sign?"
“You'll have to excuse me," the deer said. “I didn't see anyone so I went and sat down."
“No problem, no problem," Linda said. She waved a hand at him. “I only care when it's really busy. It's not too bad right now."
“Do you usually have a lot of customers?"
“Depends. It's been fairly steady for a while." She shrugged. “But enough about that. What can I get for you?"
“Just a coffee, I think," he said. “It's wet out there tonight."
“Really?" She squinted and peered over him. “I could have sworn it was a perfect night. But you are indeed damp." She laughed, a dry, raspy sound. “What does an old woman know? I've been back there too long, ha! Anything else?"
“Just the coffee, I think."
“You bet. You let me know if there's anything else I can get you, dear."
It was around this time that he noticed the diner did not have a discernible scent. He sat up quick. He looked around again. Everyone was doing what they had done before. It was as though they had been frozen in time while he was talking to Linda, and they had made no progress on their tasks. Wasn't it odd that she had not taken the ferrets' order? Or perhaps they still needed some time.
Remember what you're here for, he reminded himself. Don't get distracted. He reached back into his coat and took another sip from his flask. It helped to clear his nostrils and his mind. Still nothing, though. “To thee do we send up our sighs, mourning and weeping in this valley of tears."
“Now sir, I do not allow outside food or drink in this establishment," Linda said, holding an empty mug and a container of coffee. “Especially not of that variety. Please put it away and don't let me see it again."
The deer winced. He hadn't been subtle enough. “Fair enough, fair enough. I won't do it again."
Linda poured him a coffee, then slid out the other chair and sat across the table from him. The deer lifted the mug to his nose. Instead of the expected aroma, there was still that empty nothingness. He knew the rules. Drink nothing, eat nothing. “So what's your story?" she asked. “Not very often we get someone like you in here."
The deer set the mug down and shrugged. “My story is still in the telling," he said. “Still learning where it will go."
“But surely you have some sort of end goal in mind, right? We all have one of those."
“Of course. But I would rather not be too specific, if that's all right with you. Just call it a thing, if you like."
Linda nodded. “I can respect that." She frowned at the cup. “Do you want any cream? Sugar?"
“No, I'm good. Thank you." He motioned to the table of ferrets. “I don't mean to tell you how to do your job, but they've been waiting with their menu for a while. But I can sit here a bit and talk if you want."
Linda shook her head dismissively. “Don't worry about them. They'll signal when they're ready."
“What about you?" The deer pretended to take another sip. He blew on it, as if it were hot, and set it back down. “Do you have a story? What brings you to operate a place like this?"
Linda looked at him then, a curious expression on her face. “How do you mean? I give people a place to stop and rest. That's what I've always done. Ever since..." She trailed off. “Ever since I was a little girl, honestly. This is what I always wanted to do." She smiled. “So I do it." She sniffed at something and stood up quickly. “I'm sorry, there's something I have to see to in the kitchen. Good talking with you."
She disappeared with fast, silent footsteps through the metal swinging door to the kitchen. He sat up a little straighter and tried to peer in from where he sat, but from his angle, there wasn't much in his line of sight. He got out of the chair and made his way to the washrooms in the back down a small hallway, as if to relieve himself, as it gave him a better look.
There was nothing to see, though.
It looked by all appearances just like a normal diner with a mostly-normal owner and mostly-normal clients.
Except it wasn't.
About five steps from the men's washroom, it happened. The colours became muted as if someone had pushed a slider on the saturation level of the world, and the light dimmed. The jukebox tunes warped and became incomprehensible. He stopped, took a step back. The diner returned to the way it had been.
He stepped forward again, slowly, ready to jump back if needed. Once again the setting became dissonant. He once again brought his crucifix from beneath his shirt and kissed it, uttered a silent prayer and placed it back. It was unusual to see such a clear boundary, but he knew well which lines not to cross.
His path back to the table brought him by the three ferrets. “Hello," he said.
“...go on. We stay here for a while where he can't find us, and when he isn't looking for us then we can go on. We stay here for a while where he can't find us..." The ferrets muttered in unison. The same phrase repeated over and over. Their voices were scratched and slightly warbled, as on a radio trying to pick up a station just out of reach.
“Sir," the deer said, and touched the shoulder of the one nearest him.
A sensation of shock and icy pain shot to his elbow and he jerked back. The diner became black, and his arm, from elbow to the end of his finger, was bleached-white bone, draped in scraps of rotting flesh and tattered clothing. But in the span of two blinks, all was as it had been.
“Sir," he said again. This time he made sure not to touch him, and he peered at his arm for any signs of change.
The nearest ferret looked away from the menu, and up at the deer. His eyes were vacant and blank, dark orbs reflecting the deer's face back onto him. His skull of a face. Empty sockets stared at him from the reflection.
He pedalled back and touched around his nose, checked to make sure his eyes and ears were still there. He was intact, covered in fur, and warm with life.
For now.
“Are you disturbing my guests again?" Linda asked.
“No," he said simply and truthfully. “We were looking at something together."
She frowned. “Very well. Please return to your seat."
“I was finished with my coffee," he said. “I was going to leave soon."
“But you barely drank any. Don't think I didn't notice." Her scowl froze his blood. “I put a lot of love and work into each cup, and I want my clients to appreciate it. Please. Sit back down." Her expression softened, became neutral.
“How long have you been running this place?" he asked.
She looked from side to side, shrugged. “Long enough. It all runs together, really."
“How long have your guests been waiting?" he asked.
She laughed, an unpleasant sound. “Time is a silly thing to ask about. They have all the time they need. When they're ready, they let me know, and away they go to who knows where."
He drew his coat closer to him. “Linda, I know you've been keeping them here. You need to let them go."
Linda snorted. “Go to what? Do you know what happens at the end of things? Have you seen through the veil? To the infinite unknown? Of course not. It will curdle your kidneys. This is a safe place. A secure place. A place where they can be kept from prying eyes and those who want to push them to decisions and destinations they do not want."
He decided to push, just a little. So he changed the direction of his question. “What are you hiding from?"
“Nothing." Her eyes narrowed. “I have half a mind to send you back out. I am warning you, leave them alone. Sit down."
He sat.
She smiled at him and clasped her arms at her waist. “I hope you are enjoying the coffee, dear. Is there anything else I can get for you?"
“Nothing," he said. “I'll let you know." He crossed his arms and closed his eyes. This was proving to be more tricky than anticipated. The next moves would be crucial, and the wrong one would ruin everything.
“Maybe one thing. Linda," he said. “Please. Be honest with me. No fronts. I am not here to harm. I cannot do anything you do not want, anyway." It was clear she knew what he was, so he no longer had a reason to hide it. Besides, the others here didn't have enough left of them for him to work with. Only the Almighty could sort them out. “Linda, what are you afraid of?"
“Nothing," Linda said. “Nothing at all, anymore. I am safe here."
“It's a kind thing you did, to give people a place to stay for a while. Genuinely, I mean that," he added quickly, when her scowl returned. “It takes a lot to keep something like this running for as long as you have."
“So... you aren't ripping them from here?"
“No." He paused. He needed to choose the next words even more carefully. “Linda. I came here to speak with you, not them."
“I won't go with you either."
“Fair enough. But Linda, I need you to be honest with me. Why won't you let them leave?"
The scene of the diner began to fade at the corners. This was not Linda's doing. She had not yet pushed him out. He was running out of time. And the next attempt would be harder, if it even happened. But he feared he would fail.
And for the first time, Linda truly softened. “You promise you won't make me go?"
“I promise."
Linda looked down. “Because I'm scared."
“Of?"
“Of what will happen when I can't keep this going anymore." Her voice began to pass through a distortion. He was losing his hold. “If it was all a mistake."
“For whom?"
Her voice came as it were from the depth of a cave. “I don't know."
“I can't answer that," he said. “And unfortunately there is only one way to find out. But Linda... these others here, please release them. There's barely anything left that can pass on."
Linda's eyes went, and she moved her mouth to speak, but whatever words she uttered did not reach him. He thought he could make out “How can...?" before she, the trapped guests, and the diner faded away.
He had failed.
With slow movements, he pulled out the fragment of paper he'd come across when researching this diner, which he'd hoped to use as a guide, and an anchor, but which had not been of much use in the end. “A tragic scene at well-loved diner Linda's Place. Yesterday morning, the body of owner-operator Linda Pierce was found mutilated in the women's washroom. Authorities expect foul..."
Here the story cut off, but it hardly mattered.
He looked around at the long-abandoned room, now stripped of booths and tables, dark save for whatever light filtered through the window, and silent save his shallow breaths. A heavy layer of dust settled over everything. If he tried, he thought he could see faint glimpses of the couple, and the family, and almost he thought he saw Linda, but he was now too far removed from their plane to reach them again.
He feared for their outcomes. They were nearly extinguished. Beyond the aid of anyone.
He drew a cross in the dusty floor with his foot, said a prayer for their weakened souls.
“Turn then, most gracious advocate, thine eyes of mercy toward us, and after this our exile show unto us the blessed fruit of thy womb."
He broke a window to get out and, satisfied the streets were clear, ventured into the night. Perhaps someday he, or another more capable, could return.