Stall Number Six by James Garcia Jr.

William Reese should never have attended that underground nightclub. Even now as he turned off his alarm, he could still hear the blaring music ringing in his ears. He could feel the slamming base from the morbid and exotic rhythms still pounding his belly as the first layers of sleep cobwebs began to flutter away from his consciousness. As it [...]

 
A Human Story: Max, The Man From Phoenix by James Garcia Jr.

“I pulled into my parking stall late that first night and shut off the car. We don’t have a parking lot, just a few spaces in the alley: there’s only eight units in the complex anyway, so we don’t need much. I drive a 98 Mustang convertible; yellow with black lines and when I opened the door, something caught my ear.”
“Hannah.”
“It sounded very otherworldly, as if I heard it, but not really. More like I felt it. I thought someone was crying, and then realized that that wasn’t it, it was somebody calling. However, when I stopped to listen, it was gone. I stood there in the dark for a while to see if it’d come back, but it didn’t. I was tired and hungry, so I probably only gave it a few seconds before I finally turned and headed for my apartment.”
“I didn’t hear it again until the next night. I had just pulled into my spot and cut the motor.”
“Here, Hannah.”
“It scared the shit outta’ me! I must’ve been daydreaming or something. I even checked the back seat. That’s how close it was.”
“C’mon, Hannah. Come to big sister. Hannah?”
“So I jumped out of the car to see whether I might be able to catch them this time. I wasn’t thinking about ghosts or anything…”
The spinner of the tale paused a moment, slipping out of character. “I know. I love that, too,” he said, directing the comment to some of those who laughed.

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