Nights In White Satin

by Mike Mayak

“What does this remind you of?” Sam asked, stretching back in the big chair on the cool evening porch.

“Back when this was Grandma and Grandpa’s house,” Scotty said, sipping his lemonade with a glance at the one story ranch house with the well-lit porch and garden.

“Yeah, back then the suburbs hadn’t swelled over here yet!” Sam said.

“Remember riding our bikes down to the convenience store on Thanksgiving when we were like eleven and twelve because Grandma was out of milk and the big grocery stores were closed?” Scotty asked.

“And you said you thought the convenience store only sold sodas, toys and comic books!” Sam laughed.

The two brothers sat there laughing for a moment. Summer seemed a long way from Thanksgiving.

“Hey, Dad!” The front door had burst open and the two boys, twelve and eleven, tanned after a weekend of summer adventure rushed out onto the front porch.

“Can we?” they said in unison.

` “No. It’s late.” Scotty said. “We’re here to be with family.”

“Oh yeah. Hi Uncle Sammy.”

“Hi, kids.” Sam said grinning.

“When’s Mom coming back?” Drew, the younger brother asked.

“She and her cousins are out visiting, doing girl stuff, you know,” Scotty said. “You boys come up here and sit down. And no cellphones.”

“Awwwwww!” the boys groaned in unison.

The four men sat in silence for a few minutes.

“I’m bored!” Deacon said.

“Yeah!” Drew said.

Sam cleared his throat. “Why don’t you tell them about the ghost?”

“Ghost?” Drew said.

“The one grandpa used to tell us about, remember?” Sam gave his older brother a purposeful look.

“Okay guys, gather ‘round,” Scotty said. “This is the story as your Grandfather told me. Back when this area was all farmland, there was an old farmer who lived in a farmhouse just down the road from here…”

Even in an age of cellphones and made-to-order videos there is a power to a good story well-told. Scotty knew his kids and knew when to pause, what timbre of voice to use and how to make it all atmospheric. It helped that it was dark and lit by the lights on the low corner walls of the porch which cast long shadows.

The boys were enraptured. Eyes wide, mouths open, hanging on every word.

Scotty took a deep breath as he finished, his voice just above a whisper.

“…And they say that on quiet Summer nights, the old farmer’s daughter, still wearing her long white satin gown, still walks down the road. Waiting…waiting…for her lost fiancee.”

“Woah!” Drew breathed.

“Yeah,” Deacon said. “Did they ever…”

“Look!” Drew shouted, pointing at the street.

There, at the far bend in the street, by the big old tree stood a figure, a female figure shimmering in a glistening white gown, long blonde hair covering her face, beckoning with long white gloves.

“It’s the ghost!” Deacon gasped!

“Like in the story!” Drew said.

“Quick! Inside!” Scotty said. “The ghost can’t get you in there!”

“GET us?” Drew shrilled, his voice a squeak.

“She’s looking for her fiancee, remember? And if you aren’t married she might think…”

“Quick! Under the bed!” Deacon said rushing for the door.

The two boys ran inside slamming the door behind them.

Scotty smiled and picked up his lemonade, raising it in a toast to the diaphanous figure in white.

The white-gowned figure gave his brother a thumbs-up. Scotty grinned again and nodded.

The kids didn’t know yet about their Uncle Sammy’s career as “Samantha; Chanteuse With the Silver Voice.” They’d never seen him in drag or with the blonde wig. It had come in handy to put a good scare in them though!

Some kids never grow up!

—end—