Editor’s Note: This story was related by a person who studied the paranormal and insisted it is true. If any person reading this story knows the source, or the people involved, their whereabouts, etc., please advise so that credit may be given to the originator. This will please Mr. Manchester. But until that time, we shall present the tale as RAG Fiction.


Thanks,

Jonathan Ashcroft sat immobile staring at Mrs. Lazier’s full novel, of personal experiences, manuscript. He mumbled like a little bulldog on his way to another bothersome task. “She writes this stuff as though she has experienced all of it. It sounds so true-to-life, but it, this, teleportation, or whatever it is, just isn’t possible.” He hunched his shoulders as thunder clapped in the distance.
“Damn,” he said outloud. “Another storm.” He pushed his swivel chair backward from the table, leaned back and rocked back and forth as he tapped his lower lip with the eraser end of his number two pencil. “Why when I have to call Lazier, does it rain?” He rocked. “Why?”
He coughed and shook his head. “Gads, her ideas are getting to me.” Jonathan rolled his eyes, closed his mouth, inhaled deeply and looked down at the paragraph where he had stopped editing.
    “...I’m sorry Valerie, but it’s the rain. I can’t hear you. The line is all static and you sound so strange. I don’t care if I am in Santa Monica and you are in New York City, when one cannot have a serious conversation using a state-of-the-art communication tool, yes, my darling, this ancient telephone; something must be done...”
    “Can you wait a moment, my friend,” Valerie asked. Thunder rolled across Santa Monica and the ocean front. “Oh, even I heard that one over the line, of course.”
    “I’ll bet you did,” Charlie Henderson. He wondered why when he and Valerie were collaborating on a book, she presenting her experiences and he, his literary editing forté, they could not work within the same building, city, or even state. He took another deep breath and winced at the loud roar of thunder. He looked up.
    Valerie stood before Jonathan. “How’s this?” she asked. “Can you hear me better, now?”
    He jumped up from his chair, his mouth agape, and staggering, leaned forward against the edge of his desk. My wish has come true, he said to himself. She was not in New York. She stood five feet from him across from his desk.
Jonathan threw his pencil at the page again and it skipped off his writing table. Disgusted, he thought. Lila. Lila. Mrs. Lazier, what am I to do with you? Irresponsible of her to want to put this tripe into print. Personal Experiences? I don’t think so...
The telephone rang. He jumped and quickly collected himself. “The nonsense in her draft is getting to me. He cleared his throat and picked up the receiver. “Jonathan here.”
“Hello, my favorite author’s editor,” Lila said.
“You’re the favorite author, I take it?” he said and chuckled. What ego!
“Well of course, my darling. And how are things?”
“It depends,” he said, rolled his eyes and rocked. As he came closer to his desk he reached for another number two pencil. He succeeded after the third approach. He had been so pre-occupied with trying to catch a pencil he missed some of her words.
“...and darling, when I mean better, I mean better. For instance,” Lila continued. Thunder sounded and then the room illuminated with a flash of lightning. “...and ooh, Jonathan, are you having an electrical storm in Santa Monica? How weird-- or is it?”
“It’s very unusual,” Jonathan said. “Lila...darling,” he said belatedly. She doesn’t seem like a darling to me. “I’ve been rereading some items...”
“Events, darling. Everything in the manuscript is an event. And by event I mean, well, every event took my breath away...”
“Lila, these so-called events...”
“Not so-called, Jonathan, precious” she said, squeezing her intimate French in at the end. Her voice sounded more commanding. “Everything in that book is true, a real and true event. My heart beats rapidly just recalling some of the experiences...”
“Yes, I imagine,” Jonathan said. “But, if these are true, well, Lila, I’m rereading the first four pages, actually I’m reworking the first four pages, and Lila, come on now. For crying out loud. You’ve got nearly everyone flying around in...”
“That’s why I’ve been seriously deciding to name the book, ‘Flying Circus’...”
He threw his pencil across the table. It skipped off the papers into the center of the room. Jonathan could not see where it landed.
“I think flying circus has been done before...”
“It doesn’t matter, my prec...darling” she said. Her words were blocked out by thunder followed by a brighter stream of lightning light.
I can’t hear you, he thought, as he rocked and reached for another pencil. Finally the world seemed quiet except for Lila’s voice on the telephone.
“...and this one happened in Germany while I was on holiday, darling...”
“Oh?” Jonathan said. He picked up the pencil. It had a broken point. “Sonofa!”
“What?”
Gads, she can hear me even when I speak softly. He rocked using more energy and fetched two pencils from the pencil box. He stretched but got them and upon examination, both had sharp points. Ah, Mrs. Guthrie sharpened the whole box. Good housekeeping, Mrs. Guthrie, he thought, about the absent housekeeper.
“...and there we were in the outskirts of some small, and I mean tiny, German Village. Well, Heinser and I were lost...”
“Who is Heinser, darling?”
“How far have you read in the manuscript, darling? Heinser was my tour guide.”
“Your personal tour guide?”
“Yes, Jonathan. I explain all that.”
“Yes, Lila, please continue.” He used the eraser end of a pencil to stop an itch on his nostrils. It felt good.
“...so Heinser decided to wind back toward the city, and I said I would venture more into the farm area, to see if we could stir up somebody.” Lila giggled. “This was rather funny.”
“Yes,” Jonathan said, chuckled and nearing the end of his wit, added, “I can believe that.” Thoughts about backing out of the project zipped through his consciousness: abandoning Lila’s book, followed close behind.
“Yes,” Lila said. “Well, I hadn’t walked much farther when I spied a little, and I mean it when I say, ‘gingerbread’; there was a little gingerbread cottage right out of Hansel and Gretel, and Jonathan someone was indeed at home.”
“Was that surprising? Does it have shock value?” His belly hit the desk and he cursed again and stopped rocking.
“Well,” Lila said, ignoring, his comment, “as I stood next to a tree admiring this tiny little house, I imagined a handsome Bavarian, who is notably virile and very, very attractive, a pretty blonde wife, well they’re all blonde, you know...”
“Yes,” Jonathan said. He pushed his glasses back up on his nose.
“... and several lovely children, say a boy or two and girl or two...”
“Lila, darling,” Jonathan said. “You’re losing me in all this.”
“Well, I’m a little surprised you have not read more than just a few pages, but let me finish.”
“Yes.” Jonathan closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead with his fingertips.
“Well, no virile man, pretty woman or little child or children came out of that house. Suddenly there was an older woman standing in front of the door. The door was closed and she had obviously just come outside. I jumped behind a tree.”
“Why did you hide from her?”
“I don’t know. A second sense,” Lila said.
“You mean, sixth sense, don’t you, darling?” Now, she’s got me over using, ‘darling’.”
“Well, this woman....” Lila’s voice faded in and out. Softer to silence to louder and loud.
“I’m not hearing you well, darling. This storm, you know.”
“Yes, well I’ll shout, although it’s not great for my voice. The woman looked in every direction, and when I perceived she didn’t want to be seen, she wiggled, I would call it, she disappeared right before my eyes.”
“Really?” Jonathan said. He sat shaking his head. Never, never, never.
“True, true as I talk to you.”
“Well, darl..., you didn’t see her come out of the house, she probably went around back to the outhouse and didn’t want anyone to see her go. People are funny about going to the toilet, you know.”
“No, Jonathan,” Lila said. Her voice fading again. “That’s not the way it was, because Heinser met me on the road as I stood behind the tree, still amazed at what I had experienced. Actually, he was in a constable’s jeep and we were hitching a ride back to the next town. We missed out tour bus.”
“Why are you so sure this old lady disappeared and what do you believe happened to her?” Jonathan asked. He asked the question because Lila was not giving in on any part of her story and her tone, when he could hear her well, was complete sincerity. Jonathan believed Lila believed that tale.
“Well, the constable drove us through the little town we were near and into the next town. No busses were running at the time. We arrived in Beglesfort,” she said and laughed, “or whatever they call it and decided to walk through the outdoor market. Well, Jonathan, I was testing a few juicy red tomatoes and who do you think was also testing the tomatoes?”
“Heinser?”
“No, darling, the little old lady. You know from the gingerbread house. You know, darling, the one that disappeared before my eyes?”
“You’re joking.”
“No and Heinser conversed with her also. She’s real, darling. Probably still lives in that little old gingerbread...”
“Did you talk to her?”
“Of course. I asked where she lived and she told me. She told me correctly...”
“Speak louder, Lila, please.” More thunder interrupted his thoughts. He put his lips together to listen better. He jumped at the lightning.
“Well, I asked how she got into town. We were about twenty kilometers away. Heinser said that 20 kilometers is about 12 or so miles. I dunno.”
“What did she say?”
“I’m trying to get there Jonathan.” Lila’s voice was not readily audible. Jonathan strained to hear her word. “She said, “There are ways,” smiled at me and moved down the row of fresh produce. And, Jonathan the way she looked at me. It wasn’t nasty or menacing, it was rather something like, if you believe you can do something, you can do something.”
“Yeah, right,” Jonathan added. He sensed a returning sarcasm in his tone. The weakness of her voice over the telephone line irritated Jonathan and he knew it.
“And then there was the story about the little girl in old fashioned clothes...”
“I can’t hear you, damnit,” Jonathan said but this time laid his pencils down beside Lila’s manuscript. “What? What?” he shouted. “What did you....”
“Just a minute, I said,” the voice over the line said.
Jonathan strained to hear more. Suddenly his ears buzzed. He looked at his wristwatch. Ten O’clock. He held the receiver close to his head. He continued to look down at his watch.
“Is this better?” Lila said standing in the middle of the room.
Jonathan screamed. He grabbed for his chest. His heart pounded. His mouth remained opened and he pressed himself backward in his highbacked swivel chair.
“Now don’t let this get to you, Jonathan.”
Of course, not, he thought. Happens every day.
“I debated whether or not I should do this...”
“What is it called?” Jonathan asked.
“Cheap transportation, darling,” Lila said. She moved closer to the table. “I had decided that when I saw the old woman in front of her house and then twenty minutes later in that German town, there was only one way she could have gotten there...”
“Via cheap transportation,” Jonathan said wryly. He looked at Lila’s clothing. A blouse, a skirt, pearl necklace and earrings, a barrette in her light brown hair.
“You’ve got it, darling,” she said and smiled.
Her eyes are just as blue, her skin creamy, lipstick just the right amount. She looks great to me. None the worse for wear, that is. He narrowed his eyes. “How do you feel after your trip, Lila?”
“Well, it happens so fast...”
He laughed.
“What are you laughing at darling?” she said and sat in the straight chair next to the table. He couldn’t see her cross her legs and swing her foot. “We’ll finalize your current crop of questions then I’ve got to get back...”
“Oh?” Jonathan asked. His voice was higher than normal. “You can do more than one of these teleport things in one day?”
“Sure,” she said. “Whenever I want to go. It takes a minute or two because I have to picture where I’m going, so I don’t go to the wrong place.”
“Of course,” Jonathan said. His eyes narrowed more. What am I dealing with here? I thought she was normal.
“Lila, just how long have you been doing this, I mean the first time? Why do you use it?
“Well, it should be obvious. I’ve been doing it since I wished I was in Buenos Aires...”
“Argentina?”
“Argentina. Yes, darling, is there another Buenos Aires?”
“I don’t know,” he said emphatically and propped his jaw on his fist. He frowned. “What was going on in Argentina?”
“The carnival, Jonathan. It’s annual and...”
“So you went.”
“So I went.” She laughed and rocked her head from side to side appearing proud. “I wished it, wanted it badly, and voilá, it happened.”
“Just like that,” he said.
“I have seen many shows in many parts of the world and many events. I don’t miss a show opening in New York, of course, I live in New York City...”
“Do you teleport to a show?”
“Why not? I teleport inside the theater. There’s always empty seats. Nobody cares. It’s not wrong.” She cleared her throat. “It’s not like I’m keeping it a secret. All of my friends know I do it...”
“They know you do it?”
“Well, I’ve told them I do it.”
“And they believe you?”
“Well, I think so.” She stood and stretched.
“Travelled out?” he asked.
“No. Not at all.” Lila began to pace around the table. She walked some distance from Jonathan and the table. “I wanted to mention to you that there is one event that I really hadn’t finished in the manuscript...”
“Oh?” Jonathan coughed.
“I know you take dictation, n-est-cé-pas?”
“Right,” Jonathan said and flipped his steno pad open. I wonder if she’s the only one who flies on the cheap? He knew he would ask. Lila, is there another person, you know, that does this teleport thing too?”
“No, not that I’ve met and keep in mind, with the old woman, I only guessed that’s what she did. But no, alas, not that I’m aware of.” She walked slowly and said softly, “Now I must collect my thoughts.”
Jonathan listened to her footsteps on the Persian carpet.
“It’s a lonely feeling,” she said.
“You being the only teleporter you know?”
“Yeah,” she said.
“Hm,” he said. He didn’t have another word to add. He listened, his pencil ready.
“Don’t write yet.” She paused. “I don’t think it’s inherited and I really don’t know why I continued doing it. It seems very natural to me now. Perhaps not to you. But now that you know, well...”
“Not natural,” Jonathan said, “ in case you were gonna ask.”
She stopped walking and looked at her watch. “It’s after three in New York so it’s after 12 midnight here...”
“It was just ten here,” Jonathan said, “when I waited for you call.”
“Time does figure into this teleporting somehow,” she said.
Jonathan wondered why she hadn’t sat in her favorite rocking chair. He heard the chair creak as it rocked. He put his hand over his mouth and screamed as a young girl in an old fashioned pinafore, long curls, beautiful blue eyes, high button shoes, white hose and fluffy pink dress rocked contentedly. The chair creaked and the child’s lips moved but the sound Jonathan heard was no child’s voice. Jonathan glanced at Lila.
“Yes, I see her again too.”
“Again?”
“I’ve seen her many times and always after I teleport.”
“Who is she?”
“I don’t know. Possibly an ancestor.”
“Well, what does she want. Nothing I hope. She seems to be able to see us? The way she’s rocking that chair you’d think she owned the joint.”
“Are you frightened, Jonathan?”
“Are you serious?” he screamed. “I can’t stop shaking...”
The room became silent. No sound. Jonathan looked again at Lila, then the child. The little girl had stopped rocking. Her voice faded into the silent room.
The child yawned and looked directly at Lila. Jonathan heard the child’s voice. “Mama, when you leave, I wish you would tell me where you are going. I have been looking for you for a long time.” She slowly disappeared.
Jonathan couldn’t stop shaking. He clutched himself. His entire body trembled. Lila looked down at him.
“Well, if you had read further in my manuscript you would have read about this phenomenon, this little girl. I really don’t know who she but when she appears, not me, you understand, but friends, people I’m with seem to feel their bodies rise off the floor, chair or what have you...”
“You mean levitate, Lila?”
“I guess that’s what they call it,” she said.
Jonathan glanced down at his lap. He was in a sitting position but two feet from the seat of his chair. “Ah,” he screamed again as he began to rotate.
“That’s a side affect of all this stuff. We really have to get back to an event in the book. And let’s do it now, ‘cause I’ve got to leave in a few minutes.
“After I come down, OK, Lila? In a few minutes,” Jonathan said. He felt his body slowly approaching his swivel chair again. They smiled at one another. She sat in the straight chair and rocked her head.
“Interesting, huh?” she said.
“Interesting,” Jonathan agreed.
“Friends?” she asked.
“Forever,” Jonathan said as he settled into his swivel chair again.
“Lila, darling. I'm going to read your entire manuscript. Then we can...." His eyes wide open, Jonathan searched the room.
“Lila’s gone.”
He walked around the large room, looking behind furniture through doors that led to bedrooms, a bathroom, a living room.
“...discuss your personal experiences...”
He walked to the large bay windows and looked out and up at the clear sky and smiled. The stars winked back at him.