The Ghoul's Game

1. Weeping Willow

My neighbor's phone rang continuously in her pocket as she slept on her camping chair with one of my books resting on her face. Libby's a retiree in her late sixties. A sweet woman notoriously known as the Cookie Lady. She would bake cookies every week for all the neighbors on our floor, and the rest of the cookies were brought here at the flea market to be sold. The left overs at the end of the day were usually given to the kids playing on our street. She'd also buy food and would pass it to the homeless people on the way.

We've been here all day, but we barely had any luck with sales. I sell books that I've self-published in the past. They were a couple of romance novellas that I wrote back in high school. Being an indie author was quite challenging, but low sales never hurt my passion to write. I write for a reason. I simply want my readers to be happy. To fall in love with my characters, and to explore the worlds I have created. It didn't matter whether it was one reader, or a few readers. What matters the most was I had a story to tell.

There weren't a lot of vendors at the flea market today due to the triple digit temperature. I've completely forgotten how hot it was going to be this first week of the month. You'd think once September rolled around, it would be sweater weather time.

Saturdays were usually crammed with vendors and customers, plus there were also mini concerts held by local artists. Unfortunately, not today. I checked the time. It was disappointing that it was nearly three in the afternoon. I guess it was time to pack up. A part of me still wanted to stay. I got up and walked over to Libby's table. "Hey, Libs. Wake up. It's time to go." I slowly removed the book away from her face. I gave her shoulder another shake.

She opened her left eye and pretended to go back to sleep. Her alarm went off again. "Alright, alright, I'm up, I'm up."

I gave a light chuckle as I shoved all the books inside a large white canvass bag. "Seriously, Libs. How do you sleep through your alarms?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "I guess when you're retired, you don't really care about anything else besides sleep. Sleep is precious."

We both laughed and I started helping her put away her stuff. I haven't written anything new in the past few years. You could say I was hit with the writer's block and I have never recovered ever since. I kept asking myself if that spark would ever return. Only time could tell.

Once I reached my apartment, I dropped all my stuff in the living room and went straight to the kitchen to get a bottle of water. I grabbed the remote control from the couch and I started browsing. True Crime documentaries were my thing so I clicked one of the covers. Vanished Without a Trace. It was a cold case file of a missing little boy and his mother twenty years ago. I played the documentary while I heated up some left-over butter chicken in the microwave. I suddenly heard my paternal grandmother's hometown was mentioned.

I immediately called my mother who was currently on vacation in the Philippines. "Mom, there's a new true crime documentary that was shot in grandma's hometown. You should watch it. It's pretty interesting."

"I hope you won't get any ideas going there," she sternly warned me. It was as if she had read my mind. "That place is dangerous."

"Oh, come on," I laughed. "Crimes can happen anywhere, Mom. It doesn't matter where you are in the world. Plus, I'm not a child anymore. I can make decisions for myself."

"I'm warning you, Wendy. You can't go there."

"But why?" I paused the TV. "What's wrong with visiting grandma?"

"Just do as we say, Sweetheart," her voice was a little out of breath. "Anyway, your father and I are boarding the cruise ship now. Take care and behave yourself." After that, the call ended.