#TimeTravelingGhost Part 30: Episode 2: 1937: The Hindenburg Part P

#Wss366 #MastoPrompt #TimeTravelAuthors 8/11. Cold/freezing in your story

By the time we got to the cabin, Emily had calmed down. Instead of a lecture, she said, “The steward must have been in a cold sweat. There he is, fishing for more tips, and you turn out to be a health faddist. Do people in the future actually eat that stuff?”

“It’s popular. You can find it at any supermarket — you do have supermarkets, right?”

“We do, but not in Arkham. Boston has an A&P and a Safeway.”

“I’m sorry, I should have known yogurt might be an anachronism.”

“Forget it; that’s past and gone. It’s hard to believe that yogurt and probably whole wheat bread would become popular.”

“That too, but no flying cars or personal jet packs, but we have no-#fault auto insurance.”

A smile tugged at Emily’s lips. “That’s disappointing. Now, about tipping…”

Once Emily finished her quick lecture on current idioms, we turned our attention to testing our new abilities. We shared the same standard skills, though we each had our own drawbacks. Anything involving dematerialization fatigued me: flying, passing through walls, invisibility. Anything involving materialization fatigued her: visibility, picking up objects, etc. Overdoing it left us cold, shivering, and unable to move.

“I’m worried about your plan,” Emily said. “What if you materialize halfway down and fall? We don’t have any proof you can’t die. You just assumed that.”

“It’s a risk, but we can’t test it. Please don’t test it!” I threw my hands in the air with a look of mock alarm.

Emily missed the joke. “Good Lord, of course I wouldn’t test that.”

That was too much, and I broke out laughing. “And that’s how it happened! To test the theory, the intrepid spy fired three shots from her pocket revolver. The ghost dodged, only to be engulfed in flames as the bullets ignited the hydrogen. And now we return you to our sponsor, Hydrolux, the dish detergent you can count on.”

Emily’s expression set me off again; a moment later, she was laughing too. “You’re quite a card, you know.”

The dinner chime cut off any witty retort I might have had.

“I’m looking forward to it. The menu says we have a choice of Dover #sole or fillet of beef with mushroom sauce—but no flaming cherries jubilee for dessert. Such a shame, just chilled brandied peaches.”

“Better hurry, or you’ll miss it. It wasn’t the spy who caused the explosion; it was the cook when they flamed the crème brûlée. The sole survivor was the dishwasher, who fell into a tub of Hydrolux suds. Seriously, though, watch out. Dinner could be a conversational minefield; you do come out with some odd turns of phrase.”

I gave her a thumbs up as I departed. If she said anything more, I didn’t hear it over the announcement of dinner.

#TimeTravelingGhost Part 28: Episode 2: 1937: The Hindenburg Part N

#Wss366 #TimeTravelAuthors 7. Time-travel, frequency?

Little bits of my past were coming back. No memories except that scene with the boy in the car, but fragments of who I was: an angstless lesbian with a good grasp of history, spoke several languages, was left-leaning, knew my liquor, maybe drank too much, and was probably a film buff. Morocco had been a pretty old movie by the time I’d have seen it. Was there anything else? I was curious, polite, considerate, and well-spoken. I seemed like a nice lady. Oh, and adaptable: I’d taken to being a time-traveling ghost, accepted Nazi rabbits, and mind-reading with very little fuss.

“And after we get the film?” Emily asked.

“One, we could hide it on board. But it would melt in the crash, so that plan’s out.”

“Two, find someone to carry it off for us. Cons: What if we pick the wrong person, they forget it, panicked abandoning it in the crash, or die in the fire?”

“Skip what doesn’t work.” Her tone had turned prickly again. She definitely wouldn’t be a congenial partner, maybe not even for traveling.

“Three, we put the film in an envelope and address it to your handler. When we’re over New Jersey, I’ll fly down to earth and mail it. If I can’t fly, you can carry it down.”

“It’s hard holding things. I don’t think I could carry it to the ground. And who’s going to believe a random letter about mind-reading? My handlers would write it off as a crank letter.”

“I believed you.”

“True, but you’re a ghost. Which is unbelievable too.”

I patted myself. “I’m here all right, not a crank illusion.”

Emily smiled, which was the whole point. It was also nice knowing she had a sense of humor. That was a positive in her favor.

“Number four. The last plan. Once we’re at the aerodrome, we fly down. When survivors reach the ground, I approach your handlers and tell them Ms. Pang gave it to me. You bravely died trying to stop saboteurs and the #March of the German war machine. Plan B: if I can’t fly, I’ll drop the film to you and you deliver it. Then slip out, never to be seen again.”

She nodded. “I like it. One thing, you keep saying ‘Ms.’ I don’t know what that means, and neither will they. It’s ‘Miss’ I’ve never been married.”

“Got it,” I said.

“Swell—I know I’ve said this before, but I appreciate you putting up with me. I’m prickly when I’m tense.”

“Well, I do have an ulterior motive. I’m looking for a travel companion as I skip through time. After this is over, do you want to join me? With no strings attached, we could part at any time.”

“For Pete’s sake, you sound like a man putting the moves on me. ‘Hey, honey, want a little adventure?’” She laughed and winked, then continued, “Sure, that would be grand.”

There was a pause and a sly smile. Checking that no one was watching, she stole my mineral water and toasted, “The bee’s knees.”

#TimeTravelingGhost Part 27: Episode 2: 1937: The Hindenburg Part M

#Wss366 #MastoPrompt #TimeTravelAuthors 8/5. Jobs/work in your story.

I raised my hand to order another drink, only to withdraw it when Emily said, “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”

She softened her tone and continued, “It would be best if you were clear-headed while we plan this.”

“Sure,” I said. “I hardly feel alcohol, but if we slip up, who knows what those rabbits or Emily might do.”

“That’s what I mean. You loused up calling her Emily, not Miss. Pang. Little things like that can get you killed in the spy business.”

While I couldn’t die, and I wasn’t a spy, Emily was right; a minor mistake might set Ms. Pang off.

We stopped talking briefly as the steward arrived. I ordered a club sandwich and soda water. I’d taken Emily’s advice: no more alcohol.

“So tell me about your secret life,” I said.

Emily thought for a minute and turned scarlet. Whatever she was thinking must be juicy for our matter-of-fact reporter/spy to blush.

“For months, I was convinced I had to take orders. I even asked one of the school nuns. I was sure I’d go to hell after necking with a girl in one of the bathroom stalls. It was my first time.”

I was taken aback that she’d share that while stone sober. My face grew hot picturing it. I even had a quick flash of being groped in a car by a boy.

“That might be too personal,” I said. “Ms. Pang will think I’m a stalker from her high school days.”

“Right. Sorry. Let me think. When I was a kid, I let our pet hamster out to play. Then a friend dropped by, and I ran out to meet her, forgetting all about him. Mom found the cat stalking Billy, and my brother got blamed. I still feel guilty for never owning up. Father could be mean when he was angry, especially when he was in the #bag.”

“That’s good. How about some follow-up information?”

“Let’s see.” She paused again as my meal arrived.

When the steward was gone, she rattled off the information. “Someone once climbed through my window and broke the little crystal swan my mother gave me. Who it was is a mystery, but I kept it to myself. I didn’t want my parents to know I could shin down the oak at night; the first time I got drunk was in Germany, when I was an exchange student—on cheap schnapps; Miss McGuire never knew who let the #air out of her tires; my mother gave me a stuffed bear, it’s still on my bed; my favorite film was Morocco. Marlene Dietrich in white tie and top hat was as racy as they come.”

“That should do, and you can stand behind me, feeding information if I need it.”

“Morocco,” I thought. “She at least has good taste. Marlene’s scene in the club was indeed hot.”

Note: From the next chapter: "I was possibly a professor or librarian."