V. The Ghost of Benevolent Bliss

Emerging from the narrow doorway of his garroted apartment, an egress non-descript and disguised between the Mad Haberdasher and Gargoyle and Gin; it was as if Prim had just appeared out of nowhere unnoticed by the Sunday mourning pedestrians. At precisely eleven o'clock, the elucidator of the eerie entered the coffee house and seated himself at the chessboard inlaid table blissfully untroubled by anything that was not his business. High-heels click-click-clacked and set down his special blend of coffee then jitterbug shuffled away. There were no vampyres from the Chicago thrall to be found at this hour of the morning, so one of the nearby un-intelligencia gladly took the opposite seat, and he immediately began to drone on and on about a literary conundrum that because of dubious hearsay the dramatist Faust may have actually written many of his plays as Shakespeare. After listening patiently for hours, Prim gave his usual reply, "One must never confuse the reality of an author's lifestyle with the otherworldly fictions of their pen." Much to the astonishment of his opponent, on the last game of the series, the elucidator of the eerie's chess piece floated across the board without movement of his own hand. "Checkmate!" He gave a wry smile. The coffee house bell sounded and a compatriot entered exactly at two having denied herself a Saturday night out, rising early and dressing to the nines of high Goth because of their shared love of live piano music.They left together and proudly claimed the sidewalk. The nearby hooka lounge was closed; yet shadowy denizens from the night before still ambled inside behind the obscure, smoky windows. He stopped in for a fine cigar at the nearby tobacconist while Fantastication smoked a cigarette outside. Ascending the wide steps, they waited mere minutes at the Belmont Avenue el platform before boarding for the Loop. They arrived right on time for the three o' clock performance at the Chicago Symphony. It had been a memorable and fine performance. During Moonlight Sonata, the final piece of the afternoon, a counterpoint waltz of Three o' clock in the Morning began sounding simultaneously on the piano strings. The pianist continued to play along with the Jazz Age million seller through the conclusion of the scores. October was a highly active portal of paranormal activity. For all everyone else knew, symphony hall had been entirely ghost less. For those attuned to the ways of the wise, their Sunday's were always special.