The Best Day of Your Life
by David Whippman
Holroyd cursed as his car bumped along the dirt track. Trust that guy Meadows to pick a place like this for a meeting: miles from anywhere, seeming all the more remote in the moonlight. But the house itself, when it came into view, was something of an anti-climax. He’d half-expected a gothic, crumbling mansion, but this was a poky little cottage, obviously derelict. The front door was missing; he stepped through into the hallway, where Meadows was waiting.
“Mr. Holroyd, thanks for coming. I brought this cell lamp; the electricity here was cut off ages ago, I suppose.”
Holroyd grinned rather nastily. “Shouldn’t it be flickering candles? More creepy.” He paused and observed the dank, forlorn-looking walls. “Come on then, Meadows, give it your best shot! This house is haunted, right? You sense ‘unquiet spirits’? It had better be good, now that you’ve dragged me all the way out here.”
“You were at liberty to refuse my invitation,” Meadows pointed out.
Holroyd laughed. “And have everyone think I was afraid? That would be professional suicide for me, and you know it.”
Meadows nodded. “True, you’ve made your reputation as a disbeliever of all things supernatural.”
Holroyd laughed. “And I proved myself in our TV showdown! You, America’s best-known ‘psychic medium’ against me, the debunker of every clairvoyant, tarot reader and crystal-ball gazer in the country. And I won hands down! I wiped the floor with you and your ridiculous claims. Seeing you squirm was the best day of my life!
“If you brought me here expecting an apology, Meadows, you’ll be disappointed. In fact, count yourself lucky. I wasn’t even in top form that night. The day before, I was in a road crash. My car was a write-off, but I walked away without a scratch, just a bit shaken up. I suppose an idiot like you would say I had a guardian angel or some such crap.”
Meadows slowly shook his head. “If only that were true.”
Holroyd was getting impatient. “Well, whatever you’re planning, bring it on! You want to see me scared, right? Your idea of revenge for the way I demolished you on prime-time TV. But I warn you, I’m younger than you and twice your size. If you’re planning any rough stuff, do yourself a favour and forget it.”
Meadows held up his hands placatingly. “Nothing like that, I assure you. And the last thing I want is to scare you.”
“OK, you’re not as dumb as I thought. Then I’ll bid you goodnight. I’ve wasted enough time on you. Matter of fact, I’ve got someone waiting for me back in town. You remember Sharon Alderton, the host of our TV debate? We got talking after the show, one thing led to another, and now we’re an item. If it’s any consolation to you for having your trickery exposed in front of the nation, you’ve made me late for a very hot date!” Holroyd walked to the front doorway, then looked puzzled. “Where’s my car?”
“You didn’t come here by car, Mr Holroyd.” Meadows hesitated, then pointed to a newspaper on a rickety table. “That was printed on the day scheduled for our debate. Please read the front page.”
Holroyd sneered, but did as he was asked. “What the hell... ‘Paul Holroyd, dubbed the scourge of spiritualists, was killed yesterday when his car spun out of control...’ This is rubbish, some kind of trick. You must have had this specially printed.”
Meadows said gently, “Just accept what’s happened. I was sent here to help you... adjust. There was indeed no guardian angel. Or any TV debate. You were dead by then. I’m afraid that accident did a lot more than shake you up.”
“It's impossible!” Holroyd tried to shout, but his voice and his image were fading. “I remember arguing with you, making out with Sharon, and the days since...”
“False memories,” Meadows explained . “Have you never heard of people who lose a limb, then complain of pain or itching in the very same limb? The soul sometimes does the same after the body dies, experiencing what it expects to be there. I hope you won’t have a long stay here; it’s a gloomy place. But it’s not for me to decide. I’m truly sorry, Holroyd. The best day of your life never really happened at all. By the way, I didn’t claim this house was haunted, though it is now.”
“But I can’t be dead! You can see me and talk to me...”
“I can indeed. But then, Mr. Holroyd, though you never believed it, I really do have a gift for such things.”
Copyright © 2019 by David Whippman
