Drt by Eric Thomas

that?”
    “He stopped.”
    “He stopped what?”
    “Trying to kill me.”
    “Did he say what he wanted you to do?”
    “He just said ‘Seven Days’.”
    “Like The Ring?”
    “The what?”
    “The movie, with the girl in the well.”
    “…”
    “Never mind. So you have to figure out what the ghost wants in seven days?”
    “I guess.”  
    “…Greg, I am going to be honest with you.”  
    “Okay.”
    “You have some pretty severe problems. You are going through what clearly seems to be a reaction to some kind of trauma. Whether or not this ghost is real is irrelevant. I mean, it isn’t real but it still serves a purpose.”  
    “What purpose?”  
    “Well, the ghost said that it wants you to do something, right?”  
    “Yes.”  
    “In my opinion, you should do it.”
    “But the ghost said I had only a week to do it.”  
    “Then I guess you better get to work, Greg.”
    “So you don’t think I am crazy?”
    “…”
    “Sylvia?”
    “I think that you should do what the ghost has asked you to do. It seems important.”  
    “I really don’t know where to start. I’m…scared.”  
    “It’s okay that you’re scared. Let’s just deal with what we have here. I think you should do whatever helps you cope right now. If learning things about that driver is going to soothe your anxiety, I say go for it. Go pick up a newspaper and read about him.”
    “That was a couple of days ago.”
    “Maybe they have an obituary. Maybe there are funeral arrangements. Look online. I don’t know, look for something. You’re a reporter.”  
    “I do traffic and before that it was just sports.”  
    “You had to ask people questions in that job, too. I have a lot of faith in you. I think that your life will be a lot different once you find what you are looking for.”  
    “Thanks.”
    “If you need any help in this, please feel free to call. I want you to know I support you.”  
    We said our goodbyes and hung up.  
    I saved her number in my phone with a feeling somewhat like relief. Then I picked up the rip of scrap paper with her blue ink number on it and held it for a moment. I grabbed my wallet and stuffed it inside. In case I need a backup, I thought.  
    It was a start. There was a one-stop grocery and liquor store down on 55 that might work. It might be the kind of place that has old newspapers, worth a try at least.  
    I drove down to the store, it was a gray building with windows trimmed in darker gray. The door was smeared glass, with several “Legalize It” stickers at various heights. I pushed the door and it opened with the predictable sound of a small bell.  
    The store wasn’t big, just a bunch of aisles lined with groceries in the middle of the room, surrounded by coolers filled with beer and other cold drinks. There were logoed mirrors that covered almost every inch of the walls above the coolers, advertising beer or even more versions of “Legalize It.”
    The clerk stood behind the counter, staring at a TV that had to be thirty years old. He was partially obscured by a tall rack of colorful merchandise. Tiny red and blue bottles were stacked high on the counter next to several small shiny pouches and jars filled with powder, all of them emblazoned with varied spellings of “Detox” and “Cleanse.”
    The clerk had thick black hair and a beard. He was focused on the TV to the point where I wasn’t sure he heard me come in.
    “Excuse me, I’m wondering if you have-“
    The clerk extended his index finger and pushed it against my lips. “Shhh,” he said.   I couldn’t figure what was on TV but it looked like old news footage narrated by the guy that played the country bartender on Cheers. The clerk stared at the TV, looking like he was just taking in the information yet he mouthed the words along with the narrator.
    “Do you have any newspapers from-”
    “Shhh, listen, it’s the truth,” he said, motioning at the TV. He hadn’t looked at me yet.  
    I stood