Bag of Bones

by Stephen King

“You funny little man, said Strickland,” I told the empty room. It came out before I knew I was going to say anything, and when it did, the channel on the TV changed. It went from baseball to a rerun of All in the Family and then to Ren & Stimpy. I glanced down at the remote control. It was still on the coffee-table where I’d left it. The TV channel changed again, and this time I was looking at Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman. There was an airplane in the background, and I didn’t need to pick up the remote and turn on the sound to know that Humphrey was telling Ingrid that she was getting on that plane. My wife’s all-time favorite movie. She bawled at the end without fail. “Jo?” I asked. “Are you here?” Bunter’s bell rang once. Very faintly. There had been several presences in the house, I was sure of it . . . but tonight, for the first time, I was positive it was Jo who was with me. “Who was he, hon?” I asked. “The guy at the softball field, who was he?” Bunter’s bell hung still and quiet. She was in the room, though. I sensed her, something like a held breath.