The Ghost Trap

Tom Blasius had lived an accidental life of intrigue. A romantic at heart, he had married his high school sweetheart. But his youthful ambitions and proclivity for getting ahead quickly set him on a sketchy path. By high school graduation he had landed a lucrative job running meat for Chicago thugs. It wasn’t pretty, but it provided everything from fascinating mafioso characters to crazy capers, and fast under-the-table cash.

Then, at twenty-five years old, after five years of marriage to the love of his life, Joanne, everything changed, literally overnight. His wife had disappeared off the face of the earth. As the husband, he was automatically Person of Interest Number One. It happened a week before Christmas when Joanne had gone shopping for a few things. Everything was done, just some fresh cranberries and other finishing touches remained for the holiday trimmings.

By midnight, Tom was frantic, his wife had never been out so late especially without calling. Days turned into weeks. He had been questioned by Chicago PD Homicide Division ad nauseum, but the trail ran cold.

For most Chicagoans, Spring sunshine brought happiness. Instead, for Tom, it brought the worst news possible. At the first thaw, a neighbor went fishing on the local lake, only to make a gruesome discovery. The surreal image of a car beneath the crystal-clear waters at the bottom.

Further investigation determined that Joanne had succumbed to a simple lack of infrastructure. Not unlike Senator Ted Kennedy’s tragic Chappaquiddick car accident leading to his botched criminal cover-up of the death of young campaign strategist, the lack of a guard rail on a winding road next to a dangerous embankment took yet another life. In Joanne’s case, she was driving home in the dark, slid on black ice, plunged into the lake, a sudden heavy blanket of snow covering her tracks, sealing her watery grave. 

Tom took bitter solace in his exoneration. He was more relieved that it wasn’t his irrational suspicion that the pig-slaughtering Chicago mob had targeted his wife. Paranoia is the price one pays for easy dirty money. After the air cleared, having dodged the proverbial bullet, he took the entire incident as a personal wake-up call and reinvented himself.

He always knew he was smart. Beyond smart. He was in fact a genius. In less than two years he earned a degree in business management specializing in ISO-9000 compliance, and shortly thereafter earned his Sixth Sigma credentials, transforming himself into a legitimate high level corporate asset.

Tom accepted the first offer he received from Neutrogena, based in sunny southern California. It was as though all the pieces of his life had fallen into place. Even the horrors of losing his beloved wife all made sense somehow. Working for a company that prided itself in crafting natural beauty products that helped so many, he knew Joanne would have been proud of him. Turning over a new leaf turned into a 20-years-to-life job.

Tom took a small apartment in walking distance of one of the most beautiful beaches he could ever imagine. Growing up in the arctic tundra of Chicago where wind chills were deadly, it was a dream come true. His work consisted of the constant assessment of every phase of the manufacturing supply chain.

After three months at his new job, he determined his most efficient work shift was nights. The advantages were manifold: personnel didn’t see him analyzing their activities during their day shifts, which he captured on surveillance cameras that he had strategically set up. They were free to work at their own pace and he was free to analyze video and determine any improvements in safety and efficiency, upgrade state-of-the-art equipment and practices, and retrain personnel.

On the eve of his twenty-year work anniversary, looking forward to receiving the company’s traditional years-of-service award, an engraved Rolex, during his night shift he noticed something strange. For the next two hours he re-watched the video, taking notes, trying to make sense of the anomaly. The conveyor belt sped up while the workers remained at the same speed. It was impossible.

“Heard any good ghost stories lately, Tom?” It was the night watchman, Abe.

Tom nodded no. “Got any new ghost jokes?” he asked, knowing the answer.

“What do you call an author who continues to work in the afterlife?” Tom shook his head. “A ghost writer.”

Tom chuckled appreciatively. Being a Sagittarius, he had never been prone to ghost or UFO sightings. That was for the water signs, like Pisces. Alas, no matter how hard he had focused, being a fire sign, he had never been able to summon his long-lost wife Joanne to him from the afterlife. That’s why he never feared the famously haunted Neutrogena headquarters.

For him, math was life, all mathematical phenomena from the Fibonacci Sequence to the Golden Section, mathematical elegance surpassed the greatest ontological theories.

But ghosts were beyond his comprehension. Neutrogena reportedly has a total of three ghosts. The original founder’s wife had been shot execution style along with his son. Staff and security officers working late nights frequently saw a woman in a white dress walking around, and a child playing in the factory, although children were strictly forbidden due to hazards. There had also been reports of a strange growl. Still, after 20 years working nights, Tom had never experienced the least paranormal activity.

The following late afternoon as he clocked in early for the years-of-service award celebration, which was more like cake and Prosecco, his boss Mike called him into his office. It was unusual. Tom was practically self-employed, completely autonomous, free from the corporate shackles that most employees endured working for The Man. It felt ominous.

He entered the office and Mike signaled for him to sit down. “There’s been a development. We’re not accusing you.” The words sent the familiar sense of dread to his stomach. “During the due-diligence phase of the Johnson and Johnson acquisition, auditors turned up some irregularities.”

“How can I help?” Tom asked, keeping his defensiveness under control.

“I know your past life is long behind you. But they found out that you used to work for less than legitimate businesses.”

“I was practically a teenager,” Tom replied. He recalled an enjoyable night of camaraderie drinking at the local favorite Shellback Tavern at Manhattan Beach Pier. “I told you about my past in confidence.”

“Yes, please, believe me this is not coming from me. You have been a game-changer for Neutrogena. But they have to pursue all leads.”

“What kind of evidence have they found?” Tom knew the terminology of investigations.

“The worst kind. Missing inventory. And lots of it.”

“Can you be more specific? Which products?”

“We have to keep that confidential for now, as a control. But you realize, it is the kind of thing you used to do in Chicago.

“Off-the-books stolen merchandise,” Tom said knowingly. “My old trade.”

“I never said a word about that to anyone, Tom,” Mike insisted. “They have ways of finding these things out.”

“Maybe the ghost told them,” Tom snarked. But he knew Mike was his friend.

Mike got up indicating the meeting was over. “Go about your work, business as usual. We’ll figure this out. I’ll let you know if we need your help.” He shook Tom’s hand. “Congratulations on your 20-year anniversary gift. You deserve it.”

The cake-and-cocktail hour was simple and friendly. Free food and drink were always relished by the whole team.

Abe made a signature ghost-themed toast. “Eat, drink, and be scary!”

Afterwards, Tom started his shift, anxious to get to work. Something just didn’t add up. First, the video of the strange conveyor belt activity, now the missing merchandise. He decided to take a more proactive approach and do his own investigating. He altered some of his surveillance cameras to night vision mode and set them from motion detection to always filming.

“What do you call a ghost chicken?” Tom looked up at Abe and waited for the reply. “Poultry-geist!” Tom had to laugh at that one. He looked down at his Rolex pensively. “What’s the matter? You look like you seen a ghost.”

Tom looked at Abe’s sparkling eyes. This was a man who had started working a month before him. The company had employee longevity because it was a great place to work, excellent pay and benefits, and all the free high-quality beauty and bath supplies anyone could ever need.

“What sign are you, Abe?” Tom asked.

“Pisces, thanks for asking.” It was clearly a subject that interested Abe. “You’re a Sagittarius if I recall correctly. You have a birthday coming up December 12^th?”

Tom just shook his head, not surprised. “That’s why you’re so good at your job, Abe. Always on top of things.” Tom suddenly had an idea.

“I recognize that look,” Abe said. “You’re up to something.”

“Abe, you know everything that goes on here. Plus, you’re a Pisces. That means you’ve most likely seen the ghosts.”

“You know I have. No one believes me but I have.”

“So, the ghosts don’t scare you?

Abe chuckled to himself, his eyes going to the memory of a bad place. “My friend, I hunted I.E.D.’s in Afghanistan,” the former Forward Observer said. “I ain’t afraid of no ghosts.”

“Not only do I believe you. I think you can help me. What’s the best way to catch a ghost?”

“You mean, like a mouse? Set out some bait and,” he slapped his hands together with a loud smack, “trap ‘em!”

“Exactly.”

“Can’t be done.”

“Okay, but what if you were to set a ghost trap, especially here. What would you use as bait?”

“That’s easy. The Number One Best Seller, Glycerin soap. Liquid, or bar, that stuff is literally gold. It’s considered the Holy Grail ingredient for treating skin.”

That hit a nerve with Tom. He remembered hearing similar words from the Chicago mob talking about pork meat. Everyone wants pork. Pork is a gold mine. The company he had worked for was aggressive, finding willing clientele for their deeply discounted supply, cash was king.

“We don’t need to bait the trap. The bait is already there. We’ll just move the cameras.” Tom spent his night shift shifting around cameras to catch a ghost.

The next day, Mike called Tom back into his office. “It looks like they tracked down the culprit and it’s not good news.” Tom braced himself for another round of defending himself against false accusations. “I’m afraid our old friend Abe has abetted in the theft. They checked the inventory records against his shift, and he was present during the theft.”

Tom was relieved he wasn’t Suspect Number One again. But Abe was the last person Tom expected to be accused. There was no way the man who served heroically in the United States Army risking his life to keep strangers safe and then settling into a job at a place that finally made him feel safe, ghosts notwithstanding. Having fallen victim to snowy magic tricks of Mother Nature in Chicago, Tom knew things were not always what they seem.

“Please just give me one more day to look into this, boss,” Tom pleaded.

Mike saw something in his eyes that gave him faith. “We already notified Abe.” He paused. “24 hours. I’ll get them to hold off on disciplinary actions one more day.”

Tom started his night shift, sitting down at his desk to check the video captured in night vision mode. In addition to the continued bizarre conveyor belt anomalies, he noticed more strange footage. Like those weird horror movies where ghosts or evil spirits move erratically, he observed Abe watching while thieves worked right under his nose moving inventory. But again, the activity around him was sped up, while Abe moved at normal speed. To the average observer, it might appear that Abe was allowing the theft to happen.

“That makes me look pretty bad,” Abe said, standing behind Tom watching knowingly. 

But none of it mattered. Tom saw what was really going on. “Things are not always what they seem, my friend.” He picked up the phone and called Mike. “Please meet me at the office tomorrow morning.”

The audit and management teams stood around Tom’s desk watching the footage. Disbelief turned to alarm. “What in God’s name is happening?” Mike asked. “Abe is just standing there.”

“Abe has no idea what’s going on around him. Here’s where I noticed the discrepancy.” Tom pointed to a spot on the screen. “There is a seam for lack of a better word, as though the edge of the video could be peeled back.”

“What is that?” Mike asked.

“It could be a jamming signal or some device causing an irregularity. Or it could be ectoplasm.”

“You’re joking, right?” the lead auditor said dryly.

“Sort of,” Tom replied. “To be honest I have no idea what it is. But let’s go find out, shall we?”

He led them to the inventory warehouse and as they approached, they found Abe making his usual security rounds.

“What’s up?” Abe asked, certain they were coming to take him away.

“Abe, you’re just the man I was looking for,” Tom said. “Question: have you felt any changes in the air, like cold or hot spots?”

“It’s funny you should ask. Recently I figured maybe they turned up the A/C.”

“Anywhere in particular?”

“Over here, in this area.” Abe walked to one side of the warehouse and waved his hand over a wall. “It’s weird because there are no windows, doors or vents. It’s an internal wall. It only happens at night too.”

Tom began feeling the wall for pressure points. Finally, he hit a spot that seemed to give. He pressed firmly and suddenly the entire section of the wall pivoted opening to an unknown area revealing hundreds of boxes of inventory.

“How the hell will we disclose this on the audit report?” the lead auditor asked.

“Maybe the ghost moved so wobbly because he was wearing an off-balance sheet,” Abe joked. 

END

In memory of our dear friend Tom Balazs.