Nightglow Window

Chief Runamucka

Back in 1990, when I had to work late at BodyBoarding Magazine, I used to hear sounds when the office was empty. Since I cut a heroic form, all steely gaze and stout heart, those noises never bothered me. Nope, not me.

It's just that I knew the building was perched on top of a old Indian burial ground or, at least, could have been when you think about it. Maybe.

Anyway, I just knew these bumps and moans and creaks were from Chief Runamucka, long dead Indian spirit who haunted stressed editors. I pictured him sitting on top of a desk behind me, all crimson stare. He was a quick one, though, and would slide out of view whenever I looked.

Which wasn't all that often, really, since the noises never bothered me or freaked me out, being that I'm not afraid of anything.

Most of the time.

It's been a number of years since the Chief showed up, but today he paid me a visit.

I get to TeeDub at about 9:00 a.m. and the office is empty except for the receptionist in the front building, looking sour that she has to sit in a lonely, ghost-addled building all day staring at a bank of telephones that would never ring.

I drift back through all the empty offices, out through the breezeway between buildings, grab a cup of Flavia Coffee (Hazelnut this morning) and sit myself down in the very quiet, very lonely back building.

I answer e-mail and I'm finished listening to my messages when the silence creeps in. I can hear it clearly. Or rather, I can hear nothing at all and that nothingness is palpable. I turn on some music, but am distracted. I buck up and return to the silence and work.

That's when the chief makes his appearance.

Strange that he tracked me down, so far away and so long since our last encounter. I weather his stare for an hour before Cullen arrives. I'm (not so secretly) relieved by his company. We work steadily in the empty offices for a few more hours, Cullen, the chief, and I.

Then, quietly as I can, I slip out the back door and leave Cullen alone with my old friend.


Day after Christmas sunrise.