Haunted Boston

The paint was a dull, matte red, nearly the same color as the bricks that formed a low wall around the Steigler property. That was the whole idea. If anyone noticed the graffiti, they would have it removed, and this little bit of labor would be for naught. Ruby had discovered that the tree limbs over the back of the property were low enough to throw the brick wall into shadow. No one frequented the northeast corner. If they had, they might have noticed the foundation of the wall crumbling into the alley and had it repaired.

She crouched and connected lines and circles with her thin paintbrush, taking time to keep the tip sharp so that her lines didn’t blur on a sickle shape. If done correctly, her piece would serve as a honing beacon, not for Bostonian art lovers but a certain spiritual patron. And what would he see, were he to light upon this world and have a look around?

Amelia Steigler’s bedroom, just up and to the left.

Amelia Steigler: Socialite, Facebook Activist, Berklee Undergraduate, Natural Blonde.

Ruby stood up and surveyed her progress. The cold, morning air lifted her hair into a writhing crown of curls. Her eyes were curiously bright. “Close enough for government work,” she said, popping the top onto her small paint can. She blew a kiss at the wet paint and left the alley in search of a cup of hot coffee.

“Next time, leave a tip. Bitch.”