Chapter One
“Mr. Hawthorne?”
“Yes?”
“Five minutes until show time. It’s time we went to the set now. Are you ready?”
“Oh, yes, yes,” Rodger said, taking one last swipe at his glistening forehead. “Lead the way.”
Rodger was led down a long, dark corridor. He spotted Mike Powers, the host of Unusual Propositions, sitting in a dark red, velvet chair onstage while stagehands adjusted his make-up and positioned his microphone. Spying Rodger standing there and looking hopelessly lost, he rose and bounded over to him.
“Good morning, Mr. Hawthorne!” he said, heartily shaking his hand. “I see you made it to the Big Apple, safe and sound. My, your hands are as cold as ice!”
“How are you, Mr. Powers?” asked Rodger, clearing the knot that was forming in the pit of his throat.
“I’m just great. Been fighting a little cold, nothing serious. Are you ready?”
“I hope so. I’m just a little nervous.”
“That’s certainly understandable. Nothing to worry about. We’ve got cue-cards all lined up in case you forget anything. Just relax. Be yourself and everything will be just fine.”
That’s easy for you to say, Rodger sighed.
“Mr. Powers! Mr. Powers! We’re ready to rock and roll!” the director yelled.
“Okay, be right there! Look, Mr. Hawthorne, may I call you Rodger?”
“Oh, yes, of course, everyone else does."
“Okay, Rodger, you stay back here and I’ll introduce you. You’ll come out and take your seat beside me. I’ll ask you a few questions; nothing to it.”
Rodger meekly smiled and steadied himself. This was to be the first time he'd ever put himself out on the line like this, but he knew it was something he had to do. Besides, it was too late to back out now.
Mike walked back to the set, sat down in his chair and waited for the cue.
“Three…two…one…you’re on!”
“Good morning, everyone and welcome to Unusual Propositions. I am, of course, Mike Powers, and we have some VERY unusual propositions for you today. Our topic today concerns the paranormal. We have a great lineup of guests here to talk to us about a new field in the metaphysical--the spiritual/paranormal.
"You will remember one of the guests here today as the world-renowned psychic we’ve all come to know and love, Robert Rigby! He is here and will be talking about clinical hypnoanalysis, hypnosis counseling, self-hypnosis, and meditation classes that he will be offering in our area in the next few months.
"We also have the coordinator of ever-popular PsychicFest, which will be held this year in Knoxville, Tennessee. His name is Charles Duncan, and he is the best-selling author of Who Let the Spirits Out, a fantastic spiritual/paranormal book that is topping the New York Times Best Seller list. I’ve read the book and I must say, it should be on everyone’s Christmas list this year. He is accompanied by Dr. John Trent, vice-president of the Mid-Michigan Paranormal Society. The story he has to tell fits in VERY nicely with tonight’s paranormal theme.
"I also have a gentleman from Hickory Heights, North Carolina, by the name of Rodger Hawthorne. He comes to us today with a most unusual proposition, but I’ll let him fill you in on that. You won’t want to miss it! But, before we do that, here is a word or two from our sponsors. We’ll be right back!”
Rodger eyed the other three guests with complete distaste.
Hmph. It looks like a damn three-ring circus. What do they know about the afterlife?
Catching the eye of the man on his left, he half-smiled out of courtesy.
“How do you do,” the man said, offering his hand, “I’m Robert Rigby.”
“Uh...yeah,” Rodger blurted, “nice to meet you.”
“First time?” Robert smiled.
Rodger nodded.
“It gets easier the more you do it. Just remember to go in love and light.”
Rodger turned away from the man, hoping to distance himself as much as possible. These are all crack-pots, he mumbled under his breath.
“Okay, is everyone ready?” shouted the stagehand. “Two…one…we’re on!”
“Welcome back, everyone! My first guest is Rodger Hawthorne, a gentleman from Hickory Heights, North Carolina. Many know him as the owner of the Hawthorne Tobacco Empire. Come on out, Rodger!”
Applause rang out as Rodger stepped onto the stage and sat in his appointed chair beside Mike. His face was white as a sheet as he peered at the clapping audience.
“Nice to have you here, Mr. Hawthorne.”
“A pleasure to be here, Mike.”
“Mr. Hawthorne, it seems you have quite an unusual proposition for us today. Can you tell us why you are here and what your unusual proposition is?”
“I’d be glad to,” said Rodger, clearing his throat. “I am here to offer one million dollars to anyone who can prove the existence of a ghost.”
Mike laughed. “One million dollars?”
“Yes,” said Rodger. “You heard right. One million dollars.”
“Mr. Hawthorne,” Mike continued, “that’s a hefty sum. Why would you want to pay such a huge amount for the existence of a ghost?”
“Let’s just say I want to get to the bottom of the spiritual existence debate. The question is--do ghosts exist or not? I’m hoping that in order to settle this issue once and for all, I need to pull out all the punches.”
“And what a mighty big punch you have! Wow, one million dollars!”
“Mike, I’ve heard that spirits exist, but has anyone actually proved it?”
“I’m sure that they’ve tried. Have you tried asking a medium to do this for you? I’m sure it would be a lot cheaper.”
“Mike, I’ve tried everything from psychics to every kind of ghost hunter imaginable. I have not seen one iota of proof that they exist. They can use all those fancy thingamabobs and say they have proof, but that isn’t enough for me.”
“So what kind of proof are you looking for?”
“I want to see one,” Rodger continued. “I want them to bring me a ghost, and to have the ghost actually standing in front of me. I want it to talk to me. Until then, you have no merit in my book.”
“Well, there you have it, folks,” said Mike, “Mr. Hawthorne wants a real, live ghost. Can you do that for him?”
Applause.
“So, Mr. Hawthorne, how would you like these ghost hunters to get in contact with you?”
“I have an email box on the Internet all set up,” Rodger replied. “Email me at spirits@milliondollarghost.com. I will carefully evaluate your letter, and if it sounds like your credentials are legit and professional, I will invite you to my home in Hickory Heights for a one-week stay in the glorious Blue Ridge Mountains. You will have free room and board during that duration, and at the end of those seven days, I expect you to show me your proof. If you don’t succeed, you’ll return home. If you do, I will hand you a check for one million dollars.”
“Okay, everyone,” shouted Mike. “One million dollars! If you are interested, we will show his email address one more time at the end of the show. Spirits, watch out...and we’ll be right back to hear from someone who insists that he talks to his departed wife through self-hypnosis. It’s what she tells him that you won’t want to miss! But first, a word from our sponsor.”
“You’re off!” yelled the stagehand.
Rodger wiped the sweat from his brow and climbed down from the stage, passing Robert Rigby on his way out.
“If you only knew,” Robert grinned, shaking his head, as he watched Rodger bounding towards the exit.
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