I used to be a gambler. Then I moved to Vegas. This town eats gamblers and spits out the bones. You see them in the streets, shadows of humanity.
Most people don’t pay attention to what’s around them; they can’t see the ghosts. I’m not talking about the homeless, though there are countless homeless huddling in doorways. I’m talking real ghosts. And real Things. There’s no other word to describe them.
They’re not human. They prey on humans. I’m cursed. I can see them. So can a few others I’ve met along the way. We call ourselves the Vegas Fools Club. Membership is easy. All you have to do is be crazy.
Who I am is not important, but you can call me Jo. I’m the First of Fools. I lost a fortune at the tables, made a fortune back, then lost most of it again. Now I stick to video poker when I feel the itch. I’m not hurting for money, but gambling has lost its shine. Now I do guided walking tours through Sin City for those with a taste for obscure history.
I first met a true ghost while out and about explaining the rise of the Mob here in the big V to a group of tourists from Florida. A classic woman in white, she stood in the shadow of the old El Cortez Casino for a moment before fading away.
I did some research and found a lady of the evening who crossed paths with the wrong person and ended up dead. I don’t know if it’s her. I see her occasionally, but she hasn’t hung around long enough for me to ask questions. I’ll get her story eventually – the reports were sketchy – and keep you posted.
Meanwhile, I’ve got the itch again. You know what they say, A Fool and her money are soon parted.
Copyright ©️ 2023 by Mercedes Delacruz
MercyJ Writes 