by Mac Flynn
A slow smile spread across his face. "No, I suppose it wasn't."
I leaned away from Frank and frowned. I couldn't quite explain it, but the look in his eyes was a little creepy. Kind of like when you looked at an old clown doll and wondered whether it would give you nightmares that night or the next.
Frank broke eye contact and pushed the empty pie plate towards me.
"Well, I guess I'll be going. My truck isn't going to drive that highway on its own," he commented.
"Unless a ghost helps you," I teased.
He smiled and tossed down some cash. There was always change, and I always got to keep it. "It'd be nice to have the company, but see you later, Misty."
"Later, Frank," I returned.
He walked out, and I grabbed the cash. Something fell from the folds and clattered onto the counter. I picked it up and saw it was a silver chain with a flower emblem attached to it.
"Frank!" I yelled, but his shadow moved away from the door towards the line of trucks. I rushed around the counter and out the doors. "Frank!"
A semi pulled out and steamed down the road away from the diner. My shoulders slumped and I sighed.
"Perfect. . ." I muttered.
I walked back inside and looked over the crowd. "Anybody know where Frank lives or his phone number?" Everyone shook their heads. "Even better. . ." I mumbled.
Now I would be babysitting a necklace and a soul box, but at least this was easier to carry. I placed the necklace around my neck and walked into the women's bathroom. I needed to use it, but not because I'd eaten some of Ralph's food. What Frank said about Ned made a believer out of me. I got out my phone and pressed the number on speed-dial.
"Yes?" Roland answered.
"We might have a problem with an urban myth besides yourself," I told him.
"Which one?" he asked me.
"The kind that's deader than you," I explained. "Ned came in here whiter than you and said he saw a ghostly woman near the highway along Vine Road."
"Vine Road?" he repeated.
"Yeah, why? You been tangled in it?" I wondered.
"That's a half mile from the house in which you found me," he revealed.
"You think Derdrom's decided to play dress-up and hitchhike back to town?" I guessed.
"I doubt such has happened, but we shall see," he replied.
I sighed and rolled my eyes to the ceiling. "I get off at three."
"I will be waiting for you," he assured me. Click.
I pulled the phone away from me and looked at the blank screen. "I really need to stop telling him this stuff so fast."
CHAPTER 2
My shift ended a few hours later and I walked out to the back parking lot. A dark shadow sat atop my car and stared up at the waning moon. It was a week since our run in with the woolly devil, and Halloween was almost upon us. The night where kids ruled the neighborhoods bedecked in their frightening costumes of ancient monsters, horror villains, and Hello Kitty characters. Adults fled in terror before their cries of trick-or-treat fearing the time when their bowls would run empty and their houses would be egged as a lesson to eating half your candy supply yourself.
Scary times.
I walked up to the car and stared up at him.
"Isn't Romeo the one supposed who's to be down here?" I asked him.
Roland looked down at me and smiled. His eyes had a slight reddish hue to their depths. He was his own night light, and I envied him for that.
"That is how the play goes," he agreed as he hopped down to land beside me. "But speaking of such matters, I still owe you a dinner, or rather, you owe me a night so I can take you to dinner."
I shrugged. "I might get a day off before Thanksgiving."
"What about tomorrow night?" he suggested.
I snorted. "Halloween?"
"Does it not suit us?" he pointed out.
"Suits is what we'll need if we go out. Halloween suits," I told him. "All the restaurants in town open their doors to the ghouls and goblins to partake of mead and brain slurpies."
He raised an eyebrow. "I'm afraid I don't follow."
"The downtown is a Hallowpalooza of horror. The stores get all dressed up and the roads are shut off to cars so trick-or-treating kids don't become hood ornaments," I explained. "Anybody going out to dinner is required to be in costume or they get so many looks they look like sludge monsters before dessert."
"Then can we not attire ourselves?" he suggested.
I sighed and looked him over. "That's easy for you to say. You're dressed up year around."
A crooked grin slipped onto his lips. "Would you not like to go as my bride?"
I frowned and narrowed my eyes. "Only if I can get the white makeup off me after the dinner."
He bowed his head. "I wouldn't dream of turning you without your permission."
I snorted. "Like you got my permission to get inside my apartment?" I reminded him.
"That was merely a hero appropriating what he needed. Namely your apartment and your help," he insisted.
"You stole in under cover of confusion and appropriated my living room coffee table," I pointed out.
"Should we not be going? The hour is late and the trail might get cold," he commented.
"Believe me, following a dead person can't get any colder," I quipped.
"Nonetheless, the dinner date is set and we should be going," he insisted. He stepped around the car and unlocked the door.
"How'd you-" I reached into my purse and my fingers found the usual bottomless void, but with one tiny, insignificant detail missing. "You stole my keys!"
Roland smiled at me over the roof of my car. "A technique a hunchback once taught me, but are you coming?" He ducked down into the driver's seat.
I slid into the passenger and was handed the soul box. Roland backed out the car and got us down the road. I turned the box over in my hands and frowned.
"Is there any way we could get this thing into a smaller box?" I asked him. "Something compact or pocket-sized?"
"I'm unaware of any way to transfer my soul into a smaller container," he replied.
"Maybe we can put some stickers on the outside. Some unicorns and cute, fluffy animals. That might scare it out of the box," I suggested.
"I would prefer my soul keep its dignity," Roland pleaded.
I shrugged. "All right, but black and purple go pretty well together."
We drove down the highway and turned on Vine Road. The road was surrounded on both sides by bare cornfields that were stripped of their stalks like candy from a wounded pinata.
"Was Ned specific about where he saw the ghost?" Roland asked me.
I leaned forward and pointed at a black streak on the road. "I think Ned left some markers for us."
Roland parked the car and we walked over to the streak. It was a streak of six semi-truck tires that went from the left lane into the right. The black marks only lasted for twenty yards before the wheels burned rubber in one spot and took off down the road towards the highway.
"Either Ned forgot something and quickly remembered where he put it, or he got scared and then really scared," I quipped.
Roland knelt beside the tracks, and looked up and down the road. "What did the ghost do?"
I shrugged and tucked the soul box under one arm. "He just said she stood there in a white dress and stared at him."
"Stared how?"
"Like she was trying to figure out whether they went to school together and if he was a footballer player or a nerd," I replied.
"There was no other action than staring?" he persisted.
"It was a ghost, Roland," I reminded him. "I'm pretty sure just standing there is enough to catch someone's attention. They don't need to be playing the bagpipes while performing the tango."
He stood and pursed his lips. "Ghosts often have some other action than being seen. They wander from one location to the other, or they attempt to procure a ride from travelers. For the ghost to merely stand there is unusual."
"M
aybe she wanted to take a taxi," I suggested. "Anyway, I don't really see-what the?" My empty-road observation was interrupted by the sudden glow from beneath the lid of Roland's soul box. I held up the box and the glow brightened. "Your night light wants something," I told him.
Roland took the box from me and the light dimmed. He turned it over in his hands, and the glow rose and fell.
"How very curious," he commented.
"You think it's going to become a fog machine?" I wondered.
He shook his head. "There doesn't appear to be any indication of self-defense on its part."
"So that's a 'no?'"
"Correct."
I held out my hands. "Then lemme see it. I speak a little box and I think I know what it wants.
Roland handed it back and I held the box in my outstretched arms. I turned in a slow circle, and the glow dimmed and grew depending on the direction. Roland's eyes widened.
"A compass!"
"I think it might prefer the name divining rod, but we'll go with that," I quipped.
I followed the increased glow and Roland followed me, and our strange little parade paraded down the road near the beginning to the tire streaks. I noticed something white along the graveled, weed-choked shoulder and the box led me to that spot. Roland and I surrounded the spot and looked down.
The weeds were shriveled and chilled over with a thick layer of white frost. A pair of small, shoe-covered feet stood in the center of the frost. The ground there was blackened like a barbecue after the chef drank too many beers.
Roland knelt in front of the ghastly grass and frowned.
"An unnatural stood here," he told me.
"So are we talking Jack Frost or a dead person?" I asked him.
He broke off a bit of grass and studied the blade. "Very much among the un-living," he assured me.
"Every time you say that I wish I could un-wet my pants," I quipped.
Roland stood and looked around. There was a fine collection of weeds, loose dirt and trash. It was like the pad of a college students, but cleaner.
"Whatever the entity, I don't sense its presence," he commented.
"The hairs on the back of my neck want to sell you a bridge," I returned. I held up his glowing soul box. "And I don't think your conscience is glowing because it heard about a two-for-one sale."
"Perhaps the hour is too late to see the spectral," he suggested. "We can return late tomorrow night."
"Because what better way to spend my time after work than trying to scare the soul out of my shoes. . ." I muttered.
We slipped back into the car and drove down the road. The box on my lap dimmed until the light completely vanished.
"What time did you wish for the dinner?" Roland spoke up.
"You're still going to treat me, aren't you?" I returned. He smiled and nodded. A mischievous grin slipped onto my face. "What about noon tomorrow?"
"That would hardly qualify as a dinner," he pointed out.
I sighed and slid down in my seat. "I guess that means brunch on the veranda is out of the question."
"Very, but for dinner I was thinking of five. Your shift starts at six, so that would leave us plenty of time to relax and talk," he explained.
"Dining over soup and talking about spooks?" I quipped. Roland's shoulders slumped just a little and his smile faltered. I sighed and glanced down at the soul box in my hands. "So what place were you thinking about going to?"
Roland brightened. "Any location you wished to eat."
I grinned. "So even Casa Royo?" I suggested.
"Expense is no matter to an immortal," he pointed out.
I looked him over. His clothes were simple and a little dirty, and I'd never seen him give anybody his two cents, much less money enough for a meal.
"You're not going to hypnotize them into giving us a free meal without washing dishes, are you?" I asked him.
Roland dug into his large coat and pulled out a black wallet. I had to admit this guy could accessorize. He opened the top of the wallet and revealed a lot of Jacksons and Grants, two of my favorite presidents.
"Does that quell your concerns?" he wondered.
"Yeah, but not my curiosity. Do those presidents have a lot of vices somewhere else I can meet?" I returned.
He smiled and pocketed his wallet. "A very great many, but where does your tastes lie?"
"South of the border," I told him.
He raised an eyebrow. "Pardon?"
"Mexican," I explained.
Roland frowned. "Wouldn't you rather go to a more fashionable establishment?"
I gestured down to my uniform. "I work at a diner. A drive-thru with seating is upper-class. Mexican will be fine, and a change in pace. They probably use a different lard than Ralph's."
He smiled and bowed his head. "Then Mexican it is."
I leaned back and looked him over. "Can you even taste food? And I'm not talking about the usual vampire kind that walks down the sidewalk."
"Food has flavor, but it doesn't feed my appetite," he explained.
"So you could eat it until you burst?" I guessed.
"In theory, yes," he concurred.
"Well, don't go eating too many chilies at the restaurant. I don't want to be peeling vampire off the walls because you not-so-spontaneously combusted," I warned him.
CHAPTER 3
I went out later that morning, and came back with a large plastic bag in my hands. That was tucked into my bedroom away from prying vampire eyes. I don't know why I bothered hiding it during the day. I could have stuffed it into his coffin and he wouldn't have noticed. Hell, I could've stuffed it into his mouth and he wouldn't have noticed. But human habits are hard to kill, and I went back to sleep with the bag stuffed under my bed.
My alarm went off. It was time.
I jumped out of bed and dragged the plastic bag out from beneath its depths. The clothes inside the bag were a little wrinkled, but a little blemish on the sisterhood wasn't going to send me into eternal damnation. Maybe I'd have to do some Hail Marys and drink wine for a few hours, but I could live with that. If I remembered any of it.
The sun was just setting when I donned the last of my outfit. The neck and hood were the worst to put on, and I had to tuck Frank's necklace inside so I didn't ruin my consistent theme. I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror and grinned. Roland was going to love this. Maybe he'd even have a heart attack that would jump-start his heart and—
What was that?
My eyes caught on something at the corner of the mirror. It was the reflection of the tub and shower, but something was wrong with the curtain. There was someone behind it. I could see half their pale face behind the curtain. I grabbed the bar of soap and spun around.
"Come out or I'm going to clean your clock!" I threatened at the intruder.
I found-nothing. No one was there. I stepped forward and pulled aside the curtain. The tub was empty of everything but bits of hair and dust. I dropped the curtain and ran my hand through my hair. The hand that held the soap. I dropped the soap and ran a cloth through my hair. Maybe I'd seen nothing, but I couldn't help but believe I'd seen something.
I stepped out and stood by his coffin waiting for the moment when the dead would rise and get the shock of his un-life.
My wait was short. The sun set and fingers emerged from beneath the lid. The top opened and Roland sat up. He turned to me and blinked. That little blink may have been small, but coming from him it was worth a thousand times more money than I spent on the costume. He looked me over and raised an eyebrow.
"A nun?" he guessed.
I was indeed dressed in a full nun's outfit, complete with white hood and cross around my neck on a slip of string. My feet were invisible beneath the cloak and hid the only non-nunning part of my costume, my tennis shoes.
I shrugged. "I figure if we're going out on the town I could point to you and tell people I'm exercising my demon."
Roland stood and stepped out of his coffin to the side, careful to avoid me. His eye
s were on my chest and he frowned. He nodded at the cross. "Is that necessary?"
I fingered the little trinket. "I can't exactly wear a Star of David. Besides, it's only rubber. You wanna feel?"
I held it out to him and was surprised when he took a hasty step back.
"The power of the cross lies in the wielder, and not in the makeup of the cross," he reminded me.
"Then you're safe there because I'm a practicing agnostic, but speaking of makeup, maybe you need a little dab here and there on the cheeks," I suggested. I stepped up to him and studied his face. "And maybe some red lipstick on your lips so the effect isn't so real."
"I would rather immerse myself in a church," he returned.
I raised an eyebrow. "Is that a bad thing?"
"As a creature of the devil I cannot enter holy areas," he explained.
"So what about cemeteries?" I wondered.
"Those are less hallowed, but it does depend on who is interred there," he told me.
"So don't go into a saint's graveyard, but one full of politicians is fine?" I guessed.
"More or less," he agreed.
"Well, we'll be sure to avoid that. So what say we get the dinner over before I'm late for work?" I suggested.
He smiled and bowed his head. "I'm prepared."
"Good. Let me get some water and-" I turned to the kitchen and paused. "Um, Roland?"
"Yes?"
"Is your soul box glowing?"
"No."
I pointed at the kitchen. "Then what's doing that?"
Roland stepped up to me and stared at what I pointed at. Just even with the kitchen counter and behind it floated a single bread knife. The spirited serrated blade hovered in front of its open drawer where all my cutlery was contained. More knives floated from the drawer and joined its bread brethren to hover a foot short of the counter closest to where we stood. Other drawers opened, and soon the kitchen was full of floating utensils, dish towels, and an egg beater.
Roland passed his soul box to me. "It seems we have a have a visitor," he commented.
"The invisible man?" I guessed.
The answer came when a mist slithered out of the floating kitchen items and twisted together in long strands three feet off the floor. The mist formed a figure of a tall, slim woman. She had long, pale hair and skin, and wore a white dress with a filthy apron over the front. She was also the person from the mirror.
Her eyes were a little red-colored as they looked between Roland and me, and there was a poutiness to her lips that reminded me of a child who'd had their favorite toy taken away after knocking over mom's favorite lamp with it.
