Ghostgirl

by Tonya Hurley

  “ ‘Come into my parlor…,’ ” Miss Wacksel said as she pushed the heavy chestnut door open and ushered the couple inside. A cold wave of air instantly engulfed them, nearly taking their breath away.

  “That’s odd, it’s colder in here than it is outside,” Mrs. Martin observed.

  “We don’t keep the burner running until later in the season,” Wacksel advised, looking around for a cracked window or perhaps some other explainable source of the chill. “These old houses are drafty anyway. It’s part of their charm, dear. Nothing an extra blanket or cuddle can’t cure,” she said through a tight smile.

  The trio made their way through the foyer at the bottom of the steps on their way to the living room, and as they did, they slipped and slid around uncontrollably.

  “Wow, they don’t make wax like they used to,” Wacksel said, nervously trying to stabilize herself and the others.

  Once they were all under control and steady, they continued on to the living room and admired the high ceilings, brick fireplace, plaster walls, and original woodwork, which was still fairly well intact. The detail, color, and craftsmanship of the moldings, banister, and flooring were impressive.

  “They don’t make them like this anymore,” Mr. Martin said, secretly calculating how much profit he could make flipping the house in the current market.

  “They sure don’t.” Wacksel nodded in agreement, kicking away small, unnoticed piles of Suzy Scratcher’s sawdust building up in each corner.

  Just then, Mr. Martin thought he saw a piece of furniture move. It was so gradual that he wasn’t sure if his eyes were playing tricks on him or if the drab black needlepoint chair with pink rose pattern had actually moved. Before long, they all began to notice the room getting… smaller.

  Bud, who was positioned beneath the floorboards, had shifted one of the support beams, causing the house to tilt ever so slightly. As the furniture crept closer to them, they couldn’t deny there was something supernatural going on in the house, but Miss Wacksel laughed it off.

  “What do the Orientals call that?” she asked, showing just how politically incorrect she was. “Phuk Me… Feng Shui… or something?!” she said as she hurried the suspicious couple into the upstairs bathroom.

  The only thing any of them could see in the bathroom was the shower curtain, which was fully drawn over the claw-foot porcelain tub. By now, their imaginations carried them almost totally away as they fixated on what might lurk behind the curtain. Prue was starting to get a little worried, because they should have been scared off by now, and the kids really had no alternate plan. She hadn’t counted on the depth of Wacksel’s, or the couple’s, greed. She signaled Mike, Jerry, and Bud, who were on bathroom detail, to do their thing.

  Wacksel walked over to the curtain slowly, deliberately, as if on eggshells, holding her breath, and grabbed the curtain, flinging it open. There was nothing there. The couple slowly leaned in for a look with trepidation. Suddenly, a disgusting brown sludge blasted up out of the tub drain, drenching the couple in smelly goo from head to toe.

  Mike, Jerry, and Bud had rigged their “pipes” to the plumbing and began blowing sewage back up the drainpipes into the bathroom, creating a deathly stench.

  Miss Wacksel whisked the Martins into the kitchen to get cleaned up, fearing that this would definitely be the deal breaker.

  “You said you wanted a fixer-upper,” Mr. Martin said, trying to remain optimistic and make his wife feel better about having crap all over her face, hair, and clothes.

  Wacksel took a long, deep breath, grateful for the husband’s lifesaving comment. As they wiped off, the couple couldn’t help but admire the artisan cabinetry. The husband opened a cabinet door, and a blinding swarm of testy bugs flew out into the room. Rotting Rita was spewing them from every orifice, including her milky, film-covered eyes.

  Miss Wacksel quickly reached into her pleather purse and grabbed a travel-size can of bug spray.

  “Those appear to be termites,” Mrs. Martin said, grossed out as she swiped at the little creatures flitting around them.

  “Appearances can be deceiving,” Wacksel said, spraying the bugs dead.

  It was all about appearances back at Petula’s house, where Charlotte-as-Scarlet was enjoying the mani-pedi session with everyone sitting around gossiping. This little popularity summit was now an endless sea of pink baby-doll nighties, everyone wearing one just like Petula’s, except for Charlotte, who was wearing Scarlet’s deep teal vintage silk slip with black lace accents. The big topic for the evening was “Dates for the Fall Ball.” Who had one, who didn’t, and what they were planning to do about it.

  “… He’s cute, but he went out with that slut from Gorey High,” Wendy Thomas said, shooting down a suggestion for a potential date for the dance as she vigorously removed the black polish from Charlotte’s toenails and painted them pink.

  “You’ll find somebody. You’re so pretty,” Charlotte replied.

  “I know!” Wendy Thomas concurred.

  Petula, who was sandwiched by the Wendys, turned to Wendy Anderson on her right.

  “I can’t believe she is acting like this,” Petula whispered about Scarlet.

  “Poor thing. That Chem Lab explosion must have been worse than we thought,” Wendy Anderson said. “You know, everyone’s talking about how strong, brave, and selfless you are to deal with a sister who has been brain-damaged.”

  “Well, it’s hard, but I’m a very spiritual person,” Petula answered. “I mean, Jesus, don’t I have enough to worry about right now with Principal Styx on my back about the Driver’s Ed thing?”

  “Don’t stress, Pet. You’ll find a way…,” Wendy Anderson said, pointing to Petula’s breasts, “… or TWO, out of it.”

  “Yeah, you can’t miss the Midnight Kiss,” Sue, another cheerleader, chimed in.

  “It’s school tradition. If you miss the Kiss, it will change the course of your future,” Sue said to Charlotte, sensing that she had no idea about the Kiss legend.

  “Yeah, like Marcy Hanover missed the Kiss last year because her car broke down, and now she’s a model,” one of the girls said, “… for Lane Bryant!”

  The girls reacted in shock and horror.

  “That Kiss decides your Destiny,” Sue said. The girls nodded in agreement.

  The distraught look on Charlotte’s face was beyond the capacity of even the most expensive makeup to conceal as she obsessed about her Destiny and the fabled Midnight Kiss. She didn’t need these girls to tell her how much was riding on getting to the Fall Ball. She knew. But the Midnight Kiss?

  As worry crept into Charlotte’s almost perfect night, Scarlet was flying high… above the cookie-cutter rooftops until she came upon a massive gloomy structure that hovered like a dark cloud over the otherwise indistinguishable row houses. She floated from window to window, peeking through, until she saw an unpacked bookbag, day-planner, and laptop all spread out on a chenille bedspread.

  “This has got to be hers,” Scarlet said.

  She entered Charlotte’s room through a long, narrow floor-to-ceiling stained glass window in the uppermost gable. She’d seen the house from the outside many times, and the best that could be said about it was that it was old. But now, looking at it in her current state, it was transformed, gleaming in deep, rich colors, ornate furniture, and elaborate candle sconces and chandeliers dripping with jewel-toned crystals.

  “I think I’ve died and gone to heaven,” she said, taking in the décor. Scarlet threw herself on the large four-poster bed, landing next to Charlotte’s mountain of stuff.

  “I guess you can take it with you,” Scarlet said, rummaging through Charlotte’s personal belongings.

  She noticed Charlotte’s laptop, which was displaying a cutout design of a couture gown with Charlotte’s head pasted on top. Scarlet hit the spacebar and saw a guy appear in her arms and start to dance around the screen.

  “Sick!” Scarlet yelled.

  Before she could inspect it more closely, Scarlet’
s attention to the laptop was interrupted by a loud noise coming from downstairs. She decided to go check it out instead of waiting around for it to find her.

  Meanwhile, downstairs at the Manor, Miss Wacksel entered the great room with the Martins.

  “Don’t you just love the sense of space in this room?” she asked.

  The room was indeed large, but the couple was more fixated on the ceiling and the chandelier hanging from it. Mrs. Martin was the first to notice it and nudged her husband.

  “Isn’t that a lovely old thing?” she said.

  Just then, thanks to Simon and Simone, the huge fixture began swinging like a pendulum, slowly at first, and then picking up speed. Prue had anchored herself on the staircase and was tugging on the twins, who in turn were grabbing hold of the chandelier.

  “Yes, these old chandeliers do take on a life of their own,” Miss Wacksel commented, not realizing how right she was.

  The Martins were nearly frozen in place, hypnotized by the motion as their shadows appeared larger and more ominous on the wall with each pass of the chandelier.

  “Once you put the new windows in, this won’t be a problem,” Miss Wacksel reassured them.

  Prue pulled Simone even harder, causing the chandelier to sway faster. Just as she leaned back, Scarlet came out of Charlotte’s room, startling Prue.

  “Who the hell are you?” Prue snapped, losing hold of Simon and Simone. Out of Prue’s grip, Simon and Simone were unable to stop the swinging chandelier, and it went careening across the divide. The twins, tangled up in the fixture, crashed into the wall, creating a gaping hole in it.

  “Oh. My. God!” Mrs. Martin screamed as her husband tried to shelter her from the raining shards of crystal. Had it been in slow motion, it would have been a beautiful sight, with all the crystal remnants catching the sunlight from the nearby window and falling peacefully to the ground like diamond spears. Mr. Martin yanked his wife out of the way just as a last large shard came straight down to the ground, piercing the floor where the woman had been standing.

  “That could have killed her!” Mr. Martin said, trying to examine his wife for shrapnel.

  Miss Wacksel was speechless.

  “No termites, huh?” he asked sarcastically.

  Miss Wacksel gathered herself one last time.

  “Well, er, I’m sure this, ah, newly discovered wear and tear will be accounted for in the price,” she said, desperately trying to keep them on track, but hoping just as much she would escape with her life as well as a sale.

  Smelling a deeper discount, Mr. Martin’s avarice kicked in once again. He went over to inspect the hole.

  Scarlet, who was totally petrified by the entire scene, had been hiding out behind the broken plasterboard to avoid Wacksel and the Martins as well as Prue and the other Dead kids, whose plan she had just ruined.

  “What is this?” Mr. Martin asked, approaching Scarlet and a pile of plasterboard that had crashed down from the ceiling.

  Scarlet bolted out of the hole, but Prue quickly grabbed hold of her ankles before she could make a clean escape.

  “We are not buying this house!” the man announced with conviction.

  The Dead kids could not believe what they just heard come out of his mouth.

  “No one is,” the man added.

  Everyone who was Dead screamed and cheered and danced around the house in celebration, including the twins still trapped in the twisted remnants of the chandelier.

  “What are you talking about?” Miss Wacksel asked, thoroughly depressed.

  “Look at this!” he demanded, crumbling a piece of the ceiling board into a powdery gray dust. “Looks like asbestos,” Mr. Martin said sternly. “This house will have to be…” Prue clamped down even deeper into Scarlet’s spectral ankles as she waited to hear what the verdict was.

  “… condemned,” Miss Wacksel acknowledged softly.

  Having the house sold was bad enough, but the prospect of it being demolished was devastating.

  “Condemned?!!” Prue growled, twisting Scarlet’s ankles.

  “Shit,” Scarlet muttered, unable to break free.

  As the shock subsided, Prue realized things were now as bad as they could get. She loosened up her grip on Scarlet, who wriggled free and headed for her own house like a bat out of hell.

  “If the house is condemned, then so are we all,” Prue said angrily.

  14

  Kiss Off

  Ever get the feeling You’ve been cheated?

  —Johnny Rotten

  The end doesn’t always justify the means.

  Everybody gets used at some point or another in his or her life. In fact, we often welcome it. It is a deal we make to get what we want or what we need—a ride to school, a ticket to the game, a hot date, a party invite. A mutually agreed-upon fair trade… usually. But feeling used is an entirely different matter. In that case, you are nothing more than a conduit for someone else’s ambition. A member of their audience and a bystander in their fantasy.

  Damen and his friends, already nestled in the bushes outside and secretly peering through the windows of Petula’s house, were spying on the girls sitting around in their nighties.

  “Excuse the P.D.E.,” Max said as they all fought for space in the window.

  The guys stopped, looked at Max, and gave him a quizzical look.

  “Public Display of Erection,” he chortled, to winces from the other guys.

  Petula noticed the guys outside and proceeded to put on a show for them.

  “It’s so cold out here tonight. We wouldn’t want you boys to get stiff,” Petula said teasingly, leaning over.

  “Too late,” Max said.

  “Are you coming?” Petula asked as she threw open the sash.

  “Not yet!” Max said, making his way through the window first.

  As the rest of the guys climbed through the window, one of them accidentally knocked over a diet soda bottle. It spun around and stopped, pointing at Wendy Anderson.

  “Spin the bottle,” Max said lasciviously.

  “That is so junior high,” Wendy Anderson quipped. “Me first!”

  Wendy Anderson spun and ended up sucking face with Max.

  “Your turn,” a desperate guy said to Charlotte-as-Scarlet, prompting her to spin.

  Charlotte was reluctant but stole a glance at Damen and got her courage up. The bottle turned and landed on the mooky guy.

  Horrified, Charlotte concentrated all of her energy on telekinetically moving the bottle so that it would land on Damen. To her amazement, it worked.

  Damen hesitated, not knowing quite what to do. He didn’t want to kiss Petula’s sister right in front of her. It was an awkward situation to say the least, but then again, it was a game.

  “Come on, man, play the game!” Max said.

  Petula was mortified, but she tried her best to play it cool. “Go ahead. It’s just a game,” she said, giving Damen the okay in front of the group.

  Damen, however, knew that she was pissed, and so he could either kiss Scarlet and get everyone off his back, or he could not kiss her and spare himself from Petula’s vengeful ranting later. He decided to just follow through with the kiss and not be a spoilsport.

  Charlotte closed her eyes and leaned in at the same time Damen did. Everyone watched with bated breath as the two moved closer and closer together in the middle of the circle. Just as their lips were about to touch, Scarlet flew in the window; she was a total mess and obviously terrified.

  “Charlotte!!!” she screamed as she took off toward Charlotte. “This is not consensual!”

  She slammed into her body, knocking Charlotte out, but the force of the intrusion also caused her to fall into Damen, forcing an awkward “kiss” on his shoulder. Damen was intrigued by Scarlet’s peculiar gesture and chuckled. Petula was relieved, and the game continued.

  “Man, that girl is a freak,” Max whispered to Damen. Still dazed, Charlotte looked up and saw Prue fly through the window in hot pursuit of Scarlet.
<
br />   “Prue?” Charlotte said worriedly, now able to see her.

  “So you wanna interact with the living? I’ll show you what interacting with the living is all about,” Prue threatened as she set her eyes on Wendy Anderson. “My turn!” she hissed, insinuating herself into the game. “You wanna get high?” she asked Wendy Anderson shortly before levitating her ever so slightly above the ground and spinning her around like the bottle in their kissing game. Everyone freaked out.

  “Hey, this is some good shit,” Max said, referring to his cup of punch.

  Wendy Anderson, still trying to protect her manicure, reached out for anything she could grab to stop spinning. She was looking bad and feeling worse.

  Prue stopped spinning Wendy abruptly, leaving her pointing directly at Charlotte.

  “Kiss this,” Prue raged at Charlotte as Wendy puked explosively from vertigo and dropped to the floor.

  Everybody scattered to avoid the vile Wendy chunks, except for Max, who kept swigging his drink.

  “Liar! I thought you said you didn’t eat today,” Petula scolded, watching the vomit drip down the walls like a spin-art painting.

  “Didn’t we tell you to stay with your own kind?” Prue warned Charlotte, who was too scared to respond.

  Prue dematerialized and returned to Hawthorne Manor, unsure of what to do about Charlotte, Scarlet, and the house, which really needed saving now. Meanwhile, Scarlet ran upstairs to her room.

  Wendy Anderson just lay on the floor, humiliated.

  “She’ll do anything for attention,” Wendy Thomas whispered cattily to Petula as they both stared at their bruise-and bile-covered friend. Wendy Anderson gathered up all her strength and slowly managed to bring her hand up to her face, wipe some vomit from her fingertips, and inspect her manicure for chips. On that note, the party was over. Nobody needed to be asked to leave.