by D. M. Guay
“Wow. That's a twist. So, what's Plan B?”
“There's no Plan B! I fought off a horde of zombies so a book—a book!—could eat my reward! Is it hot in here? Because my head is about to boil. You wonder why I didn't want to read the damned thing. Now you know. This shit ain't normal.” My brain reeled. “I need that blank check!”
“That book could be anywhere.” Angel said. “Best not to count on ever getting it back.”
“Gack!”
No. No way. I would find that book, and when I did, I would get that blank check back, one way or another. I didn't know where all that food went after it swallowed, but I was sure as hell gonna find out. If it goes in, it has to come out, right?
I suddenly went cold. Oh god. Does that mean? Yes. Yes, it does. As they say, do what must be done. I'd get my blank check. It'll be just like that time Gertrude swallowed Grandma Linda's favorite rhinestone earring, and Mom had to sort through the litter box until it came out the other end. What goes in, must come out, right?
“Okay, so when you're done freaking out. Grab the tape and get to work, will you?” Angel said. “And fill me with filtered water this time. Tap water chafes.”
Chapter 18
The second I stepped in the door, DeeDee grabbed me. She dragged me behind the two liter pop bottle pyramid and ducked down. “Please tell me you found something we could use in your employee manual.”
Uh yeah. Only the solution to everything. But all I could do was shake my head. Because I had no idea where that book had gone.
“I was afraid of that. All right, then. I've got no choice. I'm opening the gate early.”
“What? Why?”
“Look at this place! The ghosts are not happy. I don't know what went wrong. It was going so well, but now they're all so...restless. See?”
I peeked around the pop bottle pyramid.
“These records are not for sale!” Kevin punched the hipster ghost. His leg went right through, because the hipster was still blue mist. But Kevin? He was solid, white and stretched out to the size of a giant angry beaver, screaming with rage. “I SAID NO STORE CREDIT!”
Hunter trotted by with his leash in his mouth. His foaming mouth. His eyes were black, he zigged and zagged erratically, like he was frantic. Or desperate. Or, you know, rabid? He suddenly jumped up, clean over the chip rack, into aisle two. Except that his back leg must have clipped the top, because the entire pretzel section toppled, sending bags flying.
The little old guy? He stood by the slushies, staring at his fake letter. Actually holding it. And the bus lady? All I saw were bits of candy wrappers flying up over aisle three.
“STUPID HIPSTERS!” Kevin knocked the credit card machine to the floor.
“This is going downhill fast. I'm declaring emergency mode,” DeeDee said. “I called Doc. He's trying to summon the reapers. You flip the Go Away charm. I'm opening the gate early.”
“WHAT? That won't help!”
“I'm bringing in Bubby for backup. And Morty, too, if you can believe that. Someone has to entertain Candy.”
Candy gyrated on top of the hot food station. She looked at me, winked, and starting sucking on a hot dog like it was a. Well. Ahem. You know. She must be solid, because man. She was really chewing on that thing.
“Uh. Candy seems fine.” Oof. Is it hot in here?
Then Candy said, “Can you ask the DJ to put on some better music? The Happy Hour crowd's dead. They don't tip very well.”
The little old guy perked up. Clearly, he was with her in spirit, because he tried to slip his ghostly letter into her garter.
“CHEAPSKATES!” She growled. Literally. Her voice went deep, throaty, and her mouth split into a giant row of fangs.
Um. Yeah. DeeDee had a point. “So, what's the plan, then?”
DeeDee held up a red DVD envelope. “This should buy us two hours.”
“A movie?” She couldn't be serious. “That's the plan?”
“Well, since the flashlights didn't work, yes. You know, Poltergeist wasn't very accurate. I'm starting to think Steven Spielberg didn't know anything about ghosts.”
“You think?”
“Okay, Mr. Sassy. We just need to keep them all busy. Buy some time to look through every book, every spell, every artifact and hopefully find a way to contact the reapers and contain these ghosts. Got it?”
She moved, but I grabbed her and pulled her back down. “What makes you think a bunch of angry poltergeists are gonna watch a movie? Wait. Is Poltergeist the movie? We don't need to give these guys any ideas!”
“No, silly. I'm breaking out the big guns. I'm tapping the power of the Swayze.”
“Phew. Okay. Roadhouse. Good plan. That will definitely work on Kevin.”
“Not Roadhouse. Even better. Dirty Dancing.”
“You're kidding.”
“Uh, no. Everybody loves Dirty Dancing. Everybody. It's go time. Ready? Be careful.”
She jumped up and pulled the emergency override. The beer cave lit up bright blue.
Dirty Dancing? We're doomed.
“Flip the charm. Go!” DeeDee pushed me into action.
I crawled across the store, around and behind the counter. And through the hipster, which felt like pouring ice cold gel right into the marrow of all my bones. Brrrr. Weird.
But, on the plus side, Kevin didn't notice me. He was so enraged by the hipster that he had picked up one of the cheap cigarette racks. He held it over his head, shaking it like a weapon. Packs of Eagle 20s rained down on me as I reached up up up and flipped the Go Away charm.
I crawled back down the length of the counter, grabbing every creepy book I could find along the way. I shuffled past the neatly labeled jars of herbs and rocks and crystals. There had to be something in this store that could save us. Then I saw it. A reflection, a twinkle of light. Oh, no. Wait. Never mind. I thought it was a magic trumpet or something, but it was Angel eight ball, wobbling on the shelf, triangle spinning uncontrollably. “What's wrong with you? I just taped you up!”
“Lloyd? Is that you? I can't see you. Is everything all right?”
“No, it's not all right. Help me!”
“Lloyd? Lloyd?”
Great. Angel chats all day long, rattling off checklists of stuff for me to do, but now? Nothing. Useless angel.
“Step aside, my man. You're in desperate need of a DJ.” Morty stood over me, wearing giant DJ headphones, a black velvet track suit, and a hilariously huge fake gold chain around his neck.
“Zorro couldn't seal the deal?”
Morty slumped. “No. But I got it this time. Watch and learn.”
Morty stepped over me, and hip checked the angry, beaver-sized Kevin away from the stereo. He pressed the intercom button, leaned into the mic, and purred, “And now, please welcome the sweet, delicious Candy to the Sinbad's main stage! Open your wallets, gentlemen, because this Candy would love to lick your lollipop.”
Ew. Gross. But you ever want to see a ghost light up? That's how you do it. Man. She giggled and really started jiggling the goods in earnest. She bent over and—wait. What was I doing? Oh yeah. Crawling, but dude. It was slow going. You try walking on your knees while carrying creepy old magic books. They had to weigh fifty pounds!
I rounded the counter. Hunter hopped out into the aisle, and I ducked behind the boner pill and phone charger end cap. He dropped his leash and stood up. “And one. And two.”
Oh. He's doing squats. At least he's back to normal!
“Hurrrrr. Hurrrrr. Hurrrrrrr.”
What the? I looked behind me. Zack was splayed out across aisle five, lying on the floor wearing only his boxer shorts and one gym sock. A dirty gym sock, end slipping off his bone toes, forming a puffy pocket. He was covered in empty crunched up cans of Natty Light and spent Pupperoni wrappers. “Hurrrr. Herrrrr. Hurrrrrrrr.”
I crawled up to him. Ow. Ow. Ow. “Zack. What are you doing? Get up. The ghosts are spoiling. We need to find cover.”
I said it as quietly as I could, but
I'm not sure he heard me over his inconsolable sobs. He sang between cries. Something about hearing a chick calling but he couldn't come to the phone? Whatever. Song kinda sucked, but he repeated it over and over. Between sobs. Yep. Zack was sing sobbing.
“Are you okay?” I leaned in over his bone face.
He tipped up a can of Natty Lite, draining the last dregs out of the bottom. He crunched the can and dropped it. “Hurrrrrrr. Hurrrrrr. Hurrrrr. I want to die.”
For God's sake. Seriously? Now? “I don't, so come on. Let's go.”
I tugged on his ulna, but he didn't budge. For a boney dude, he was a like a sack of jelly.
“I caaaaaaaan't.” Tears streaked down his cheekbones. “Look.”
He thrust a red wrapper into my hands. Oh. No. It wasn't a wrapper.
Hell Report
The latest scoop delivered to all Nine Circles
Falling Angel Alert: Reaper office robbed, Golden Scythe No. 1 Suspect
The Office of Efficient Eternal Soul Transference was robbed last week for the first time in the agency's history. The Grim Bureau of Investigations has been hush-hush about the case, refusing to release any details about what was stolen or who might be responsible. Although anonymous insider sources say only two items were taken: A Golden Scythe and a pack of blank reaping scrolls. The missing golden scythe belonged to disgraced reaper Zackumzaphielhermesiappotholonian, who is under investigation for unauthorized soul reaping. He was stripped of this scythe, which was stored in the agency safe pending the results of an inquiry into all of his past and present reaping activities. Investigators would not confirm or deny these rumors. An official spokesreaper said, “We are reviewing security footage and forensic evidence. We are thoroughly checking inventory so that we can account for all that is missing. Not that anything is missing. But maybe something is missing. We aren't saying. We will conduct a thorough investigation, as per standard operating procedure, but it will take time and will not be easy. As you all know, we are unlike other angels. We all look alike, and reapers don't have fingerprints. Which sucks. So yeah. There's that.”
But rumors are already swirling, so much so that the celestial AngelFace app had to be temporarily shut down to stop the spread of misinformation. The rumors say Zackumzaphielhermesiappotholonian himself is responsible for the thefts. “It would't surprise me. I mean, you should see where he's living. It's a madhouse. Full of souls. Wall to wall ghosts. He's obviously been killing people left and right,” said Yurialaempholalmodephianous, a former coworker who was reassigned to janitorial services in 1945 after mistakenly delivering Adolf Hitler to Heaven's Gate. He has been embroiled in a bitter legal feud with the All Creatures Great & Dead network over rights to the video clip of the incident ever since.
“At first, I didn't want to believe the rumors, but then I saw it with my own eye sockets. He's definitely guilty. It's like he's killing just for fun at this point. If I were in charge, I would throw him in the pit and be done with him. I'm devastated. He was my best friend. My brother. You think you know someone.”
The agency denies Yurialaempholalmodephianous' outrageous claims. A spokesreaper laughed out loud when Hell Report inquired about the accusations, saying, “Oh, that's a good one. He's got a lot of nerve criticizing another reaper's dereliction of duty. That's rich. Really Rich. You've seen the video footage, right? Classic!”
“If Yuri gets my job, I'll die. He took Hitler to heaven! Why is this happening to meeeee? It's like I'm cursed!”
“That's it. I'm done.” Yeah. Something snapped. “You listen to me, Zack. Did you do this? Did you steal this stuff?”
“Well, no.”
“See? It's fine. This thing reads like a bad celebrity gossip mag. It's all rumors. None of it is fact! Ignore it. It's trash. He is not gonna get your job. Now come on. Let's go. I need you.”
“You do?” He wiped his snotty nose with his phalanges and sniffled.
“Yeah. So pull yourself together. We've got ghosts to wrangle.”
“Oh.” He stood up and looked around. “Huh. So it's not just the pizza guy. Keegan went kind of nuts after I won the last round of Wrestle Dude Pow. I thought he was just a sore loser, but...”
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. So, any tips on how to handle spoiled souls?”
“No. I've been on time for every reap I've been assigned to for more than eight thousand years. I've never had a soul spoil before. I don't care what the papers say. Huuuuuurrrrrrrrr.”
Gah! Enough with the crying. I ducked as a whole box of Sweet Tarts flew over the aisle and nearly smacked me in the head. The bus lady growled, “Neccoooooo. Waferrrrrrrrrrrrrrr” like a crazed lunatic.
I grabbed that reaper by the humerus: “Zack. If your boss or your girlfriend walked in the door right now, would you want them to see you like this? Or do you want them to see a reaper in peak physical condition? A reaper in charge. A reaper who is ready to be back on the job?”
“Uh.” Zack scratched his skull. “The last one?”
“Then show them. Show them all what you can do. Look around. You're a reaper. Now reap! Show your bosses who's boss. You're not gonna let souls spoil on your watch, are you?”
“Well, um. No?”
“You don't sound sure.”
“No!”
“Good. Now put on some clothes. We've got souls to reap!”
Zack stood up, and his chest puffed out. He looked regal. Well, except for the boxer shorts and the orange Cheetoh dust all over his rib cage. But still. He floated off to the cooler.
“Wow. That was quite the pep talk.” DeeDee crawled down the aisle. “Good job. I'm impressed.”
I suddenly felt warm and fuzzy inside. A weird sensation. Proud? Dude. It'd been a while since anyone told me I'd done a good job. Hold on. Just let me soak it in for a minute. Because dude. All I hear outside of this aisle is growling and screaming and candy and chips bags ripping and Hunter saying, and “One, and two. And three,” and Kevin yelling, “NO STORE CREDIT.”
I peeked over the aisle. These ghosts? Not so blue, not so see-through. Definitely solid. Definitely off their routine. And getting worse.
The old man circled the hot food station, waving his arms. At first I thought it was like a weird Candy worship thing. Then I saw his letter—the fake one DeeDee made for him—floating in the air above him. That letter floated over to the stereo, right over to Glug, happily swimming in his Colossal Super Slurp cup, which suddenly rose up up up off the counter, floated over to the slushy machines, and thunk. Sploosh. Upended. Glug spilled right into the top of the Kelpie Kiwi machine.
Shit.
His plastic toy squid plunked to the floor.
Double shit. Not good. Not good at all. I had a bad feeling about this.
Faust kicked open the stockroom door. Thank God. He'll save us!
Maybe.
Or not. He marched the cleaning crew—outfitted in mini coveralls, hard hats and safety goggles, and dragging a jack hammer?—out through the front door. They stood around, marking the sidewalk with chalk, chittering to each other like they were trying to decide where to dig.
Faust didn't even notice the floating letter or the angry shaking undulating grind of the Kelpie Kiwi machine.
Bubby stood in the chip aisle, digging through the racks. He raised a bag of Smart Pop and waved at me. I motioned for him to run. “Get out of there!”
He just shrugged and dug around for more Smart Pop.
“What's Bubby's job again?”
“Hmm. Human shield? Well, bug shield. Something. Honestly, I don't know yet. This was a last-minute plan,” DeeDee said. “But if nothing else, he's a great distraction.”
As if on cue, Bubby stood up and undulated, his rows of claw-tipped legs moving to the beat of the music as the Dirty Dancing opening credits rolled. One row of legs pumped back and forth while the other. Wait. “Is he doing the sprinkler dance? Seriously?”
Yep. I was quickly losing faith in DeeDee's plan.
“What? It's already work
ing. See?”
All the ghosts suddenly stopped. But no, they were not watching Bubby bust a move. They had zoned in on the TV.
“See? Told you. Everyone likes Dirty Dancing. Everyone. Now give me the books. Hurry. We don't have much time.” She filched them out of my hands. “I've already been through these a hundred times, but maybe I missed something. I sure hope Doc is having better luck. Oh. Is this one yours?”
“What?” I turned around, fast.
My employee manual sat calmly in DeeDee's lap, pretending to be a real book. Well, you know what I mean. A real, calm, immobile book. “Grab that book. Everything we need is inside!”
Literally. I was gonna reach down into that thing so far and rip my blank check out of its pulpy paper innards. But as soon as it heard my voice, it stood up, took one look at me, and made a run for it.
“Don't let it get away!” I charged.
But that book moved at lightning speed. It split for aisle three. Again. I rounded the corner, jumped into the aisle and screamed. “Aha! I've got you.”
Fwump.
“Owwwwww!” I dropped like a rock. A sharp, deep pain ricocheted through my groin. Kicked...in...nuts.
A face appeared above me. An angry, white face. With pigtails. The Cookie Scout. AGAIN?
“Where are my cookies?” She scowled. “Did you eat them all?”
“What are you doing here? I killed you. Twice!”
She kicked me again. Right in the gut. I howled.
“You stole my UNICORN!” She kicked me. Again. Right in the hands this time, because I was not dumb enough to leave nuts unshielded twice. I rolled up in a nut-crunched ball, aching hands holding my aching junk.
“I want my unicooooooooooooooorn!” She screamed, her saddle shoes stomped, crunching holes in the linoleum, and her mouth split open, morphing into that familiar, terrible row of jagged black teeth. Her hands stretched out into claws. She descended on me, clawing at my pants.
“Aaaah! What are you doing? No! No!” I wrestled and tried to roll away.
She clawed at my pockets like she was trying to turn up my wallet? She grunted. I couldn't make out all the words, but it sounded like “Sum...badge...doll?Do...take...corn!”
