Better than a Seance

“Come on, somebody has to want to use this thing,” I called out.

The party was in full swing around me. People dressed as pop culture icons milled around with the staples. A sexy witch offered a sexy marshmallow (I shit you not) a can of beer before walking over to a sexy dead girl to talk about a guy in a state trooper uniform. I slumped down against the sofa. My costume was a classic. I was a wolfman. Not that I had the head on, it had been hot and I had taken it off a long time ago.

I called out again, trying to get someone to notice the ouija board on the coffee table. The thing was ancient, the varnish chipped and the letters fading a bit. Some mobster had dropped an empty can of beer on it like it was an elaborate coaster. If I didn’t move fast, others would follow and no one would even notice it was a cool thing to talk to ghosts on Halloween Night.

Standing up, I slinked over to a couple and whispered in his ear, “Hey, why not have a seance.”

When his response was to shove his tongue farther into the girl’s mouth, I whispered in her ear, “How scary would it be if we contacted a ghost?”

She shivered.

To be honest, I think it was because of that guy’s tongue and not my neat idea. I wandered away, rolling my eyes. The music kicked up a notch. It was all thump, thump, thumping with electric instruments. Lights flickered along with it and people flickered, slowing and speeding up in the flashes. The partiers got into it and the living room became an impromptu dance floor.

Huffing, I went outside to get a breath of fresh air. I slumped down on the steps next to a girl in all black. Her conical hat was off to the left and her fishnet stockings were artfully torn. “Ah, a sexy witch,” I muttered, thoroughly over it.

“Thanks,” the girl answered brightly. “I wasn’t going for sexy though, I was going for authentic. Because I am. Authentic that is, not sexy generally. Thanks for that.”

I opened and closed my mouth a few times. “Ah, um, well, you are and you are welcome.”

She giggled. Her bright gray eyes sparkled in the moonlight. She leaned back and I got to see just how long her legs were through a split in her not-meant-to-be-sexy black dress. She caught me ogling and snorted. I rolled my eyes.

“Hey, you want to get a seance going?” I asked.

“Why? I don’t need one to talk to you.”

I huffed. “It’s not about talking. I want to possess one of those dumbasses for the night.”

The witch’s eyebrows went up. “You’re Kevin.”

I nodded, beaming at her. She was not only a sexy witch, she was a smart one too.

“You’ve been dead for like-”

“Ten years, yeah,” I interrupted. “You weren’t lying about being an authentic witch. Is that why you can see me?”

She nodded and gave me a once-over, flattering.

“Should I help you move on or something?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I agreed, widening my eyes at her, “you can help me into that guy over there.”

I pointed to a guy who looked a bit like me. He was thin, tall, and dressed as a mummy. “Then I can buy you a drink.”

“The drinks here are free,” she remarked and glanced over at the guy, “What happens to him?”

“I get to be him for a night,” I answered. “I get to hang out at the party. I get to drink and have fun. He gets the hangover. Come on, help a spirit out.”

“Do you know who that is?”

“Random guy, who might be me for a night? No, I don’t care. I want to eat chips and pizza. They ordered from my favorite place. Come on, please? I only get until dawn. Don’t make me beg.”

“No, shut up. I’m telling you that’s Carter Greene.”

“So?”

This was exasperating! Why wouldn’t a witch want to help me possess someone? I am proof of the supernatural and no one ever got hurt. It was just one day to them and it meant the whole year to me. One night of life to get me through death…

“He killed my cat,” she said her voice dropping low and dangerous.

“Do you want me to contact your cat on the other side or something? I can do that for you,” I offered. “I hang out with my neighbor’s dog. He was cool in life and he is super creepy in death.”

“This is your lucky night Kevin,” she said tone sultry.

I perked up. “Is it? I hope it is. Why is it?”

“Because I know a spell.”

“You’re a witch,” I replied, “aren’t you supposed to know a lot of spells?”

She laughed. “I like you.”

I flashed her a grin. She was great, really great and it looked like I was getting my wish. I could already taste the cheese and sauce. “I like you too.”

“Great, because after tonight, you’re going to owe me one.”

“Okay,” I agreed easily. I was a ghost. There wasn’t much I could offer. Company? Might be nice to have someone new to talk to after Halloween. Of course, she’d have to come here to the O’Briens. It was where I haunted after all. “Sure. One favor.”

“Let’s go.”

Inside the dance party had broken up into small groups of hard drinkers. My witch led me into the kitchen where she mixed two rum and cokes. She drew a symbol on one with runic swirls or something and whispered into it. The cup glowed green. I didn’t get it, was the spell to make whoever drank it want to start a seance? She gave me a wink and walked into the party on the hunt for Carter.

He was smashing a beer can against his forehead. We rolled our eyes at him. Squaring her shoulders, my witch stalked over to him and turned up the charm by acting sloshed. Bumping into him, she slurred, “You’ve got to help me, Carter.”

“With what, Brin?” he asked, steadying her.

“Mandy made me two drinks,” my witch said, holding up her cup and then the enchanted one. “I’m so gone. Can’t waste it.”

Carter’s smile was predatory. “What do I get for helping you?”

Brin leaned in and whispered in his ear. Carter took the cup she offered and downed it. Done, he crushed the red cup and chucked it at a girl in a unicorn onesie. The girl ran from the room and Carter laughed darkly. He reached for Brin and pulled her close. The urge to punch him flitted through my form as he sealed his mouth over my new friend as if he were a vacuum hose. Brin slipped an arm around him, holding him upright as a blurry image of Carter fell out of his body and crashed to the carpet, looking hazy and indistinct.

Brin’s finger crooked at me.

I looked at Carter. I looked at Carter’s body. Oh, ho, no way! Brin’s expression became strained and she crooked her finger again and indicated the body. I didn’t need to be told a third time. I flitted forward and slipped into Carter’s skin. It was like sinking into a dirty bathtub. It was slimy and gross with leftover dark thoughts. I filled up the dark corners with my spirit until I clicked into place and took over the kiss.

My arms tightened around Brin. I gentled the pressure on her mouth from bruising to gentle and she reached up to touch my face. We separated by inches, smirking at each other. I glanced to the floor to see Carter fading away.

“Brin,” I whispered, “What did you do?”

“Uh uh, you owe me a drink and a favor,” she said and placed a finger over my lips.

“Is this…”

“Permanent? Yeah, come on,” Brin’s grin was brilliant as she took my hand and led me into my new life.

end.

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Take Out

The house music boomed, making her hot blood pulse. Cloven hooves tapped out the beat setting the anklet to jingling with its tiny golden bells. Her wings were furled but the black feathers gleamed purple and green with iridescence. Her fellow demons had laughed at her for sneaking out of the Underworld to visit humans without being called by them. Soul-stealing was a jumping business in this economy. No need to go on soul scavenging trips when sad little pathetic humans were tripping over themselves to get talents or wishes granted.

She didn’t want a soul for the devil. She wanted one for herself, a pet human, a friend, or lover. She dressed the part, in a form-fitting black leather dress that did nothing to hide her ample bosom and long neck. Her tail, hooves, and horns were all painted with purple glitter. The party would be the perfect place to snare a tiny beating heart.

A human male with dark eyes and fluffy hair approached her with a bottle in each hand. He was thin, shorter than her by half a foot, although as a demon she was nearly seven feet tall and taller still if you measured the horns curling back from her head. He had horns as well, paper-mache ones painted in vermilion. The beers were sealed.

“Wow, great costume! Are you a demon?” he asked, “I’m a demon. I couldn’t get the wings right but I did the tail.” He spun and wiggled his butt. “I put a string on it, so I can control it. Made it out of weed barrier. I’m a landscaper. You want one? It’s sealed.”

The whirlwind of conversation amused her. She nodded and he popped the cap off of a beer with his bottle opener shaped like a shark. He handed it to her, popped his own cap and clinked his bottle into hers. “Cheers!”

“Cheers?”

He drank half his beer in one go. She followed suit, unsure of the drinking customs in this time. He winked and polished his off. She raised her eyebrows. He grinned brightly. She was unsure of how to proceed, so she stared. The smile on his face dimmed.

“Am I bothering you? I can go. Only, everyone inside is dressed as TV characters and you and I are the only demons. Thought it might be fun to hang out with another demon for a bit,” he said.

She grinned, showing him miles of sharp pointy teeth. “Yes, we demons should stick together.”

“Good, great,” he said, laughing in relief. “Want another beer?”

“Yes,” she said, amused with her new human friend.

He disappeared and reappeared with a small bucket full of them. She let him open her beer for the second time and he flipped the caps into the bushes with a bit of flare. He took a sip but didn’t chug it, so she copied him.

“So, what made you want to be a demon for Halloween?” he asked.

Ah, humans did like small talk. Demons not so much. “I was looking for someone to go home with.”

He flushed. “You-what?”

“I came here to find someone to take home. Haven’t had any company in a few centuries,” she explained, knowing he would never believe her honest truth. He would think her funny with metaphors.

“Oh,” he replied and downed his beer. It seemed to give him strength for the next moment he offered, “I could go home with you. If you want me to.”

Sometimes it was too easy.

fin.

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Slaughter

“I’m going to carve 100 pumpkins,” Laura said.

My daughter held up a rusty steak knife and lightning flashed behind her. Thunder rolled across the heavens and all thoughts save two were blown from my mind on a Halloween breeze:

  1. Where the heck was I going to get 100 pumpkins?
  2. When did my daughter get that steak knife?

“Darling,” I said, “that’s a lot of pumpkins. You’re seven. Last year we did two and we both needed to have a nap.”

Laura wielded the knife like an ancient Viking warrior. “I must have pumpkins, Daddy.”

“Great, I’ll bring the car around.”

My little princess sheathed her rusty sword in a little scabbard she had made herself from one of those felt sheets that were foam instead of felt, so a foam sheet thing from the craft store and I made quick calculations on both of our tetanus shots. She was unconcerned. I decided to roll with it. We had had a tough year and if pumpkin slaughter would make us feel better, why not?

Out of the car as soon as it stopped, she drew her steak knife and charged the patch. I handed my credit card to a surprised teen with bright blue hair and an apron that said, ‘Happy Acres.’ I should have known she would eventually go on a berserker rage. It was in her blood. I had once tried to cut down a tree with a butter knife while in a similar mood. I texted Carrie, my wife, a picture of our daughter dragging pumpkins into a pile by their stems with the caption, ‘bonding.’

I waved at the teen and he brought me a jug of cider. I chugged it. Laura was now randomly stabbing the pumpkins. I sighed and approached the murder scene. Laura grinned up at me. She was dripping in pumpkin juice and had managed to get the top off of one of her unfortunate victims. I offered her the jug of apple cider.

She took the jug and handed me the knife. I stabbed a pumpkin. I know I should have taken the knife and been a responsible adult. I didn’t. I just stabbed the pumpkin again, forming a crude triangle eye. My daughter doused herself in apple cider and let out a war cry. Another rusted piece of cutlery appeared in her hands, a spoon this time, and she attacked the guts of a scalped pumpkin.

Her wide gray eyes were bright with excitement, joy, and an eensy bit of crazy. I called the teen over as my little Viking carved her first pumpkin by caving its head in. “We’re going to need more cider,” I told him.

“And donuts,” she said as she bit into a pumpkin, growling.

God, I live for Halloween.

End.

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