Samhain leaned forward. Creaky wings of gray wood sprang from his shoulders and spread as far as the containment circle would allow. The ground cracked under his feet, and a red fog spilled forth. It didn't cross the circle. Kerchack thought he saw things moving in it.
"Uh, please?" said Kerchack. "Sir?"
"I'm not going anywhere." Samhain wrapped his wooden wings around himself like a cloak.
"Then you'll just have to stay in that circle," said Kerchack. "Forever."
"Oh, I don't think I'll be in here too long. Of course, you could do me a great favor if you released me." Samhain grinned. His sparkling white teeth had become yellow fangs. "I assure you, I would be most grateful."
Kerchack looked into Samhain's eyes. At a glance, they were black, but deeper within were two crimson glints.
"You will release me, boy. One way . . ." --His grin faded, and veins throbbed on his pumpkin head.-- "Or another."
"Ah, this is boring." Denise turned and went into the house.
"Damn it."
Kerchack followed her. He glanced at Samhain. The spirit's smile was back, as bright and shiny as ever. Somehow, Kerchack missed the fangs. Whatever Samhain was, it was something bad. Something that shouldn't be let loose. Kerchack had no plans of releasing the spirit, and he knew Samhain's threat had been idle. The circle was unbreakable except by someone holding the shovel.
Denise was searching through the refrigerator. "Damn, 'Chack. Don't you have any beer?"
"Sorry. Joyce doesn't approve of beer."
She pulled out a soda. "You have a ghost telling you what to do?"
"It's just easier."
She twisted the cap off the bottle and took a drink while giving him a disapproving look.
"You don't understand," he said. "I'm not like you. I can't just put down the shovel and ignore them."
"Guess you got a point there." She leaned against the counter. "So what are you going to do about that spirit in the backyard?"
"I don't know." He deliberately moved to a corner of the kitchen where there was no angle Samhain could be seen out the windows. He still felt like he was being watched. "It's probably easiest to just ignore him until he gets bored and goes away on his own." He leaned the shovel against the wall. "So are we still going to do it?"
"I don't know. It's pretty late."
"It's not that late," he replied.
"The Great Pumpkin out there kind of ruined the mood for me."
Kerchack muttered.
"What's that?"
"Nothing."
She glared. "Something wrong, 'Chack?"
"No."
He drummed his fingers against the wall while she gulped down the rest of the soda.
Kerhack thumped his fist hard enough to put a slight dent in the wall. "No, y'know what, Denise? There is something wrong. You said that I'm the kind of guy you need, and you're right. Because I'm not the kind of guy to try and get in your pants no matter what. I'm not going to beg, and I'm not going to feed you a bunch of lines, and I'm definitely not going to be a smooth talker."
"Definitely," agreed The Guy.
"And because of that, we aren't going to have sex tonight. You'll say that you respect that about me, and that we'll go out soon. But you won't really mean it. You'll just find some guy who is willing to do whatever it takes to screw you, and you'll forget all about me."
"Really?" asked Denise.
"Yeah, really. I'm not saying we've really got much here yet. Odds are we probably won't go out again ever, but just because I'm a good guy doesn't mean I shouldn't get some sex. Sex which I was clearly promised."
She nodded. "Mmm hmm."
"Not that I'm saying I don't believe a woman has a right to change her mind. That's your call, but it just seems unfair that women always sleep with the jerks and leave guys like me with blue balls. Then you all wonder why there are so many assholes. It's because you're giving them all the sex. You're encouraging them."
"So let me see if I get your argument here. You're saying I should have sex with you because you're not the kind of guy to try to get me to have sex with you though you kind of are that kind of guy right now because you're trying to get me to have sex with you."
"Yeah. I think that's it." He shrugged. "I'm not really sure anymore."
"Well, if it's really that important to you, I suppose we might be able to work something out."
"Oh no. I don't want a pity handjob or just some half-hearted thing." He folded his arms across his chest. "I want sex. Full-blown sex. The real thing."
"Y'know, a lot of guys prefer — "
"I'm not a lot of guys."
"Alright, tiger." Denise got up, tossed her soda in the garbage, and walked over to him. She grabbed him by the waistband of his slacks and pulled him toward his bedroom. "But you gotta promise me that you'll be quick."
"Oh, I guarantee I'll be quick," he said. "In fact, we might have to do it twice."
Smiling, she glanced over her shoulder. "Don't push your luck."
"Shit, what time is it?" Denise tumbled from the bed. "Is that clock right?"
"Last time I checked," Kerchack mumbled.
Denise flicked on the lights. Kerchack groaned.
She picked through her discarded clothing until finding her watch. "Damn, it is right. I'm gonna be late. Shit, I hate it when the sun doesn't rise."
He covered his head with the sheet. "Maybe it's just running late."
It was always possible. Dawn was not something you could count on in Rockwood. Thirty-six hour nights could be expected once or twice a year.
Denise yanked the cover off him and tossed him his pants. "Get dressed. You gotta drive me to the garage."
Yawning, Kerchack pushed himself upright. He noticed his morning boner and smiled. "Hey, since you're already running late maybe we could — "
"What did I tell you about pushing your luck?" She leaned over and kissed him once. "Get dressed. Now."
"Yes, sir."
He pulled on his slacks and a random t-shirt and went to grab something to eat while Denise fussed with her hair. He said hi to Gramps but didn't get a response as was expected while "Good Morning, America" was on. The Guy was at the kitchen table, and this was also expected. But Joyce was sitting beside him, and that was a bit odd. She usually was up and cleaning by now.
"Have fun?" she asked with annoyance.
He ignored it. "Could you maybe make me some toast or sumthin'?"
She fixed him with a hard stare. "I'm not your personal cook, y'know."
Kerchack was stymied. "What?"
"Make it yourself."
"Make it myself?"
"You heard me, you lazy little shit." She stormed from the kitchen.
"What's with her?" wondered Kerchack aloud.
The Guy shrugged.
Kerchack hadn't expected her to be this mad about Denise, but she'd just have to get over it. Life was for the living, after all. He had a right to score every now and then. While he waited for two pieces of stale bread to toast, he went to the backdoor and looked out its window.
Samhain was still there. The grin remained spread across his pumpkin head.
Kerchack opened the door but didn't step into the yard. "You might as well go home."
The evil spirit said nothing.
"It's your call," said Kerchack, "but I'm not letting you out."
Samhain chuckled very, very softly. It was more of a rasp than anything else.
Kerchack's toast popped up, and he shut the door and spread some grape jelly on it. Denise appeared, and he handed her a piece.
"You ready?" she asked.
He went to the hook by the door where he kept his car keys. They weren't there.
"Gramps, have you seen my keys?"
Gramps mumbled.
"They're not on the hook where I always leave them."
Gramps glared and muttered.
"What?"
"I said, don't bother me while I'm watching TV!" shouted Gramps. "Not like I hid your car keys or nuthin'!"
"I never said you hid my keys."
Kerchack and Denise combed the living room. It took ten minutes of searching before she found them beneath the potted fern in the corner. They couldn't have fallen under there.
"Gramps, you didn't hide my keys, did you?"
Gramps glanced away from the television with a strange look in his eyes and a bit of a scowl on his face. "Why would I do sumthin' like that for, boy?"
"Are you ready yet?" asked Denise.
"Almost. I just need to find my wallet."
Gramps laughed.
"Forget the wallet," said Kerchack. "Let's just go."
They exited the house, and he paused before getting into the car. The night was not only long but filled with stars. More stars than he'd ever seen. Dark clouds, visible only as blackness against the starry night, rolled overhead.
"Anytime you're ready, Kerchack," said Denise.
"Sorry." He climbed and started the car. "Did Gramps seem weird to you?"
"I couldn't see him," she said. "I wasn't holding the shovel."
Kerchack glanced at the house. Joyce and Gramps stood at the window, staring out at him. It wasn't unusual for Joyce to watch him go. Gramps might be disinterested enough in a commercial to possibly come to the window.
He waved at the ghosts.
They didn't wave back.
The garage was clear across town, which made it at a seven minute drive. Neither passenger said much. Denise spent most the ride trying to get her hair to lay right and borrowing the rearview mirror to apply makeup. Kerchack was too busy ignoring the dead.
There seemed an awful lot of them today.
There always were, but this morning, the restless dead appeared even more restless than normal. Though Rockwood was teeming with ghosts, and he was used to seeing them all over the place, he wasn't used to all of them watching him. The living were usually too preoccupied to pay much mind to the dead. The dead usually returned the favor. This morning, the invisible, immaterial citizens of Rockwood raised their heads as Kerchack's car passed. This was pretty normal from the ghostly hitchhikers, of which Rockwood had more than its fair share, but that didn't account for the others. Front yard ghosts and graveyard ghosts and even house specters stared out from their windows and doorways. Cold, bitter stares from unblinking, ectoplasmic eyes. Stares exactly like Gramps and Joyce.
"Something bothering you, 'Chack?" Denise asked.
"No, I'm fine." He decided not to mention it to her. They were just ghosts, nothing to really worry about. "I had a real nice time last night, Denise."
"Me, too." She playfully scratched the back of his neck. "We should do it again sometime."
"Yeah, we should."
"How about tonight?"
"Sure. I'm free. We could head over to Rowling and catch a movie."
"Sounds nice."
Rowling was a forty minute drive. While it wasn't much bigger than Rockwood, it had at least a movie theater and a Burger King that stayed up past nine. More importantly to Kerchack, it had a lot less ghosts, and hopefully, by the time they drove back into town, things would have returned to normal.
He dropped her off at the service station. She leaned over and kissed him before running inside. She stopped and blew him a kiss, and Kerchack nearly missed it. He was distracted by the ghost in grease-smudged coveralls standing by the pumps who fixed him with that uniform cold glare.
Kerchack hadn't taken a shower and his hastily selected t-shirt had a dime-sized hole in the shoulder, but he didn't go back home to take care of his morning hygiene. He stopped over at Mrs. Vanderbeak's, who earned a little extra income baking in the morning since her husband had passed on. Her front door was open, as it always was, and a selection of hot cinnamon rolls, muffins, and donuts were laid on a tray on her coffee table.
Mrs. Vanderbeak poked her head out of the kitchen. "Mornin', Kerchack. Little early today, aren't'cha?"
"Never too early for one of your cinnamon rolls, ma'am."
He grabbed a roll and plopped down on her couch. She appeared with a glass of milk and patted him on his head. "If you need anything else, I'll be in the kitchen."
