Wisely they leave graves open for the dead
‘cos some too early are brought to bed.
I flung the last shovel of dirt over my shoulder and climbed out of the hole. Tossing the shovel to the ground, I wiped my hands on a handkerchief from my back pocket.
“How many more this week?” I asked.
It was so peaceful, there in the lake, that it was a long time before I noticed I was dead. The green water was cold with autumnal chill yet gentle like the sweetest embrace. I drifted in it among the tall water plants and funny little fishes, humming to myself and thinking of…
Read it now
“Tell me, Eliza Booker. Do you really think you can cheat death?”
Smoke filled my lungs; my breath came in strangled puffs. Around me, a circle of fire blazed—all thanks to the pyre-loving poltergeist smirking like a Jack-o-lantern amid the chaos.
Its appearance continually shifted, like shadows that couldn’t latch onto a form.
August 31st
3:20 a.m.
I crept along the shadows of Buck’s Row in London, humming a song underneath my breath. Brownstone buildings loomed over me, and my foot clacked against a circular black plaque.
I giggled, a slightly intoxicated sound.
“Careful where you’re walking there, missum,” said a voice with a heavy London accent.
“If we said wedding vows, do you think we’d say ‘‘til death do us part,’ or ‘‘til death bring us together’?” I raised my gray, ghostly hand to view it in the moonlight.
“I don’t know, Eliza, but d’ya think you can ask this question again after we stop two raging yōkai from…
It’s quite odd, realizing you’re dead.
Strangely, I didn’t know immediately. My epiphany happened last Derby, when I kissed my now-boyfriend, Reynolds, for the first time. He was a stranger then, but I realized when our lips met he had more substance. He was tangible; I was vaporous fluff.
And Eliza Booker is not vaporous or fluffy.
Over the centuries I’ve had brief spells where I’ve considered children adorable. But such misconceptions can be very dangerous. My only excuse, I’d caught a March madness.
“Those are the official rules. Any questions?” I snapped the NBA rulebook closed and stared down at the children. Fourteen wide eyes stared back at me.
“How long has your wife been missing, Mayor Collins?” Kelvin Lockhart asked, leaning forward in the leather guest chair. The move was as much about comfort as it was about being direct. The chair almost swallowed his small, wiry frame.
On the other side of the mahogany desk, Geoff Collins shook his head. “Quite an interesting euphemism.
I’d spent centuries avoiding typical societal celebrations of love. If experience was any indication, this Valentine’s night was shaping up to be as dull and tedious as every other.
A sudden movement caught my eye. A woman ran for the alley, her hair streaming behind her like golden ribbons. She ducked around the corner
“You really want to attend The Cupid’s Cafe Single Mingle?” Marguerite folded her arms and arched an eyebrow. “What about our girl’s night? Hunting monsters and slaying vampires?”
“We do that every year, and most weekends. Let’s try something new?” I clasped my hands and gave her exaggerated puppy-dog eyes. “Please!”
When I signed up for Fated—supposedly the best app for online paranormal dating—I had no idea being a Seer would make it so hard to envision a future with my matches.
Like this vampire. His fangs sprout over his bottom lip as he licks away a speck of spaghetti sauce. “My mother
“My name is Jean-Luc Beaufoy. I am a vampire. I am old enough that it is impolite to ask how old I am, and these are my memoirs.”
I scowl at the words illuminated on the screen. What a boring way to start a story. Informative, yet lacks pizzazz.
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