I Guess…*Shrug*

A good chunk of this year has been spent trying to find a way to write despite the stress, but now I’m getting more writing done trying to escape the dreadful reality of the present situation facing the world. So my brain can’t escape normal levels of crappy life stress, but has no problems ducking out when confronted with “What the hell will the world look like in a year?” stress?

I’m done with my brain.

So anyways, here’s an excerpt from a Paranormal series I started called Support Your Local Medium. Please take pity on me because this is a first draft, and I mostly work on Fantasy(Posts and runs away):

“Who would you like to summon today, Mr. Greendale?” I asked with my hands hovering over the crystal ball on the pretty cherry wood table someone had parted with at the Goodwill. The answer was pretty self-explanatory going by the transparent woman standing next to me with her high-heeled shoe tapping in irritation at the man sitting opposite of us. She had haunted my shop since yesterday, so she must have known her husband would come by. Thankfully, no one needed to know that the ghosts came to me without even asking for their presence or their loved ones to pay an exorbitant fee.

“Can I…can I speak to my late wife. I miss her.”

“You miss the free babysitting and zero responsibilities on your part, asshole,” said who was evidently Mrs. Greendale beside me.

“She was my heart and soul. I wish dearly that she’s moved on, but…”

“But?” I asked.

“I’m cramping his bachelor style,” Mrs. Greendale said with a smirk.

“Maybe my wife hasn’t moved on,” Mr. Greendale whispered while shifting nervously in his chair. There probably wasn’t a psychic bone in his body, but self-preservation was strong enough in some people to sense when a pissed off ghost wasn’t crossing into that bright light but haunting them for whatever transgressions had occurred on the mortal plane.

“What makes you believe that, Mr. Greendale?”

“Well..” Mr. Greendale moved forward as if to share a secret. “I mourned my wife deeply, you see, but my boys still need a maternal influence in their life. I’ve just now started to date again, and I swear on my life, I can feel her presence.”

“Don’t you miss your wife,” I asked while trying to seem sympathetic. Without having to listen to his bullshit answer yet, I knew that this putz would fly to the ends of the earth to find an exorcism that could successfully banish his dead wife for good.

“He’s such a good husband that he started dating before I was even dead for the sake of our kids? Why couldn’t he have died in that car accident?” Mrs. Greendale’s heel tapped louder. “Him breaking his promise to the boys again to go meet his mistress is why I was on that damn road anyway. And why can’t people sleep off their booze instead of getting on the road knowing damn well they can’t drive? Fuck St. Patrick’s Day!”

Mrs. Greendale and I agreed on that sentiment. There was a reason I never traveled on holidays that appealed to drunken frat boys. I nearly got clipped on the highway by a group of young men in sombreros on Cinco De Mayo who all looked paler than me.

Mr. Greendale kept up the act of a loving husband though by clutching his chest as if in pain. “Like I said, Mr….um, how do I address you?”

I waved my hand at him. “The Great Godfrey will do.”

“…Well, as I said, I love my wife, but I think it’s best for her soul that she move on.”

“Fat chance, asshole. Your little girlfriend hates kids, and she already looks ready to drown my boys in a tub if you leave her alone with them again to meet up with girlfriend number 3.”

I rubbed my forehead in annoyance which was hard to do under a late 1500’s replica hat with a large feather sticking out of the top. For some reason, the hat and dark velvet blue cape didn’t look ridiculous over my custom suits, so I stuck with these outfits as my extra special fortune teller/medium look. Crooked psychic fashion aside, cases with kids were a problem. If Mrs. Greendale was truthful, which most ghosts were, this guy was probably trying to eliminate the only protection their kids had from neglect and possibly other abuse. I glanced in the direction of Mrs. Greendale whose foot had stopped tapping and was now staring back at me. The problem with ghosts was that they usually stalked me before appearing, so they knew underneath my cynical façade, I wasn’t a complete dick. Her kids were the priority.

Flapping my cape behind my chair dramatically, I stood to retrieve a book from a nearby shelf that was self-published by me with intricate symbols of skulls on the cover to look foreboding. Mr. Greendale shivered when he saw the front, and that gave me a feeling of pride. That cover took weeks to make, so my effort didn’t go to waste. From under the table, I slid out a pamphlet of my prices. “Speaking to the dead is one thing, Mr. Greendale, but banishment is a far greater task.” I cleared my throat so he understood that I also meant a way higher price tag.

While Mr. Greendale’s eyes bulged, Mrs. Greendale began laughing beside me. “I’ve been a ghost long enough to see real exorcism spells, but this book is about as powerful as a Care Bears bedtime story. Go ahead and take his money. I have a secret trust account for the boys, and hiring a shady psychic-no offense-will work in favor of my mom getting custody.”

After preparing an extremely expensive exorcism package and sending Mr. Greendale on his way, I spoke to Mrs. Greendale about laying low until the check cleared, and how to haunt her husband with more subtlety so it looked more like bad luck and how to tinker with his social media accounts so the messages he was currently sending to a teen girl could be sent to her parents. All in all, it was a productive day. A scummy husband got scammed, and a dead mother learned more about her ghostly powers. As I read through my schedule and found a few hours of free time, I went to the back of my office behind the curtain where I could lounge in a recliner for a lunch break.

“What about me?”

I had tried my best to ignore the younger woman flitting in and out during the past week, but she was persistent once she realized I could see her. “There are some things I can’t help with,” I said while flinging off my cape and hat.

The woman pointed at the door. “I told you where my body is, so you have to get it!”

“Murdered body,” I muttered.

“What?”

“I said, ‘murdered body’. You’re on your own with that.”

“Excuse me for not being a lady in fancy clothes, but I think I deserve just as much help.”

I removed the face mask with painted eyes that I had just put on to block out the light. “I don’t care how much or how little money you have. Mrs. Greendale died in front of witnesses. You died in an alley where not even you could identify your killer. Some of us with no personal lives, aka, no alibis at any given time, don’t run to the cops with tales of murdered bodies. You’ll have to find some other medium to send to prison. So have a nice day.” I put the mask back on and reclined all the way back.

“Nice day? NICE DAY! I’M FUCKING DEAD!”

I winced at the thunderous sound in my mind as the ghost gathered her anger, but I didn’t move. You get used to the shouting once you’ve identified what their power level was. Newly dead wasn’t going to rattle my lights, so volume was all she had. Sad, yes, but again, I was strict about not going to prison. Juvie was bad enough.

“He’s going to kill again, and that’s on you. You hear me? That’s on-”

Silence.

I didn’t have to remove my mask to know that the ghost fizzled out from too much energy use. She would be back though. The thing with being murdered was that even though she didn’t see her killer, she could sense his motives through the connection that linked them since her death. So not only did a murder victim pop up in my office, she may have been done in by a serial killer. This was not the path I wanted to walk again.

~

I hope you enjoyed it, and maybe I’ll post another excerpt from this story or another one next week. Oh and this is the last day to get Veiled Dancer for free.

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