Jeaniene Frost - Halfway to the Grave

“Hear that, do you?” Another odd keening came out of him, eerily echoing. He shimmered for a second, and then the leaves near where he hovered scattered in a burst of concentrated air.

“Winston Gallagher?” I asked.

The ghost actually looked over his shoulder, as if expecting to see someone behind him.

I put more stress into it. “Well?”

“She can’t see me…” he said, presumably to himself.

“The hell I can’t!” I marched over in relief, anxious to get out of this creepy place. “Is that your headstone? If the answer’s yes, then tonight’s your lucky night.”

Those squinty eyes narrowed further. “You can see me?”

Was he this thick when he was alive? I wondered irreverently. “Yeah, I see dead people. Who knew? Now let’s talk. I’m looking for some newly deceaseds, and I heard you could help.”

It was almost funny to watch those transparent features change from incredulity to belligerence. He didn’t have facial muscles anymore, needless to say. Was it just the memory of them that made his scowl form?

“Get out of here or else the grave will swallow you and you’ll never leave!”

Boy, did he make it sound intimidating. If he had anything to threaten me with, I’d have been concerned.

“I’m not afraid of the grave; I was born half in it. But if you want me to get out of here”-I turned as if to go-“fine, but that means I’ll just have to throw this in the nearest trash can.”

Out of my jacket came the clear bottle with the lightning bolt. I almost laughed when his eyes fastened on it as though they were magically welded. This had to be Winston, all right.

“Whattt’ssss that you’ve got there, mistress?”

He drew the first word out in a lustful hiss. I popped the cork, waving it under where his nose appeared to be.

“Moonshine, my friend.”

I was still uncertain how Bones thought I was supposed to bribe him with this. Pour some on his grave? Hold the bottle inside his disembodied form? Or splash him with it?

Winston made another keening noise that would have chilled anyone near enough to hear it.

“Please, mistress!” Gone was his hostile tone, replaced instead with one of desperation. “Please, drink it. Drink it!”

“Me?” I gaped. “I don’t want any!”

“Oh, let me taste it through you, please!” he begged.

Taste it through me. Now I knew why Bones hadn’t mentioned how to entice Winston before. That’s what I got for trusting a vampire even in the littlest thing! I gave the ghost an irritable look while promising myself revenge on a certain pale-skinned, room-temperature creature of the night.

“Fine. I’ll drink some, but then you’re going to give me names of young girls who’ve died around here. No car accidents or diseases, either. Murders only.”

“Read the paper, mistress, why do you need me for that?” he barked. “Now drink the ’shine!”

I was so not in the mood to be pushed around by another dead person. “Guess I’ve caught you on a bad night,” I said pleasantly. “I’ll just leave you alone and be on my way…”

“Samantha King, seventeen years old, passed last night after being bled to death!” he trumpeted. “Please!”

I didn’t even have to ask for him to specify a cause of death. He must want that liquor real bad. I wrote the specifics down on my notepad and then tipped the bottle to my mouth.

“Mother of God!” I choked moments later, hardly noticing Winston’s entire form diving through my throat like he’d been shot from a gun. “Arghh! That tastes like kerosene!”

“Oh, the sweetness!” was his enraptured reply as he came out the other side of my neck. “Yessss! Give me more!”

I was still coughing, and my throat burned. Whether that was from the liquor or the ghost was anyone’s guess.

“Another name,” I managed to get out. “Then I’ll have more.”

Winston didn’t need to be told twice any longer. “Violet Perkins, age twenty-two, died last Thursday of strangulation. Cried the whole way up.”

He didn’t sound particularly sad for her. A hand waved impatiently at me, its edges blurry. “Go on!”

One deep breath later and more moonshine went down the hatch. I coughed just as much as before, my eyes watering.

“Why would anyone pay for this swill?” I gasped when I came up for air. My throat was almost throbbing when Winston exited it and he floated back in front of me.

“Thought you’d taken my ’shine from me forever, didn’t you, Simms?” Winston shouted at the passing hooded phantom. It didn’t react. “Well, look who’s drinking while you’re condemned to eternally wander off that cliff! This nip’s for you, old John! Carmen Johnson, twenty-seven, bled to death ten days ago. Drink, mistress! And this time, swallow like a woman, not like a gurgling babe!”

I regarded him with amazement. Out of all things, liquor seemed to be what he missed the most. “You’re dead and you’re still an alcoholic. That’s so dysfunctional.”

“A bargain’s a bargain!” he belted. “Drink!”

“Prick,” I muttered under my breath as I eyed the bottle unhappily. This stuff made gin taste like sugar water in comparison. You’re going to get Bones back for this, I swore to myself. And not just with a silver stake. That’s too good for him.

Twenty minutes later, my notepad had thirteen more names on it, the bottle was empty, and I was swaying on my feet. If I wasn’t so dizzy, I’d have been amazed at all the girls who’d been murdered the past couple months. Hadn’t the new governor just been bragging on TV about how the crime rate was way down? The names on my list sure seemed to indicate otherwise. Tell those poor girls the crime rate was down, I’d bet they’d all disagree.

Winston lay on the ground, his hands over his belly, and when I let out an extended burp, he smiled as though it had relieved his diaphragm also.

“Ah, mistress, you’re an angel. Sure there’s not a drop left? I might have remembered one more person…”

“Up yours,” I said rudely with another belch. “It’s empty. You should tell me the name anyway, after making me drink all that sewage.”

Winston gave me a devious smile. “Come back with a full bottle and I will.”

“Selfish spook,” I mumbled, and staggered away.

I’d made it a few feet when I felt that distinct pins-and-needles sensation again, only this time it wasn’t in my throat.

“Hey!”

I looked down in time to see Winston’s grinning, transparent form fly out of my pants. He was chuckling even as I smacked at myself and hopped up and down furiously.

“Drunken filthy pig!” I spat. “Bastard!”

“And a good eve’in’ to you, too, mistress!” he called out, his edges starting to blur and fade. “Come back soon!”

“I hope worms shit on your corpse!” was my reply. A ghost had just gotten to third base with me. Could I sink any lower?

Bones came out from behind the bushes about fifty yards away. “What happened, Kitten?”

“You! You tricked me! I never want to see you or that bottle of liquid arsenic again!”

And I chucked the empty moonshine jug at him. Or tried to. It missed him by a dozen feet.

He picked it up in astonishment. “You drank the whole bloody thing? You were only supposed to have a few sips!”

“Did you say that? Did you?” He reached me just as I felt the ground tip. “Didn’t say anything. I’ve got those names, so that’s all that matters, but you men…you’re all alike. Alive, dead, undead-all perverts! I had a drunken pervert in my pants! Do you know how unsanitary that is?”

Bones held me upright. I would have protested, but I couldn’t remember how to. “What are you saying?”