*Happy Halloween, Clicky… /lights up and smokes… I’m gonna post my story from the anthology today. You can have the day off…*

*/coughs… Really? …/deep drag…*

*******

Just Us (Part One)

By Roo B. Doo

If she didn’t have her cigarette, Aida Roundtree was quite certain she’d have gone stark staring mad by now. In the ten months since her death, Aida had discovered that ghosthood wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Ghosts, it turned out, are extremely limited in what they can do. Yes, she was invisible to the living, could move through solid objects and even fly, all appealing attributes, no doubt, to MI5, but entirely limiting for the purposes of get anything done. All ghosts could really do, Aida had discovered, was to think, and they had an abundance of time to do it in.

From the start, Aida had decided not to disclose to the other ghosts in Fright Club that she had another, separate set of acquaintances. To Aida’s way of thinking, discretion is always the better part of valour, especially as her other set of acquaintances consisted of three of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse in corporeal form, plus a diminutive Grim Reaper. Aida wasn’t at all sure how the other Fright Clubbers would react upon learning that she was on personal speaking terms with War, Famine, Pestilence and Death. Not in a good way, Aida had decided, and remained resolutely mum on the subject.

To be fair, Aida hadn’t apprised her Apocalypse buddies about Fright Club either. She’d only met Death once – at her own – and War and Famine were infrequent visitors. They only came by to see Pestilence, whom Aida lived with and had been tasked, post-mortem, to keep watch over. At only two years old, Pestilence was far more interested in the duck-ducks in the park and the contents of his cereal bowl than hearing how the victims of a sinister depopulation agenda, currently being perpetrated by world governments on their citizens, were faring in ghost-life after death.

The biggest difference between Aida and her fellow Fright Clubbers was that she had chosen to enter this state, whereas ghosthood had been thrust upon them. Naturally they assumed that Aida had made the same fatal, compliant choice they had, but she had not and she did not disabuse them of the notion. Nor had Aida explained to them that her cigarette, the source of every cigarette now shared between ghosts upon entry into Fright Club, had been a gift from a stranger. A godsend.

She did not want her fellow ghosts to think of her as special because Aida knew that she was not. In her 77 years of life, Aida had been happily smoking for seventy of them, without paying heed to increasingly hysterical warnings about it. But what if smoking had killed her or at least contributed to her death? Aida had spent plenty of her new-found time thinking about that. She’d come to a realisation, that when push came to shove, her post-death craving for a cigarette was for comfort, the exact same comfort the Fright Clubbers had sought when they rolled up their sleeves and took the medicine on offer. With cigarette in hand, Aida had complied just as readily as any Fright Clubber had when she signed up for something she knew absolutely nothing about.

A choice that really wasn’t a choice at all, Aida thought as she floated onto the kitchen ceiling of the Darling household and blew a smoke ring, to Pestilence’s delight. Still, at least smoking helped keep Aida and the rest of the growing number of ghosts in Fright Club sane.

“Happy birthday, Paul.”

***

“Paul’s doing it again,” Molly informed her mother.

“Doing what?” Jocasta Darling replied distractedly. She had her back to the kitchen table as she prepared Molly’s packed lunch for school. She turned round and faced her daughter. “Is it the ceiling thing again?”

“Yes.” Molly slid off her chair and went to stand next to her baby brother, sat giggling in his high chair. She pressed her cheek against his and looked up at the ceiling. “I don’t know what he’s laughing at but he does it a lot.”

“He’s just a happy child,” Jocasta said, as she placed Molly’s packed lunch on the table. “Is your school bag ready? Go and get it.”

Molly pecked Paul on the cheek and went to retrieve her school bag from her bedroom.

Jocasta slumped onto the empty chair and started to wipe Paul’s face. In the background, the plummy presenter on the radio solemnly reported the morning’s news: a developing scandal about a minor celebrity’s sexual proclivities dominated the headlines, bumping turmoil on Wall Street and the political escalation toward World War 3 down the pecking order, right behind a thinly disguised lecture on climate change. Jocasta was suddenly glad that Molly was deaf and didn’t have to listen to such rubbish, before instantly chiding herself for such a wicked thought. She reached over and switched the radio off.

Three sharp raps from the front door letterbox broke the silence.

“Who can that be?” Jocasta asked Paul excitedly, as she got up from her chair. “It’s too early for trick or treaters. Perhaps it’s someone with a birthday present for you,” she said knowingly.

Paul Darling squealed and clapped his chubby hands together. Jocasta went to answer the door.

“Morning, Jo.” Wanda Warren stamped her feet and let out an icy breath. “It’s freezing today.”

“Good morning, come in.” Jocasta ushered her friend inside and shut the door against the cold. “We’re in the kitchen, it’s warm in there.”

Molly appeared with her school bag. “Hello Wanda. Happy Halloween.”

“Happy Halloween,” Wanda spoke and signed back. “Did I get that right?”

Molly smiled and gave Wanda the okay signal.

“Wah. Wah.” Paul bounced up and down in his seat at the sound of Wanda’s voice.

“There he is!” Wanda exclaimed and kissed the top of Paul’s head. “Happy Birthday!”

Paul raised his arms up toward Wanda. “Hug-me!”

“He’s stringing words together?” Wanda lifted Paul out of his high chair. “Wow. That definitely deserves a hug.”

Paul wrapped his arms around her neck and nuzzled her hair.

“So what’s the plan of action for today?” Wanda asked. “How long do you need me for?”

“A couple of hours,” Jocasta replied as she finished putting the breakfast dishes away. “I have to walk Molly to school and then I’ve got a meeting there.”

Wanda moved round so that Molly couldn’t see to read her lips. “Is she in trouble? She’s not being bullied, is she?”

Jocasta laughed. “No, nothing like that. It’s with some other parents. We’re planning the Christmas fete. I don’t know how I get roped into these things, but I do.”

“We’ll come with you, if you want. As far as school that is and then me and this little one can go scour the high street for a birthday present. Sorry, I’ve had no time to go shopping.” Wanda leaned her face down to Paul’s. “Would you like a toy?” she drawled.

“Toy,” Paul repeated and chuckled at the shock on Wanda’s face. “Yes-toy.”

“Blimey, his vocab’s really coming along.”

“It is,” Jocasta said proudly and took Paul from Wanda’s arms. “Thank you so much for this. I’ll go get him dressed. Do you want a cup of tea?”

Wanda sat down at the table and unbuttoned her jacket. “No, I’ll only need to pee it out later and I hate using public lavs. The seats are always wet these days now they’ve let cocks in frocks have free access to the ladies. Men love to mark their territory. It’s their nature. Do you mind if I switch on the radio?”

“No, go ahead. Come on Molly, you need to get dressed too.” Jocasta and the children left the kitchen, leaving Wanda alone.

She switched on the radio.

***

‘… has been taken into custody, a spokesperson for the Metropolitan Police said in a statement. It follows a raid on the star’s sixteen million pound mansion in Buckinghamshire, where he kept dozens of live animals in an area described as a ‘sex dungeon petting zoo’. The BBC has so far refused to comment…’

“Can you believe it?” Aida floated down from the ceiling. “Bestiality for breakfast. Whatever is the world coming to?”

“An end,” Wanda said drily. “Don’t ask me when, though. This is like no apocalypse I’ve ever been through before.” She kept her voice below the volume of the radio to disguise the fact she was having a conversation.

Aida was afraid to ask but asked anyway. “Have you… experienced many apocalypses?”

“Oh yes. Too many to count.” Wanda rolled her eyes. “Life, civilizations, stars, there’s no escaping entropy.”

‘…Two activists have been released on bail. An NHS spokesperson has confirmed that the patient whose heart surgery was interrupted by their demonstration against the use of the gas desflurane, used in anaesthesia, has subsequently died. Climate change is suspected…’

Aida nodded. “And when did the current apocalypse start?” She tried to sound nonchalant but could tell from the narrowing of Wanda’s eyes that she’d failed.

‘… In economic news, panic…’

“Why don’t you,” Wanda said eventually, “come shopping with me and Pesto today. You should get out more. Do you get out much?”

Wanda was good: her innocent question was crafted better than Aida’s nonchalant effort, but Aida wasn’t fooled. She knew when she was being probed.

“Well, I go to the park sometimes with Jocasta and the kids. I’ve seen you there exercising.”

Wanda looked dubious. ”I haven’t seen you in the park. I hold classes there nearly every day.”

“I know. It was back in the early summer. You were ordering lots of muscular, young men around and getting sweaty.”

Wanda bobbed her head. “That sounds like one of my classes.”

“You looked far too busy to chat.”

‘… in a diplomatic effort to sooth tensions after the US President accused China of white supremacy for its support of Russian aggression…’

“So you’ll come shopping with us today?”

Aida puffed on her cigarette and slowly floated back up to the ceiling. “Okay, let’s.”

***

STATE OF SOULS

QUARTERLY BOARD MEETING

31ST OCTOBER 2023

GOD LOBBY, ROOM 2B

1000H – 1200H

BOARD: GOD (G) – CHAIR

DEATH (D)

MARGE GERANA (MG)

MINUTES: BRIAN (B)

AGENDA

1. Actions From Previous Meeting – All

2. Update on Births – MG

3. Update on Deaths – D

4. Forward Plan – G

5. A.O.B.

6. Next Meeting – t.b.c.

Tap Tap Tap Tap

Death sat alone in room 2B of the God Lobby, rhythmically drumming his phalanges against the gleaming surface of the boardroom table.

Tap Tap Tap Tap

He wondered about the numbering of the room; as far as he was aware, the God Lobby only had one meeting room.

Tap Tap Tap Tap

Rummaging in his robes, Death pulled his Psi-Pad out from beneath the folds and flipped opened the cover. The time said ’10:03′.

Tap Tap Tap Tap

He considered proposing the elevation of ‘unpunctuality’ to primary sin status, out from under the auspices of Sloth. However, a quick check on his Psi-Pad informed him that he had missed the ‘Sins for the Twenty First Century’ submission deadline. By twenty three years.

Tap Tap Tap

The door to room 2B opened.

Tap

Death stood up and bowed his head as God entered the room, followed by Brian, a pompous goose and Chief Administrative Assistant to the deity. He was looking more ruffled than his usual polished self as he hoisted his white, downy behind onto a chair at the far end of the table. He slammed his writing case down with a thud.

God took the seat next to Death.

Good morning, Big D. I do apologise for being late. Unfortunately, Marge Gerana is not well. Or rather, she is not feeling herself.

“Good morning, Ma’am. Is Marge okay?” Death asked with concern. He and Marge went back a long way.

No. She is in the bathroom and will be here shortly. When she arrives…

God hesitated.

This can’t be good, Death thought. “Ma’am?”

God turned to the goose at the end of the table, who was ready with parchment and quill, poised to record all the minutia of the meeting.

Brian, our conversation right now is not for the minutes.

Brian laid down his quill and folded his wings. God turned back to Death.

It would be best not to stare.

Death was puzzled. “Stare?”

And don’t say anything. Brian said something to her earlier, which has resulted in the late start to this meeting.

What could Brian have said to upset Marge Gerana, the Great Birthing Stork? Death was at a loss. Insults to Marge were like water off, well, her own back, all birds being pretty waterproof after all. Death looked toward the scribe who was angrily preening his feathers.

“Ma’am, I will endeavour not to… GAH!”

The door to the room cracked open, slowly revealing a disheveled mass of dreary, grey feathers, atop quivering, stick-thin legs. From the doorway, ferocious, green eyes stared fixedly upon Death, over an enormous bill that looked like it was made from driftwood.

Death couldn’t help it; he stared.

God subtly shook her head, with eyes closed.

“Gah, ha, hello, Marge.” Death knew he should attempt to recover the situation, but the drastic change in Marge Gerana’s appearance was shocking beyond belief. Where was her resplendent white plumage and slender beak? “You look… Why do you have a clog on your face?”

Marge lifted her oversized head and cried out, clattered her gargantuan jaws together rapidly. She ran off under, what sounded like, machine-gun fire.

Oh, Big D!

“I don’t understand.” Death was perplexed; Marge Gerana was always immaculately turned out, even if she was prone to over-accessorize, at least in Death’s opinion. Her fondness for shoes was legendary, but even she wouldn’t wear them on her face.

She’s a Shoebill.

“Ma’am?”

It appears that Marge has morphed into a Shoebill Stork. They’re not even storks. They’re herons.

“But what has caused this profound change?”

I do not know but I fear the successful delivery figures for the previous quarter were less than optimal. I will go comfort her.

God stood up from the table.

I think it best if we adjourn this meeting for today. Brian, please reschedule it.

Brian honked acknowledgment and swept his writing accouterments into the writing case with a majestic swipe of his wing.

God left the room, closely followed by Brian, who took the opportunity to give Death a supercilious look that only a master bureaucrat can give, before closing the door.

Once more, Death found himself alone in room 2B. He retrieved his Psi-Pad and checked the time. It was ’10:07′.

***

“I thought we were going shopping.” Aida floated above Wanda and Paul, as they neared the park gates. “The high street is the other way.”

Wanda ignored her, instead stopping to adjust Paul’s woolly hat and wipe a candle of green mucus from his nose. “Eww, Pesto. That’s nasty.”

“Aren’t you talking to me?”

Wanda continued to ignore Aida. She gripped the corner of the used tissue between forefinger and thumb and walked it over to the graffiti tagged litter bin inside the park entrance. She held it over the rim at arm’s length. “You do know that, by rights, we should burn this. Remember that time when you wiped out Central America with a poorly discarded snot-rag?”

“No-no. Wah.”

“Well yeah, I helped but it was mostly you. I gotta say, Pesto, it was some of your finest work.”

Paul blew a wet raspberry and gurgled in reply.

Wanda dropped the tissue into the litter bin. “Fuck it.”

“Wait!” Aida rushed down and peered into the trash. “It’s not dangerous is it?”

“Well, look who came down to talk.” Wanda stood with her hands on her hips. “Seriously, Aida, your floating above my head is giving me neck-ache.”

“I like to avoid contact with the living.” Aida was quite firm in this regard. “I know they don’t know, but I’ll know and I don’t see why death should abrogate the rules for consensual contact.”

“O…K…” Wanda widened her eyes and tilted her head back. “That’s good and ethical and all that, but I don’t care if you touch me, by accident or design and Pesto’s strapped in. He can’t move.”

Paul watched silently, his eyes flicking from one to the other as they sparred.

Aida knew Wanda had a point but she wasn’t quite ready to give in. “We were going to the high street to shop. There are lots of people there.”

“True, but we’re not in the high street, we’re in Victory park. It’s Tuesday morning and it’s fucking freezing. There’s nobody here, I promise you.”

“Alright.” Aida held up her hands. “Let’s walk in the park.”

“No, we’re going to walk through the park.” Wanda grabbed the handles on the stroller and started pushing. “We’ve got a date on the other side.”

Aida kept pace with Wanda, but floated on the grass. “What kind of date?”

“One with a birthday cake for Pesto and a fry up for me. I’m starving. I’ve usually eaten by now.”

“A birthday party for Paul?”

“No, one for you,” Wanda replied sarcastically. “Of course for Paul. Pesto.”

“Oh.”

Wanda sighed. “Sorry, I get testy when I’m hungry. Famine will be there, although I’m not sure about Death. He’s invited but he’s got a meeting all morning apparently. He said he’d make it if he can.”

“Or if he has to. Hopefully not because he has to.”

Wanda smiled. “Yeah, hopefully not.”

Wanda walked and Aida floated along in silence. One streaming icy breath, the other streaming ghostly smoke.

“Thank you,” Aida eventually said.

“For what?”

“For inviting me along. That’s very thoughtful. Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“And spoil the surprise?” Wanda gave a long whistle. “Somebody hasn’t read any Clausewitz,” she said in a sing-song voice.

Aida grimaced. “Sounds German.”

“Prussian. Same thing. He was a very moral man, you know, Aida. You’d have liked him.”

“I’m sure.”

“He wrote a whole book about me. On War. It’s mandatory reading in many militaries,” she said wistfully.

The women skirted around the duck pond, much to Paul’s annoyance. Neither were out of breath.

“It’s lucky Jocasta was busy with a school meeting this morning,” Aida said.

Wanda kept striding. “Isn’t it.”

“On Paul’s,” Aida paused. “On Pesto’s birthday.”

“I’d say very fortunate.”

“You wouldn’t have had anything to do with that?” Aida asked. She had to ask.

Wanda flapped her lips dismissively. “No. Jo’s a great team player, they’re lucky to have her. It’s a lot of work organising a school Christmas fete. She’ll have fun.”

“With weekly meetings, no doubt,” Aida added.

“Twice weekly closer to the date, I’d say.”

Aida removed her cigarette from her mouth. “’The greatest victory is that which requires no battle’.”

Wanda looked round at Aida with a raised eyebrow. “You know Sun Tzu?”

Aida sniffed and resumed smoking. “I’ve read his book.”

“You’ve read Art of War?” Wanda sounded sceptical. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I was quite the avid reader when I was alive. It’s surprisingly short and easy to understand.”

“It really is. I don’t know why more people haven’t read it.”

“Unfortunately, I never got around to reading Clausewitz’s Vom Kriege,” Aida said sadly, “but then my job was delivering babies, not war.”

Wanda stopped and watched Aida floating ahead. “You’ll recognise this quote then,” she said loudly. “’One may know how to conquer without being able to do it.’”

Aida waited for Wanda to catch up. “I’ve thought a lot about that.”

“I’m sure.” Eyes forward, Wanda continued pushing the pram. “So have I since turning up in human physical form. It’s just so damn limiting.”

Aida was surprised. The last thing she would describe Wanda’s body as was ‘limited’. In any way. Wanda had the looks and physique to which ‘the sky’s the limit’ was a more appropriate description. Still, Aida knew the feeling of frustration that Wanda was describing all too well and could empathise.

“I could help,” Wanda said. “Perhaps we can help each other.”

“Really? How?”

“Well, an invite to meet with you and your little smoking buddies would be a start. I too, work on consent, you know.”

Aida burst out laughing. “No you don’t. What is it you said to me when we first met? ‘I have no qualms’ and then you punched me in the chest.”

“I was demonstrating consent.”

“I didn’t consent. You caught me by surprise.”

Aida could tell immediately that she’d won that point from the roll of Wanda’s eyes.

“Whatever.” Wanda ploughed on along the icy path.

Again, Aida had to ask. “How did you know?”

“About your smoking buddies?”

“Yes.”

“A little bird told me.”

“A little bird?”

“Yes. Plus three of your friends have been stalking me for the past four months,” Wanda said matter-of-factly. “They’ve been coming to my classes to ogle and cop a feel.”

Aida stopped dead. Her cigarette dropped from the surprised ‘oh’ her mouth made and disappeared, only to immediately reappear behind her ear. Aida plucked it from the side of her head and put it back in her mouth. “What?! No. Who?”

“One of them is called Craig. He looks about 16. Wears a football strip. I’m not sure about the other two but they’re all teenage lads and they all smoke cigarettes that never burn down, so I figure they’ve probably got some connection with you.

Aida was stunned. “You didn’t react at all?”

“To the groping and catcalling?” Wanda shook her head. “No.”

“Then they don’t know that you know that they’re ghosts.”

“No, but they probably do now.” Wanda flicked her eyes to the right. “The treeline, in the south east corner of the park. Don’t look. Okay, look, but don’t make it obvious.”

Aida caught the cigarette this time as it dropped. She didn’t need to look; instinctively Aida knew that Wanda was telling the truth. It was a sad fact but a large number of the latest Fright Club members had been young men in the peak of physical health when they were cruelly cut down. Many had never even had so much as a chance to sow a wild oat, let alone oats before they suddenly died.

“Craig’s not a bad lad, none of them are,” Aida said quietly. “They’re bored and angry. And scared that their short lives were for nought and they’re trying to be brave about it. They need…” Aida searched for the word that best described what the Fright Clubbers lacked. “Discipline.”

“A leader?” Wanda suggested at the same time. “Of course Discipline is the soul of an army,” Wanda added.

“Clausewitz?”

“No, Washington. You’d have liked George. He was big into tobacco and a great leader.”

Aida laughed out loud again. “You do make me laugh, Wanda. An army of smoking ghosts led by George Washington. What a notion.”

“No, Aida, an army of smoking ghosts led by you.” Wanda said emphatically.

“Me?

“What was it Sun Tzu said about ghosts?”

Aida wrinkled her brow as she tried to recollect. She took a deep drag on her cigarette and then she had it. She blew out a plume of smoke.

“‘Foreknowledge cannot be gotten from ghosts and spirits, cannot be had by analogy, cannot be found out by calculation. It must be obtained from people, people who know the conditions of the enemy.’”

“And who better to gather intelligence on ‘the enemy’ than the ghosts of dead people fighting for justice?”

“Spooks.”

“Exactly. Seriously, Aida, you don’t know what you’ve got. A bona fide ghost army that the C.I.A would kill for.”

“How many would they kill for it?”

Wanda snorted. “How many did they jab?”

It was a chilling thought to match the biting cold weather.

“October 31^st 2020,” Wanda said flatly.

“What’s that?” Aida asked.

“You asked me earlier when the Apocalypse started. It was on Halloween in 2020 with the murder of FAMINE, PESTILENCE and WAR. Me, Paul and Xi Xi are ‘ghosts’ every bit as much as you.”

Aida didn’t know what to say so she said nothing.

They were near the park exit, when a sudden burst of blue light pulsed between tree branches, reflecting off frosty leaves.

“What’s going on over there?” Aida shot up into the sky for a better view.

“Police, Fire or Ambulance?” Wanda called up.

“Ambulance,”Aida called down. “Parked outside the cafe. Ooh, it looks bad.”

“Did you hear that, Pesto?” Wanda lent over the stroller and whispered to Paul. She picked up the pace. “Looks like Big D’s gonna make your birthday party after all.”

*******

Entertainment – A Day Off for Angels https://t.co/9iy5C1X4Z9 via @Underdogsbiteup pic.twitter.com/zjvvcSYWuS

— RooBeeDoo (@RooBeeDoo1) October 31, 2023

*Leggy posted his story, too? …/stubs butt… Bonus…*