*Clicky? Where are you? Oh…*

*Ahh, you look so peaceful. Never mind, I’ll post it myself…*

Hello there, Dear Reader 😀

As promised, my latest story for Underdog Anthology XXIII: Spring Broke is set out below. It follows directly on from ‘Just Us Part 2’ and that story, plus all the others in this series, can be found via the ‘Ronageddon‘ link on the sidebar.

Enjoy! ❤ 

*******

Fright Club

by Roo B. Doo

Wanda was dreaming: she dreamt she was riding in the back of a black cab. It was nighttime and the street lights of London streamed through the windows as the taxi trundled along. She was not alone: a bored looking vampire and a twitching zombie sat opposite her on flip-down seats, and she could hear the driver singing along to a Bob Marley song that played through cab’s tinny speakers. The situation seemed familiar to Wanda, filling her stomach with an overwhelming feeling of dread: I know this journey; it does not end well.

The taxi slowed and the doors locked fast with a clunk, as a sudden shaft of moonlight illuminated the interior of the cab.

“Oh no.” Wanda pressed her hands against her stomach. “No, no, no!”

The vampire looked alarmed. “Vot iz it, Vor?”

Wanda growled. “It’s my monthlies. I don’t fucking believe this. Why nowOOOO!”

“Vot? NOOOO!” the vampire screamed. Panicked and terrified, he flapped his arms in front of him. “Get avay! Get avay!”

Wanda howled again, before proceeding to bite the vampire’s face off.

She awoke from her dream with a gulping whoop, like the first breath of life after being submerged. Wanda sat up in bed, panting, as the night air cooled her hot skin, slick with sweat.

“Please tell me you’re awake now.”

Wanda was startled by the voice. “Pete?”

Peter Peabody sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, hugging a pillow against his naked torso. His arms were scratched and he looked shaken. “What in the hell was that?”

Wanda flopped back down onto the bed and massaged her brow. She’d forgotten she wasn’t alone; Pete had seen her home after their date and, well, one thing had led to another. “A dream. I had a bad dream.”

“A bad dream?” Peter dropped the pillow to reveal a large, angry bite mark on his chest. “For God’s sake,Wanda, you bit me. Look.”

“I did?” Wanda peered up Peter’s proffered chest. She could see the pale indentations from her teeth against the reddened skin. “Did I scratch you up, too?”

“Yes. Although the ones on my back are from, um, earlier.” Pete pushed the pillow down on his lap.

He seemed furtive. Wanda snatched the pillow away. “You’ve got an erection? I have a nightmare and you get an erection?”

Peter stood proud. “It’s impossible not to when the woman lying next to you is writhing and moaning.” He grabbed the pillow from under Wanda’s head and placed it over his groin. “Especially when that woman is you. Do you often bite people when you’re asleep?”

Wanda sniffed and shook her head. “It’s never happened before.”

“I don’t know whether to be comforted by that or not.”

“Then ask a better question,” she replied tersely. Wanda thumped the pillow in her hand and laid her head upon it.

Peter’s posture visibly relaxed. “Are you okay?” he asked gently.

“That’s a better question,” Wanda said with a wry smile. “Yes. Hey, I’m sorry I bit you. I had no idea I was doing it.”

“It’s not too bad. A couple inches down and I could have well lost a nipple.” Peter fingered the bite mark. “Damn. It’s going to make a heck of a bruise.”

Wanda turned on her side and propped her chin in her hand, so as to properly assess the man she’d permitted to bed her, in all his nakedness. Aesthetically and stamina-wise, Peter was impressive, although as his personal fitness instructor, Wanda would have been sorely disappointed in herself if she wasn’t impressed. “For the record, I don’t generally suffer from nightmares. Nor sleep around for that matter.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Peter asked. “Your nightmare, I mean, not your sleeping arrangements.”

He’s cute. Wanda shook her head. “No.”

“Do you want me to leave?” He didn’t sound like he wanted to leave.

“Not really.” Wanda tugged on the corner of the pillow Peter loosely held on to for protection. “What I want is for you to help me forget all about my nightmare.”

“You’d like me to bang your brains out?” Peter slipping between the sheets. “Again?”

“Third time’s the charm,” Wanda growled, as she pulled him into her warm embrace.

***

Zuzz. Zuzz. Zuzz.

Wanda’s mobile phone vibrated urgently on the bedside table. She reached over to pick it up and peer at the screen: Famine was calling.

Zuzz. Zuzz. Zuzz.

“What time is it?” Peter sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes.

“Nearly six.” Wanda stared at the vibrating phone in her hand. “Why is Xi Xi calling?” she asked herself softly.

“Who’s Gigi? A girlfriend?” Peter asked and bowed his head to kiss her shoulder.

Zuzz. Zuzz. Zuzz.

“A former work colleague.” Wanda sounded vague but her answer was true: War and Famine had worked in close collaboration for millennia. Quite successfully.

Peter got out of bed. “Oh. Okay if I jump in the shower first? I have to get ready for school.”

“Sure.” Wanda waved Peter away without taking her eyes off the screen.

Zuzz. Zuzz. Zuzz.

She decided to answer. “What’s up, Fam?”

“What’s up with you? How come you didn’t call me last night?”

Shit, I forgot! Wanda screwed up her face. “I got distracted.”

Famine wasn’t placated. “Distracted? Distracted by what?”

The day before, ‘Operation: Get Santa!’ had been executed at a Christmas fete at Victory Park Juniors school, where Peter was the head teacher. It was a brilliant plan hatched with God and Death in order to show Father Christmas the error of his ways, by introducing him to the consequences of his actions. Wanda had promised to call Famine and tell him how it went down.

“I was asked out on an impromptu date. I forgot.”

Famine swore extensively, taking Wanda by surprise; of the two of them, Famine was the placid one. Something else was bothering him.

“Whoa there, sewer mouth. Give me a second here.” Wanda got out of bed and walked to the bathroom down the hall. She briefly listened at the door for the sound of the shower running, then returned to the bedroom, closing the door behind her. “You still there?”

“Yes,” Famine answered sourly.

“Let’s start again, shall we? Number one: ‘Operation: Get Santa’ went off perfectly. Last I heard, Soda Pops was crying like a baby, so we can chalk that up as a success.” Wanda paced backwards and forwards as she talked on the phone. “Number two: I’m sorry I didn’t call. And number three, what the fuck is up with you? It’s not like you to be so pissy.”

“Oh, War, I did not sleep well last night,” Famine said tiredly. “I had a really, really bad dream. It was so scary, I couldn’t get back to sleep.”

Wanda stopped pacing. She felt the hairs on her nape begin to rise. “Do you remember it? The dream you had.”

“Of course! You were in it.”

Wanda sat down on the bed. “Tell me about it.”

She listened in silence as Famine recounted his dream to her: they were travelling in the back of a taxi with a zombie; it was nighttime and reggae was playing the whole time.

“There must have been a full moon because suddenly you turned into a werewolf,” Famine finished breathlessly.

“And then I attacked you,” Wanda said slowly. “I bit your face off.”

“Yes! How did you know that?”

“Because I had the same dream.”

Famine gasped. “Last night? You dreamt it last night?”

“Yeah, except in my dream, I was me and you, you were a vampire.”

“And in my dream, I was me and you were a werewolf! Who’s the zombie?”

“Pesto,” War and Famine said in unison.

“You better go see him today and check he’s alright,” Famine suggested. “He might need comfort if he had the same dream as us last night.”

Wanda clucked her tongue. “I dunno, Fam. We didn’t actually have the same dream. We had different perspectives within it, but I don’t think it was a dream.”

“No? You think it was a vision?”

“No. It felt familiar somehow, more like a memory.”

Their discussion was interrupted by a high pitched shriek from the hallway and the sound of a door slamming. Wanda opened the bedroom door to see Peter, naked and dripping wet, holding on to the bathroom door handle for dear life.

“Hang on, Fam.” Wanda held her phone to her chest. “Pete, what’s wrong?”

Peter turned his head to face her, whilst he held the door shut. He was as white as a sheet and his eyes were wide with fear. His jaw worked soundlessly, like a hungry goldfish. He let go of the door handle with one hand to wipe the water dripping into his eyes, before pointing his shaking finger at the bathroom door. “Something’s in your bathroom.”

“What?!”

Peter gulped and licked his lips. “I think there’s a gah ghost. In your bathroom.”

“You can see me?!” A ghostly head popped through the bathroom door, staring at Peter. A smoking cigarette dangled from its lips.

“ARGHHhhhhh!” Peter left go of the door handle, backing away from the apparition. His feet slipped in the puddle of water he’d created on the wooden floor and he landed on his backside. “Oof!”

A teenage boy wearing a football strip, including socks and boots, seeped through the door and floated over Peter’s sprawling body. “How can you see me? You’re not a ghost.”

Peter desperately bottom-shuffled backwards until he was pressed up against the wall of the hallway. “Wanda! You see it, don’t you? You see the ghost?”

The ghost turned in Wanda’s direction. The ghost teen took the cigarette from his lips and stuck it in his ear. “Good morning, Wanda. So, come on, do you see me or not?”

He floated before her, with his arms outstretched and mouth set with a defiant smirk.

Wanda was faced with a dilemma; she knew that one day she would have to acknowledge the existence of the plethora of ghosts now accumulating on earth but she never anticipated it would happen like this. She had strenuously ignored all the ghosts she encountered over the past three years. All except one: Aida Roundtree was the one ghost Wanda did acknowledge but then Aida was the only ghost that knew that Wanda was a reincarnation of War.

Should she confess now or maintain her ignorance of the ghost confronting her, like she had ever other time he’d tried getting her attention? And what about Peter? How was it possible that he could see the ghost? Had he seen any other ghosts? Wanda needed more information before showing her hand.

She lifted the phone to her ear. “Fam, I’ve gotta go. I have a situation going on.”

Wanda looked at Peter huddled on the floor. Any fear on his face was now tempered by a look of curiosity; he wanted to hear Wanda’s answer to the ghost’s question. She was in no doubt that he could both see and hear the ghost.

“Let me get you a towel,” she said, walking straight to the bathroom. Ignoring Peter’s loud gasp, she grabbed a towel and brought it to him, passing through the ghost for a second time. “Are you alright, Pete?” she asked kindly.

Peter looked at her in disbelief. “You just walked through it!” He looked over her shoulder at the ghost. “You really can’t see it? It’s right there!”

“Oi. Less of the ‘it’,” the ghost said indignantly, plucking the cigarette from his ear and placing it back in his mouth. “I’m a he/him, so let’s get that straight. I might be dead but that’s no reason to disrespect my pronouns.”

“Well, I’m a little freaked right now,” Peter said calmly, “because I’m TALKING TO A GHOST!”

“Yeah, mate, I’m dead, not deaf.”

So, Pete had a flight and fight reaction, Wanda thought as she held out her hand to help him to his feet. A small amount of flight, but a larger dose of fight. Interesting.

“Please, Wanda, I’m not mad, or hallucinating or on any kind of drugs or medication.” Peter wrapped the towel around his waist and stood up straight. “And I’m not a liar. I was just in the shower and when I finished, I drew back the curtain and this,” he said flourishing a hand toward the ghost without shifting his attention from Wanda, “was waiting for me to get out. Please, for the sake of my sanity you must tell me ‘yes’ or ‘no’. Can you see him?”

“Thanks,” the ghost responded.

“You’re welcome,” Peter replied automatically. He continued staring into Wanda’s eyes, imploring her with his own to answer. “Tell me. Do you see the ghost?”

Even as she opened her mouth to speak, Wanda still hadn’t decided what to say. “Peter, I-”

Zuzz. Zuzz. Zuzz.

She looked down at her phone vibrating in her hand. “Sorry, Pete, I need to take this.”

Both Peter and the ghost threw their hands up in exasperation as Wanda turned on her heel and walked away with her phone to her ear.

“Hi, what’s up?”

***

Peter watched Wanda leave. Initially he was angry that she took the call and left without answering his question, but the rise and fall of her buttocks as she walked away had a mesmeric, soothing quality that dissipated away any anger he felt. To be fair, until just the day before, the idea of seeing Wanda wandering around naked was pure fantasy. A dream.

That’s it. Peter decided. I must still be asleep and this a dream.

“Those are some nasty scratches on your back, Pete, if you don’t mind me calling you ‘Pete’.”

Peter turned round slowly and faced the ghost.

“Whoa! And that’s a huge love bite on your chest,” the ghost said admiringly. “My mate Darren came to school once with one on his neck. He swore Saskia Kean gave it him, but I didn’t believe it. She’s way out of his league and he’s such a liar. I reckon he got his little sister to do it or his dog. He’s that pathetic.”

But I don’t dream, Peter argued with himself. Not often anyway, not that I remember. Maybe it’s a trick, an elaborate practical joke?

He ignored the ghost and scanned the length of the hall, from ceiling to skirting board for a projector or device of some sort that could be beaming out the image of the ghost, but the walls were white and bare, and there wasn’t even a smoke detector on the ceiling let alone a projector. Peter returned to the bathroom and surveyed the damage he’d caused earlier in his haste to vacate the room; the shower curtain partially hung down, torn from its rings and bottles of shampoo and body wash lay on their sides, dribbling gunk into the bath. He set about inspecting the room for hidden tech.

The ghost joined him. “What are you looking for, Pete?”

“Projectors,” Peter said softly.

“Why?”

Peter opened the mirrored medicine cabinet above the sink and started moving the contents around. “You’re obviously a trick of some sort. A holographic projection.”

“Like Johnny Depp?” the ghost asked.

Peter briefly halted his search and grimaced. “The actor? Johnny Depp’s a hologram?”

The ghost tutted. “No, stupid. He was on the MTV Awards as a floating astronaut, although I think it was just his face projected behind the visor of an astronaut dummy. It looked kinda lame, to be honest.”

“When was this?” Peter shut the cabinet doors and considered looking inside the toilet cistern.

“Um, a couple of weeks before I died.” The ghost nodded as he recollected. “So, end of August ’22. Although I saw it on YouTube, so it could’ve been filmed earlier.”

“Oh,” Peter said distractedly. He stood in the middle of the bathroom with his hands on his hips, deep in contemplation.

“Have you checked in there?” The ghost zipped past Peter, out the door and passed through the hallway wall into Wanda’s bedroom.

Finding nothing remotely gadgety in the bathroom, let alone any equipment for projecting a hologram, Peter wandered into the hallway. He looked longingly in the direction Wanda had gone, but she still hadn’t reappeared and he couldn’t even hear her talking on the phone. He didn’t know whether to go and find her or get dressed first and then go find her.

“Nope, no projectors in here either,” the ghost called from the other side of the wall.

I’ve totally lost it, Peter thought glumly. Sex with Wanda has sent me psychotic. It’s the only reasonable explanation.

The ghost suddenly popping his head through the wall. “I’ll tell you what, Pete. Something very naughty went on in here last night.” He winked at Peter. “Something very naughty indeed.”

“You’re not real!” Peter yelled abruptly.

The ghost merely slipped back through the wall. Peter could hear him chortling on the other side.

Get a grip! Peter chided himself. Better yet, get dressed and face your delusion out.

He strode into the bedroom but found it empty. He rechecked the hall – no ghost there either. Moving across the bedroom, Peter snatched up his clothing from the floor and started to quickly get dressed, looking nervously around the whole time. It was only as he tried to button his shirt did he noticed how much his hands were shaking.

It’s delayed shock, he reasoned, as he sat on the bed, fumbling to put his socks on. Or it could be the sudden onset of a neurological disorder. Do people with Parkingson’s hallucinate?

“Yep, something naughty definitely went on here,” the ghost said, floating up from under the mattress and hovering above the rumpled bed sheets. “Looks like I should have got here a few hours earlier.”

Peter jumped up in surprise and nearly fell over again. “Leave me alone!”

“Well, that’s not very nice.” The ghost frowned. “Ghosts have feelings too, you know.”

“No you don’t,” Peter shouted. He bounced on one leg, as he attempted to put a sock on. “If, and that’s a big if, if you are a ghost, then you’re dead, ergo, you would have no feelings.”

The ghost rolled onto his back, placed his hands behind his head and massaged the butt of his cigarette with pursed lips. He stared at the ceiling. “That really hurts. I didn’t ask to die.”

Peter pulled his trousers on and tucked his shirt in. He felt a bit more confident now he had some clothes on. “This is ridiculous. There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

“And yet, here I am.” The ghost dragged deeply on his cigarette and blew out a cloud of smoke that slowly snaked down, returning to the tip. “I know!” he said brightly. “I’ll introduce you to the others. They’re gonna love meeting you.”

“Others?” Peter paused his search for his shoes. “There are others?”

“Yeah, for real.” The ghost sat up, still floating above the bed, and crossed his legs. “There’s loads of us. We’re a community. Hey, do you know what the name for a group of ghosts is?”

Peter found one of his shoes and slipped it on, not bothering to tie the laces. “Do you mean the collective noun?”

“Yeah, do you know what it is?”

Peter spotted his other shoe under the bed. “Sorry, do you mind moving for a moment? I want to get my shoe.”

“I ain’t touching your shoe,” the ghost stated matter of factly. “I can’t even touch you. I can’t touch anything. What you scared of?”

Peter hesitated. “A fraid,” he said, quickly retrieving his shoe.

“Okay, what are you afraid of?” the ghost asked.

Peter slipped on his shoe and started to tie the lace. “No, the collective noun for a group of ghosts is a ‘fraid’. A fraid of ghosts.”

“Really?”

“Afraid so.”

The ghost looked sceptical. “How do you know that?”

Peter tied his other shoelace and stood up. “I teach English.”

“Sweet!” The ghost laughed, effortlessly somersaulting backwards with delight. “Wait ’til I tell the others.”

“Why? What do you call yourselves? Your community.” Peter slipped his jacket on and started to wind his tie around the fingers of one hand. Wearing a tie today didn’t seem like a good idea, not if he’d actually gone crazy.

“Fright Club,” the ghost said proudly. “Although, honestly, you’re the first person I’ve frightened. Or any of us have for that matter. The living just don’t know we’re here. They have no idea.”

Peter slipped the tie into his jacket pocket. “So, I’m the only one that can see you?”

“Yeah. Well, apart from Father Christmas yesterday. But he don’t count,” the ghost said, puffing on his cigarette.

Peter’s stomach turned over: Father Christmas had been the star attraction at the school fete the day before; was this more evidence that his whole morning so far was nothing more than a grand delusion, brought on by a wild sex with Wanda? “Why doesn’t Father Christmas count?” he asked flatly.

The ghost giggled. “Because he’s real.”

Peter didn’t say anything.

“I know!” the ghost exclaimed. “I always thought he was made up, but fair dues, he’s really real.”

“Where did you meet him?” Peter asked, although he feared he already knew what the answer would be.

“Victory Park school. Aida brought us to him.”

“Who’s Aida?” Peter was perplexed: Aida? Where did that come from; I don’t know any Aidas.

“Aida’s a ghost, just like him.” Wanda stood in the doorway looking directly at the ghost. She was no longer naked, but dressed in running gear and was holding a wad of bloody tissue against her dripping nose. “Except he’s a pervy, little ghost that comes here every morning to watch me shower. Isn’t that right, Craig?”

“I knew it!” Craig shouted. He thrust his fist in the air. “I knew you could see me!”

“No you didn’t.” Wanda noticed Peter starting to wobble. “Pete, are you okay?”

“Wanda?” Peter’s knees were buckling; it had all too much and now the sight of blood was making him light-headed. “What happened to your-”

“Oh, no, you don’t!” Wanda managed to catch Peter under his arms before he completely crumpled, but his weight and momentum forced them both down onto the bed together. They bounced a couple of times before settling with Wanda beneath his unconscious body. “Fuck!” she cried.

“Knew it! Knew it! Knew it!” Craig repeated gleefully, as he flew about the room, whirling with delight.

“Craig! Craig!” Wanda shouted to get the ghost’s attention. She levered Peter off of her and checked that he was still breathing. “CRAIG!”

Craig stopped. “You talkin’ to me? You talkin’ to me?”

Wanda smiled despite herself; it was a fine De Niro impression. “Yes, Craig.”

“You know that your nose is bleeding?”

She wiped the bloody trickle away with the back of her hand. “I’m aware. Now listen, I have to go, like, right now. When Pete comes to, tell him…” Wanda paused: she wasn’t sure what message she could entrust the ghost to give without it freaking Peter out. “Tell him I’ve had to go out and I will see him later.”

“For more hot sex,” Craig leered.

“Something you’ll never experience,” Wanda retorted sharply but immediately regretted it with the fall of Craig’s face. He had died a child and would always be a child, at least until a way could be found to move these poor, abandoned souls on. He didn’t know any better. “Forgive me.”

“Only if I can watch you have hot sex,” Craig smirked.

Wanda sighed. Life was going to be so much more complicated now.

***

God and Famine stood shoulder to shoulder in the Situation Room.

Unlike a conventional ‘Situation Room’, which tends to be filled with generals, politicians and their advisors, God’s version was entirely more bijou in size, limiting the number of occupants significantly. And whereas a conventional Situation Room is furnished with the latest tech, enabling generals, politicians and their advisors to monitor any given situation from afar, God’s Situation Room was devoid of anything save for a single lightbulb on the ceiling and the pull-cord to operate it. Other major differences between conventional and God’s notion of a Situation Room was mobility and invisibility; transporting the occupants right into the heart of any given situation for up-close observation, whilst simultaneously shielded them from reciprocation, were essential attributes for a Situation Room, to God’s way of thinking.

Currently God’s Situation Room was parked in the spacious living room at Wanda Warren’s flat.

Famine cleared his throat nervously and bounced on the balls of his feet. He wore silk pyjamas adorned with the face of Elvis Presley and tai chi slippers. “I’m sure War won’t take too long, Ma’am.”

God nodded, whilst maintaining her grip on the light pull-cord. She wore a flannelette nightgown, furry bootie slippers and a sleep mask, pushed up high onto her forehead.

That’s alright, Famine. It is best that War gets dressed. She seemed surprised to see us.

“I don’t know why. I called her but I don’t think she expected us to arrive so soon.”

God nodded again.

You were speaking with her when she collided with the Situation Room.

“Walking and talking on a mobile is dangerous,” Famine said sadly. “I’m sure her nose will be okay.”

Seemingly unsatisfied with Famine’s answers, God persisted.

I got the distinct impression that War wasn’t expecting us at all.

“She told me earlier she had a situation going on,” Famine said weakly. He was starting to feel increasing nervous that he’d might have overreacted in requesting deployment of the Situation Room. “Having a ‘situation’ is the code for requesting immediate attendance, isn’t it?”

God looked around Wanda’s front room. It was neat and spartan, and devoid any kind of action worthy of observation. Mostly it was dark.

Not necessarily.

“Oh.” Famine looked at his feet. “I thought it did.”

God sighed.

Did War provide any clues as to the nature of her ‘situation’?

Famine started to shake his head but then remembered. “She said she went on a prom date last night.”

God was confused.

A prom date? Surely prom dates are a teenage concern?

“I don’t know.” Famine shrugged. “She told me she went on a prom date and that’s why she forgot to call.”

God pinched the bridge of her nose.

So she had some sort of date last night? Perhaps that is pertinent to the ‘situation’ she referred to?

Famine furrowed his brow. “Do you mean War could still be on her date?”

That would explain the nakedness and her insistence that we remain inside the Situation Room whilst she gets dressed.

“Oh, that makes sense.” Famine laughed nervously. “Oops.”

God turned her head to look at Famine.

And Is everything alright with you?

“I did not sleep well last night, Ma’am.” Famine shook his head. “I had a terrible nightmare. So did War in fact, oh look, here she comes now.”

Wanda was walking briskly toward the Situation Room, one hand clasped a tissue to her nose and the other was splayed in front of her; she did not wish to make the same mistake twice.

Famine opened the door and waved, and War quickly stepped inside.

“There’s isn’t a teenage boy wearing a football strip behind me, is there?” she asked urgently, peering back at where she’d come from.”

God and Famine looked at each other.

“No,” Famine said then mouthed ‘prom date’ to God with a satisfied nod.

“Good.” War slid into a crouch. Being several inches taller than the Situation Room, she had found crouching to be more comfortable than stooping whilst travelling with God.

God lightly ran her thumb down War’s nose and the bleeding immediately stopped.

Better?

“Thank you, Ma’am,” War said, sniffing loudly. She pinched the dried blood from her nostrils. “That’s much better.”

Are you dating him?

War was confused by the question. “I’m I dating who?”

The teenager you mentioned. Famine informs me that you were on a prom date last night. Was it with him?

“Craig? Craig’s a ghost.”

“You’re dating a ghost?” Famine asked incredulously.

“No!” War spat back with disgust. “I said I went on an impromptu date, as in it was unexpected, but it wasn’t with a ghost or a kid. Just who do you think I am?!”

God laid a calming hand on War’s shoulder.

Let us begin again. War, did you convey to Famine, in a covert manner, that you were in need of the Situation Room?

“No,” War said emphatically.

Famine folded his arms. “You said you had a situation going on.”

“So? I never requested divine intervention.”

“Well, I thought you did.” Famine’s arms remained stubbornly crossed. “You used the code.”

“I had a ‘situation’ going on, that’s the code?” War asked. “Fam, you also thought I went on a fucking prom date last night. Do you think you might be reading more meaning into stuff than is actually there?”

Famine, however, was not backing down. “If you had just called me last night, like you promised, we-”

God intervened and of her own volition.

Enough bickering, the pair of you.

War and Famine glared at each other.

Besides, it appears War’s situation may be heading in our direction.

“Wanda? Wanda?” Peter strode into the living room and switched on the light. He looked dishevelled and faintly manic. He was showered and dressed, but he wasn’t shaved, which gave his face a haunted look.

“Oh shit!” Wanda said, touching her nose tenderly. “Don’t let him walk into us.”

On it.

God tugged on the light pull-cord, although nothing much seemed to happen.

Craig overtook Peter and hung mid-air in the middle of the room. “I told you, Wanda said she had to go out and that she’ll see you later.”

“The ghost’s right. Those were my exact words.” Wanda threw Famine a dirty look.

Ignoring Craig, Peter carried on walking towards a smaller hallway that led to the front door, passing through the Situation Room and its occupants with total oblivion. Craig followed, equally oblivious to their presence.

“Whoa, what did you do, Ma’am?” Famine cried.

Phase-shifted the Situation Room two twenty-two trillionths of a second into the next slice of time.

“We’re in the future?!”

Barely but enough to completely shield our presence. Moving too much further into the future is not recommended.

“Wow.” Famine was still curious. “Why two twenty-two trillionths of a second? Why not just one?”

Shifting phase by one twenty-two trillionth of a second would take us out of time completely and into Eternity. It’s very easy to get lost in Eternity. Best to avoid.

“Wait.” Wanda held up her hand. “They’re coming back.”

Peter stumbled in the living room as if in a daze. He reached the sofa and sat down heavily, resting his face in the hands. “I don’t understand what’s going on,” he whined plaintively.

Craig floated in front of him, puffing on his cigarette. “Me neither, Pete, but you should, you know, look on the bright side of things.”

Peter looked up, dragging his hands down his face. “And what bright side would that be?”

“I can think of at least four off the top of my head,” Craig said and proceeded to count them off his fingers. “One, you’re alive; do not underestimate that. Two, you had sex with Wanda,” he said lasciviously. “Three, yes, you can actually talk to ghosts and four…” Craig paused, struggling to think of the fourth bright side. “You had sex with Wanda!”

“You already said that.”

“It’s worth repeating.” Craig winked.

Peter sat back on the sofa and rubbed his eyes. “Okay, if you are a ghost and I’m not just going stark staring bonkers, I’m going to need some proof or evidence. What’s your name?”

“Craig Manning,” the ghost said.

Peter slipped his phone out from his pocket. “Alright, Craig, when did you die?” he asked tapping the screen.

“Thirteenth September 2022. What are you looking for?”

“An obituary.” Peter fell silent as he read and scrolled.

“What does it say?” Craig floated up and hovered above Peter’s shoulder, trying to peer at the screen.

“It says,” Peter cleared his throat, “it says, you died suddenly whilst at football training. Your heart stopped, you were revived once but died on the way to the hospital. You were sixteen,” Peter’s voice trailed away.

Craig continued reading. “I so miss my phone. And football. Hey, can you look up the football news?”

“Sure. What’s your team?”

“Chelsea.”

Peter laughed. “Chelshite? I thought you said you like football.”

“Oh ha ha,” Craig rolled his eyes. “So, what’s your team?”

“Same,” Peter said with a smile.

In the Situation Room, the occupants watched on in silence until God spoke.

I take it, War, that your situation this morning involved your inamorato discovering the existence of ghosts.

War nodded. “Yeah, it came on sudden. At least I think so, Pete didn’t see Aida yesterday and she was at the school all day.”

Ah, yes. He is the Principal of the school that we held Soda Pop’s intervention at. I didn’t recognise him out of his elf costume.

“Ooh, I won’t date ghosts, but I will date elves,” Famine remarked in a mocking falsetto, taunting War.

She raised her middle finger in response, although her gaze remained locked on the Peter and Craig.

“Could the smoking have, you know, contributed to your death?” Peter asked gently.

Craig laughed and held up his cigarette. “No way. I didn’t get this until after I died. I never smoked before.”

“How is that even possible?”

“I dunno.” Craig shrugged. “Aida gave it to me.”

Peter sat up. “Aida? You’ve mentioned her before. Wanda said she’s also a ghost.”

Craig nodded. “I’m pretty sure Wanda and Aida know each other. She’s the main reason I figured Wanda could see me. Or rather that she could see us ghosts.”

“Really? How so?”

“’Cos I saw them talking together in the park.”

Peter looked surprised. “Victory Park, where Wanda holds her Fighting Fit classes?”

Craig flopped his head to one side and squinted at Peter. “Oh, you’re one of her keep fit clients. Sorry, I didn’t recognise you. I only really go there to see Wanda.”

“That’s alright. Do you know how to get hold of Aida?”

“Sure. Do you want to meet her?”

“Yes, I think so. Whereabouts is she?”

“She lives with a family on the Elysium Estate. Do you know it?”

Peter nodded. “Yes, it’s the housing estate near Victory Park.” He check the time on his phone. “Could we go now? I’ve got to go that way to get to work.”

“Now?” Craig looked surprised. “You don’t want to wait for Wanda to get back?”

“No.” Peter stood up. “She told you she would find me, right?”

“She said she’d see you later, but yeah,” Craig said pedantically.

“Alright then, let’s go.”

Craig levitated and uncrossed his legs. “So, you believe I’m a ghost now?”

Peter was already making his way to the front door, but paused to answer the ghost. Two twenty-two trillionths of a second into the future, Peter appeared to stop right inside the Situation Room. “No, I don’t know what to believe. You could be ghost or I could be mad. Of the two options, I’m hoping like hell it’s the first because the second is too awful to contemplate. I want to believe you’re a ghost but that could just be the crazy in me, so I’m going to need more evidence. Okay?”

Two twenty-two trillionths of a second into the future, War stroked Peter’s thigh, although neither of them could feel it.

As soon as Peter and Craig had left the flat, God tugged on the pull-cord of the Situation Room and, once again, nothing much appeared to happen.

“Are we back on the right time now, Ma’am?” War asked.

Yes.

“Brilliant, I need to stretch.” She opened the door to the Situation Room.

“And I need to tinkle,” Famine added, bouncing from foot to foot. “Can I use your bathroom, War?”

“Go ahead.” War waved him out first. “Don’t mind the mess in there. I’ll tidy it later.”

God placed her hand on War’s arm.

Wait one moment.

“Ma’am?”

Famine mentioned earlier that you both experienced nightmares last night. Is that correct?

“No, we had the same nightmare at the same time. Although…” War blew out of cheeks, “I don’t think it was a dream at all. I think it was a memory.”

A memory of what?

“I’m not sure because no one’s actually explained what happened, but I think it was the night me, Famine and Pesto died.”

God nodded.

A funny think happened on the way to the Apocalypse.

“Ma’am?”

A werewolf, a vampire, a zombie and the Grim Reaper are tricked into riding Satan’s horsepower at the end of the world. Only Death survives the journey and War, Famine and Pestilence are sold to the highest bidder, who synthesises a Frankenstein vaccine from their remains for an international health campaign to combat an pandemic.

War’s hand shot to her mouth and covered it. “Oh my God.”

God smiled wanly.

Now the immune systems of the vaccine recipients are locked in perpetual war with their bodies, cancers turbo-starve healthy cells, leaving Pesto’s cornucopia of diseases to take up the slack.

“Fuck, that’s brilliant.” War glanced at God. “Sorry, Ma’am, I mean, that’s truly diabolical.”

Indeed.

“What are we talking about?” Famine asked, having returned from the bathroom. He rubbed his hands together. “Hey! Did you tell God about our dream yet, War?”

“Yeah, Fam.” War stepped out of the Situation Room. “Listen, do either of you want a cup of tea. I’ve been going all morning and I’m parched.”

God didn’t move but remained standing, grasping the light pull-cord in her hand.

Not for me, thank you. I’m going to check on Pesto.

“Don’t you want us to come with you?” Famine asked.

No. I think you two need to spend some time with each other. On today’s performance, your relationship could do with some work.

War and Famine looked at each other sheepishly. “Yes, Ma’am.”

God started to close the Situation Room door but stopped.

One last thing. I take it you were sleeping in close proximity to your inamorato, War, when you remembered that you were once a werewolf.

War blushed. “Yes, Ma’am.”

And did you injure him in any way whilst you were in the process of remembering?

“I may have scratched him.”

I see.

“And bit him but only little bit. Why?”

Werewolves are part of the supernatural. It could explain why he is now able to see and interact with your ghost-stalker.

“Seriously? So, if I had bitten somebody last night whilst I was remembering,” Famine pushed on his top lip with two fingers to reveal perfectly normal canine teeth, “they would become a vampire?”

Yes.

“Pesto was the zombie,” War remarked. She held her arms straight ahead of her and shuffled forward with and awkward gait. “Brains!”

Quite. I will check on him now.

God closed the Situation Room door and tugged the light pull-cord.

After a couple of seconds, Famine reached out tentatively, patting the air. “I think she’s gone.”

“Either that or she phase-shifted into the future, to see if we start fighting as soon as she leaves.”

“She would not do that.” Famine frowned. “We won’t do that.”

“Of course not,” War scoffed. “Now, how about I put the kettle on.”

***

Aida Roundtree hovered in her usual spot on the ceiling of the front room of flat 33 on the Elysium Estate, smoking and thinking, whilst she waited for the Darling family to wake up and start their day. Although Aida wasn’t related to Jocasta or her two children, she held a great affection for the family, especially Paul who at two years of age was the only one of the Darlings that was aware of her presence. But then Paul was the only reason why Aida had accepted the mantle of ghosthood in the first place and wasn’t off enjoying afterlife retirement on a soft cloud somewhere. She presumed it was heaven she had deferred for the time being, but if the other place were to be her destination, then a stint as a ghost nanny really wasn’t so bad, especially as she could smoke on the job and had plenty of time for thinking.

Through the window, Aida could see the cold December morning was starting to brighten. She was relieved; the night had been a noisy and fractious one – Paul was teething and he’d woke up, crying and screaming. It had taken a while for Jocasta to settle him back down to sleep, but it was all quiet now. Of course, his sister Molly had slept through it all, being she was profoundly deaf. There were always small mercies in life.

Psst.

Aida looked around; was that a gas leak?

Psst. Aida.

Aida floated down and saw a face she hadn’t seen in a year. Not since the day of her death. “Slip of a girl!”

Slip of a girl smiled at Aida.

Aida, how are you doing?

“Well, thank you. I was just giving some thought to my situation and concluded that I really can’t complain,” Aida said. “And yourself?”

Busy, busy. How did it go yesterday with Father Christmas?

Aida was surprised. “Oh, you know about that? Erm, the Fright Club ghosts loved it although I don’t think Father Christmas felt the same way.”

Why is that?

“His weeping mostly.” Aida puffed on her cigarette. “Something of a giveaway, to me anyway.”

Slip of a girl laughed.

He’s been a troubled man but I have confidence that things are now looking up for him.

“I hope so. I’m sure a couple of our ghosts followed him after he left. They were made up to meet him. Just having their existence acknowledged has had a tremendous boost.”

Good, good. Now, Aida, I won’t keep you as I’m sure the family will wake soon but I do need to speak to you about a couple of things. Firstly, how is Pesto?

“He’s bonny, but he’s teething. It woke him up in the night, he was quite distressed.”

Okay.

Aida didn’t think the slip of a girl looked too surprised to hear that Paul had not had a very good night. “Is it something else? I know he’s special.”

Indeed Paul was special in that he was the reincarnation of one of the four horsemen of the Apocalypse; Pestilence to be precise. Aida did not know how any of that was possible but then she herself was a ghost talking with a slip of a girl who travelled in an invisible box, and she didn’t understand how any of that was possible either.

No, the onset of teething sounds about right.

The slip of a girl stood in contemplation for a moment.

Aida, things are about to change. Do you know Craig Manning? I believe he knows you?

“Ghost Craig? Young lad? Yes, I know him.”

He’s on his way here, now, to ask you to meet with War’s new inamorato.

“War’s new what now?”

Her lover.

“Oh. I didn’t know War had a lover. What’s his name?”

Pete. I understand he was dressed as an elf yesterday.

“Mr Peabody? Molly’s head teacher?”

Yes.

“Well I never. They kept that quiet. Could he see me yesterday?”

No. His ability to see ghosts has come on rather suddenly.

“Was it having sex with War what caused it?”

In a way, yes, but it’s more complicated than that.

“I’m sure it is,” Aida said knowingly. “Is he coming here? I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Slip of a girl was in agreement.

Which is why I wanted to warn you, but also to ask if you would meet with him at some time. He’s very confused.

“We all are, but okay.”

Arrange it through Craig, but could you also give Craig this?

Aida watched the top half of the slip of girl disappear as she bent down and reappear as she stood up. She was holding a football.

Now, there is a weighty string attached to this gift, should Craig choose to accept it. He must promise to never ever enter the home of Wanda Warren again, unless explicitly invited by her. Should Craig break that promise, the football will disappear, along with his word, never to return.

Slip of a girl held the football out to Aida.

“This isn’t going to replicate like the cigarette you gave me?” Aida asked. She didn’t fancy having to carry a football about her person all the time.

No, this is just for Craig. Tell him that he has choice: the football or Wanda. War has an inamorato now and I don’t think it’s healthy for Craig to be invading her personal space.

“I agree.” Aida took the football and rolled it in her hands. “Oh, it’s been signed.”

Slip of a girl smiled.

Yes, those are Chelshite player signatures.

Aida thought she looked rather pleased with herself. “Sweetening the deal?”

War deserves some privacy.

“Understood,” Aida said solemnly. “I’m sure Craig will choose wisely.”

Thank you.

The slip of a girl leaned forward and Aida felt her lips lightly brush her cheek. She held her hand up to her face, astonished that she had felt the kiss. “Who are you?”

The slip of a girl didn’t answer. She disappeared into her invisible box, after giving Aida a small wave.

Aida remained where she was for a few seconds, contemplating the slip of a girl’s unexpected visit and what she had come to tell her. She held the football out in both hands and dropped it on her foot, catching it as it bounced up.

“Oh yes,” Aida said. “Craig is going to love this.”

*******

*Oh, you’re finally up, are you? Don’t worry, Clicky, I’ve posted the story myself…*

*/stares… I hadn’t thought of that…*