Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Slate escorted another group of ghosts from the haunted house area of the Manor back to the ballroom. Dash had asked for volunteers to mimic the effects they used on the Commons to explain Gary’s levitating pumpkins. Surprisingly, they had so many ghosts sign up, they created shifts.
That was one customer they made an impression on. It had been Meredith—their new self-appointed head of marketing—who suggested the ghosts make themselves visible at odd times. “You can’t get more realistic than a real ghost,” she’d said.
Holograms were the official explanation for what people saw, which was also pretty brilliant. Meredith was very good at her job.
Slate hadn’t expected the ghosts to enjoy the work as much as they did. Dash, however, wasn’t surprised.
“What do ghosts worry about?” he’d asked. “Creating too much fear and attracting the attention of a medium who might banish them. We’ve given them license to be seen without consequence. Sounds pretty groovy to me.”
Dash met him on the first floor, outside the ballroom. The two volunteers he’d collected waited to be let back into the party. Dash tugged at his Victorian waistcoat and adjusted his collar. “Are you sure this has to be a tradition? I look…”
“You look wonderful, dear.” This came from the middle-aged woman wearing a flapper dress with a matching hat.
Dash blushing at the compliments might have been the cutest thing Slate saw all night. “See?” Slate pointed toward the spirit. “It’s a tradition because one night a year you need to look wonderful.”
“Next year, we’re wearing matching hoodies.”
Dash had complained about the period attire last year too—until Slate smiled seeing him in his outfit.
The grumbling had started earlier this year, but it was all performative.
Slate had caught Dash shopping for waistcoats and boots in September.
“Not on Halloween. How about for Saint Patrick’s Day? You look good in green.”
“Fine, but it needs to become a tradition too.”
Slate pressed his palm against the doorframe, and the protective barrier yielded. The ghosts streamed past them and returned to the party.
The music hit him first. He’d wondered how Gary planned to power a DJ stand, but the solution nearly floored Slate.
Jimi Hendrix—the Jimi Hendrix—was killing it on guitar.
And next to him was Cass Elliot, waiting for the riff to end.
He’d grown up listening to his mother binge-playing the Mamas and the Papas.
When he’d agreed to host the party, he didn’t know he’d get to hear two legends play live.
Surveying the room, what hit him most was the normality of the party.
It was like dozens of parties he’d attended, except everyone was dead and wearing outfits that spanned centuries.
They gathered in small knots to dance, or talk.
Ghosts stopped to examine the various decorations.
Some looked lost, while others were outgoing.
His stomach rumbled, and he remembered another difference—no food or drink.
“I need to go fanboy Cass Elliot,” Dash said. He didn’t sound as excited as when he saw his sister, but it was close. “I’ll kick myself if I don’t and she leaves.”
Slate smiled and shooed him along. Wearing a huge grin, he wove his way among the ghosts.
Most patted him on the back, shook his hand, and generally fanboyed/fangirled him like he was a rock star.
When they realized what he wanted, they cleared a path for him.
The obvious attention seemed to unnerve him, but the spirits moved him along, refusing to let him back away.
When Dash was in front of the stage, he pointed to himself, made a heart with his fingers, and pointed to Cass. Her smile was enough to power the house. After a second, she blew him a kiss. Dash appeared overwhelmed, and a cheer filled the room.
“He has no idea, does he?” Cain asked.
Slate hadn’t realized he was there, but ghosts could move without sound or even disturbing the air. “About?”
“How much of a superstar the two of you are.” He waited until Slate turned. Cain had shed his hippie persona and was clean-shaven, in his uniform, and sporting a crew cut. “This party is amazing. No living person ever gave us this much respect and dignity.”
Slate had agreed to the idea to save the portal, not for altruistic reasons. It never occurred to him that the spirits would appreciate the party so much. “I wish I could say that’s why we did it, but it was the lesser of two evils.”
“And that’s the other part.” Cain glanced at the crowd of ghosts congregating around Dash.
“Everyone knows what you did. You could’ve banished Gary, but you gave him this party.
No one would’ve blamed you for banishing Theodore and Wilbur, but Dash fought all of you to try a different solution.
Like I said, you two are heroes to a lot of us. ”
The way he said it snatched some of the air from Slate’s lungs. “We’re not heroes.”
“You don’t get to decide that.” Cain’s goofy grin caused Slate to laugh.
“In all seriousness, expect a lot of thank yous before the night is over. Most of the spirits here died too young and didn’t get to do something they wanted.
For a lot of us, it was to enjoy life, fall in love, or see the world.
In the decades since I died, I’ve never heard of an event where ghosts can come together like we did when we were alive.
Spirits are meeting new friends, talking about their life and afterlife, or just being with someone to ease the loneliness. Never think this isn’t a big deal.”
When Cain said, ‘fall in love,’ Slate zoomed in on Thomas and Oliver. Every time he spotted them, they were together. To everyone except them, it was painfully obvious.
On stage, Cass motioned to Dash. He shook his head, but the ghosts surrounding him wouldn’t let him say no. They nudged him forward, encouraging him, until he had no choice but to approach the stage. She extended her hand and pulled him up beside her.
Jimi’s guitar shifted into a new melody, and Cass sang directly to Dash. The grin on his face made everything worth the effort. If Slate could make that happen every day, he’d never have a bad day again. Cass grabbed Dash’s hand, and they swayed together as the audience clapped along.
When Cass finished, the ballroom erupted in cheers. She pulled Dash closer and kissed his cheek. Jimi drifted to Dash’s other side and grabbed his free hand. The two legends hoisted Dash’s arms into the air.
“Dash Reeves, ladies and gents,” Cass said. “Thank you!”
More applause and catcalls rocked the room before the ghosts released Dash’s hands, and he hopped off the stage.
Dash made his way back through a gauntlet of shoulder pats and high-fives. When he reached Slate, his face was flushed, but his grin hadn’t faded.
“Did you see that?” Dash pointed over his shoulder as if Slate hadn’t watched him the entire time. “That was—”
“Whoa, man!” Gary floated over. “You and Cass getting frisky up there! Who knew you and Slate were into free love!” Gary laughed at his own joke.
Dash tried to look irritated, but he couldn’t lose his smile. “I’ll ignore that comment because she’s amazing.”
“Yeah, man. She’s great.” He threw his arms around them. “Anyway, this is so groovy, we need to do this every year!”
“Every year?” Dash asked.
“Absolutely,” Gary said, missing the concern in Dash’s voice. “The Annual ‘All Spirits Halloween Bash.’ You know, the haunted house, party, music—all of it. Let’s make it a tradition.”
Slate saw how the ghosts had interacted. For one night, they got to be visible, participatory, and celebrated. That was worth repeating. He glanced at Dash, who nodded.
“All right,” Slate said. “But we have a condition.”
“Lay it on me, dude.”
“Get Thomas and Oliver to dance together,” Slate said.
“Way too easy.” Gary waved his hand dismissively.
“And kiss,” Dash added.
“No problem.” Gary’s confidence was still absolute. “Consider it done.”
Slate raised an eyebrow. His friends had been circling each other for months without figuring it out. Gary, however, sounded so sure of himself that arguing seemed pointless.
“Deal,” Slate said.
Gary floated toward the stage, already scanning the crowd.
Slate followed his gaze and found Thomas and Oliver near the far wall.
How much more obvious could they be? Thomas had ditched his letterman coat and jeans—something he never did—for Victorian evening wear that coordinated nicely with Oliver’s.
The fact that his deep blue waistcoat that synced perfectly with Oliver’s charcoal gray wasn’t an accident.
The entire night, they’d stood close but not touching. When they talked, they did it without quite looking at each other. To Slate, it looked like they were lost in their own thoughts, hoping the other would make the first move.
Hopefully, moving them along was ‘no problem,’ like Gary said.
The current song wound down, and the room’s attention shifted as Gary floated to center stage.
“Everyone having a good time?” he asked, holding up two thumbs.
A resounding cheer filled the ballroom.
“First, big righteous vibes to Slate and Dash for making this happen.” Gary gestured toward them.
When everyone turned and they became the center of attention, Slate understood how Dash had felt. They waved, and thankfully, Gary didn’t let the moment linger.
“Now for a big surprise.” He pointed to the backup band, which responded with a drumroll. “Slate and Dash agreed to make this an annual event!”
The audience showered them with cheers and attention. Dash’s hand found his, squeezed once.
“Okay,” Gary said, keeping the program moving, “Find yourself a partner and let’s get this party going again.”
Ghosts paired off. Some got together easily—others required hesitant invitations and shy acceptances.
For a moment, Slate thought Gary had done it, but then he saw Thomas and Oliver still rooted in place. They watched others pair up, but didn’t move. Slate debated whether he and Dash needed to stage an intervention, but then Gary and Cain appeared beside his friends.
Gary said something, and Cain nodded. Thomas and Oliver startled and then shook their heads.
Thomas spoke, but this time Gary and Cain shook their heads.
Cain put a hand behind Thomas, and Gary did the same with Oliver.
They moved the pair of wallflowers away from their place and guided them gently—mostly—to the dance floor.
Faced with causing a scene or doing what they were told, Thomas and Oliver allowed themselves to be moved toward an open space among other couples dancing.
Their escorts left them, and the pair looked mortified. They stared at each other, and Slate felt a little sorry for them. Finally, Thomas took a tentative step forward, closing the already limited space between them.
Oliver raised his right hand at the same time Thomas did the same. They switched in unison, still flailing at the simple action. Visibly frustrated, Thomas motioned for Oliver to stop, held out his hand, and Oliver smiled as he accepted.
The music continued around them as they figured out what to do next. Other couples swayed and turned, but generally avoided Thomas and Oliver. When Oliver moved in what loosely passed for a dance move, Thomas followed. Soon, the pair were twisting in time with the music.
Once they were past the awkward first seconds, they visibly relaxed. Smiles emerged, and as if a dam had burst, they laughed together.
After a minute, their movements caused Oliver to fall toward Thomas. They stared at each other for a second, and time stood still for Slate.
“Do it,” he whispered.
“They will,” Dash answered.
As if he’d heard Slate, Thomas leaned in a little. Oliver did the same, and they kissed.
Finally.
The other couples kept dancing while the band played, and Cass kept singing. There was no drama. No spotlight to embarrass them with attention. It was their perfect moment.
“Well, Gary came through,” Dash said, pressing his shoulder against Slate’s. “Guess this will be another Halloween tradition at Blackwood Manor.”
Slate leaned into Dash, watching Thomas and Oliver kiss as they swayed to the music. They were oblivious to everyone around them, which was right. It was their moment. “They look happy.”
“It’s about time,” Dash said. “But let’s not turn this into yet another Halloween tradition.”
He knew Dash was joking, but the humor hid a hint of fear. “Tell me seeing them happy doesn’t make you feel good.”
“I’m really glad for them,” Dash said. “But tell me you’re ready for another nine months of two forlorn ghosts moping around like puppies who can’t find their mom. Because that’s what’ll happen if word gets out and we become a supernatural dating agency.”
Dash tended to go big on the drama, but this time he wasn’t wrong. It had been hard to watch Thomas and Oliver circle each other, waiting for the other to make their interest crystal clear. He definitely didn’t want to live through that every year. “Do you really think that will happen?”
“Pretty sure it will if we don’t control the narrative.”
The realization gave him chills. Gary would tell everyone about what a groovy and righteous party it had been.
In those tellings, he’d almost surely talk about how he helped Thomas and Oliver find love, and it was all because of the party.
Next year’s party would be bigger than this year’s.
Some spirits would come looking for the same magic Thomas and Oliver found, but even more would come to watch. It was going to be a nightmare.
“Is it too late to sell the house and move to Poughkeepsie?”