Happy Haunting
Starring Toby and Molly from Hot Ghoul Summer
“Ihave tomorrow night off. Thank. God. Actually, can you thank Him? Like, through a work memo? Or do we have to pray like everyone else? You know what, they were so good about letting you off with just a few little re-training seminars and a ton of paperwork when we had our little...”
“Spot of bother?” I supply, pouring Molly a glass of red wine.
“If that’s what you call a couple of killings and a whole fleet of supernatural folks convening to help send some bad souls off to judgment and save my butt, then sure.
Spot of bother.” She takes the glass and rubs her eyes.
“You know, Pine Ridge’s hospital is usually pretty quiet, but with three nurses and one O.R.
tech out on either maternity leave or their honeymoon at the same time...
” Molly groans and stretches. “We had two appendectomies and an unscheduled hernia surgery in one day. I blame the Halloween candy and all the decorating. The guy with the hernia—it was already a diagnosed umbilical hernia, and the guy was warned to wear his support devices, but no, he took them off to put a giant plaster pumpkin head on his roof, slipped on his purple icicle lights, and boom. Torn ligament and a hernia that needed emergency reduction. What a mess.”
“But tomorrow... We have off.”
Molly looks at me, head tilted. “You have off, too? But... You’re a reaper. Aren’t you always on duty? Except for your two weeks a year of paid vacation?”
Molly and I have only been married for around a year, so this is our first Halloween as a married couple, living together in my little house in Pine Ridge.
This is her first year living in a paranormal-friendly community and working at a hospital (that really ought to have way more ghastly accidents and strange, unexplainable emergencies than it does).
“You know that my schedule depends on other people,” I remind her. “No one in my zone, or at least no one assigned to RMGA Local 17 and under my jurisdiction, is slated to need an escort to the other side. I have the night off. We can have the kind of romantic Halloween you’ve always dreamed of.”
Molly nods, eyes lighting up, and then dimming as a yawn threatens to split her cheeks.
“Poor love. Did you even have dinner? Want some pasta?” It’s almost midnight, but I immediately stand up, ready to throw some of the refrigerated linguine and a jar of sauce together. “It’ll be ready in five minutes.”
“You are the best husband ever, but I just want to go to bed. I ate a peanut butter energy bar between scrubbing out and the next round of post-op checks.”
“When was that?”
“Ummm. Seven-ish?” Molly rubs a hand through her hair and smiles at me with tired eyes. “Sorry I had to work so much this week.”
“That’s my girl—saving lives.” I kiss the top of her head.
“Was your week busy?”
I shrug. Normally, we’d have shared a lot more of our work experiences, trading stories day by day, but our schedules failed to mesh this week, especially since Molly’s been covering extra shifts for absent nurses.
“There were a few hard cases this week, but most were elderly people who were warmly welcomed by scads of loved ones in the afterlife. The usual.”
“I’m glad. I worry about you. You always get so attached to your clients.
I still remember the first time I saw you work—how you were crying so hard when little old Gladys Emmerhoff was finally free from pain, and her leaky heart valves, and back in the arms of her husband and son.
My gosh. That’s when I fell in love with you, Toby. I could see your heart.”
My head, still in a pale but completely human-looking form, nods, eyes misty. “That’s my girl.” I beam. “Only home five minutes, and making me tear up like—”
“What was it you called it? A big girl’s purse?”
“A big girl’s blouse. It’s—”
“British slang from a long time ago.”
I roll my eyes. “Not that long ago. If you really want me to annoy you, I could talk like they did in the 1600s, my lady.”
“I do not want any such thing. I just want you, the boys, and a bed.”
“Ah, the boys have been chasing the ghost squirrels from last summer out in the lawn.” I whistle, and a mighty thumping comes from the exterior wall of the house, rapidly turning into skittering claws on tile inside the house. “Your babies missed you today.”
Molly winces as something tumbles and falls in the kitchen, but whatever it was doesn’t sound as though it shattered, so we stay put.
With a wry smile that melts me like an overheated candle, she coos, “I missed my boys, too. Musketeer! Come to Mama!” Molly whistles, and my cerbie (corgi-cerberus cross) comes bounding over to the couch, his short, stubby legs and wiggly fluff butt racing and scrambling to jump up and get into Molly’s lap.
Three panting mouths and pink tongues clamor to lick her hands and chin as she pulls our three-headed munchkin into her arms. “Do you want to curl up with me? Did you stay up so late waiting for Mama? Did you? Yesss!” she squeals, ruffling their fur and kissing each little noggin.
I fall in love with Molly more every day, partly because this little ritual happens every day, too.
But watching Molly is something I never tire of.
Watching her be happy in her job, and our home, and with our pet (well, pet-slash-Reaper’s Assistant) is something that makes my heart race with joy.
My mind spins when I think of how we could have lost one another, how close she came to dying, and how close I came to losing my soul and my standing as a Reaper in good standing for her.
Five hundred years alone sounds like it would spell disaster for a relationship, but five hundred years alone is also the best recipe for not taking your partner for granted.
“Let’s get you upstairs,” I say, scooping Molly and Musketeer up in my arms.
“But... But it’s almost Halloween in a town full of reapers, vampires, morrigans, and werewolves.
I mean, okay, not full of, but maybe... What?
A hundred paranormal people in a town of around five to ten thousand?
” Molly gives me a sleepy but puzzled look.
“Shouldn’t there be... I don’t know? Isn’t there going to be a big event? ”
“Yes. The parade will be around noon, all through the town proper, then the kiddies have until four to trick-or-treat. Schools and civic offices are closed. Most offices will end the workday early. And all of us who mingle with the mortals in the know will be over at White Pines Estate for the annual Halloween ball. Dancing. Punch. Costumes, or come as you are.” I don’t bother to correct Molly on just how many paranormal types could be in Pine Ridge, though most of us strongly suspect dozens more live in the woods, waters, and mountains, hidden out of preference or necessity.
“Wow,” Molly whispers. “So fancy.” Her head snuggles into my shoulder. I can tell sleep is winning after a hectic week.
The 1920s mansion truly is a masterpiece.
But we won’t be there tomorrow night.
“You sleep as late as you want tomorrow, sweetheart,” I whisper as Molly’s head droops forward. “Love you.”
“Love you, too,” she mumbles as I put her down on our bed and close the door.
WHEN I WAKE UP, IT’S to the sound of a ringing doorbell and Musketeers excited yipping. Happy yipping.
“Holy smokes!” I gasp, sitting up and looking at the pretty mantle clock my Aunt Gail gave us for our wedding. It’s almost three.
And I have to pee so bad.
I race to the ensuite bathroom and try to comprehend being awake.
Halloween. Doorbell and happy barks. Musketeer seeing kids. Toby giving out candy.
What time does the ball start? I don’t know. Didn’t ask.
I’m sucking at being a reaper’s wife. Well, no, I’m great at that, but I’m not really doing much to blend into the paranormal community. Sera, the morrigan, is my bestie, and I like everyone I’ve met... I just selfishly crave time with Toby when we’re not working. Time to be home.
Time to be in bed, because I think I’ll be in the newlywed stage for a long, long, long time.
“Not gonna be selfish to literally the best guy in the universe,” I hiss, propelling my sleeping self into the shower.
While I’m in there, I shampoo, condition, and scrub like I mean it, as well as do some shaving and smoothing. I want tonight to be perfect. Glamorous. Toby deserves a night with his buddies—and a later night with his sexy wife.
I could wear that little white slutty-nurse outfit with the red heels.
Is that disrespectful to my profession? I don’t know. I don’t want to give that impression.
But it’s so sexy.
I rinse, wrap in a towel, and peek out the bedroom window.
There’s a tiny brigade of costumed kiddos out there, everything from miniature firefighters to fairy princesses and frogs.
Maybe a costume like Nurse Hottotrot would be too juvenile.
I hurry to the closet and pull out a faded pink peasant blouse and a long skirt.
If I wore this, I’d really look like a woman from back in Toby’s day.
Molly—the first Molly, the one who looked so much like me that it made Toby stop and save my life—might have worn something like this. It would be a great tribute to her.
But it also might make him sad.
“It’s a ball. Not a party. They call it a ball.
At an estate,” I mutter, diving back into the closet.
Gloria, the ghostess with the mostess hostess, is sweet as pie, but radiates elegance and charm, and even as a ghost, she always manages to look stunning.
Her Wall Street tycoon hubby (retired early with his millions or billions and a stressed-out cardiovascular system) looks like he should be staring into your soul in an expensive cologne ad.
Yeah, I’m not going over there looking like a London street urchin, circa 1600, or parading into the classiest, swankiest place in town in a dress that would bring me up in front of the HR department.
“Ah ha!” I pull out a little black velvet dress. Cocktail length. Chic. Sexy, but not slutty.