on all hallows eve, the ghost was filled with the spirit. possessed by the dark, she took the night on by storm. the demons of her past rose to the surface and like a true warrior she faced them.

when it was all over she was bloodied and bruised, but alive (and grateful for it).

good morning. the ghost is hung over. (how is that possible?)

the end.

The ghost knelt down before the great chamber. (Her knees red and sore.) She quivers with fear and anticipation. Her future is unsteady and the present uneasy.

Now I lay me down to sleep,

I pray the Lord my soul to keep,

If I shall die before I wake,

I pray the Lord my soul to take.

The ghost convinced Dracula to dress up in costume with her this Halloween. (They’re going to a P.A.R.T.Y.) He was hesitant at first, but then thought, “What the hell.” She was thrilled, but tried to not reveal just how excited she really was. (Secretly, she was bursting with joy and happiness.)

They settled on dressing up like each other, but there were several concepts and ideas bounced around before coming to their final conclusion. (DIY Lobsters, Chola and Vato, 80’s, Priest and Nun, Frankenstein and his Bride)

Dracula gets off easy. He only has to hide under a white sheet with the eyes cut out. (The ghost thinks he looks adorable.) She has a much more elaborate costume and one absolutely favorite part. She is wearing Dracula’s real cape and it smells delicious, just like him.

At the party, the cape envelopes her and she stays wrapped up inside of it all night long. It was like a big warm hug (which was just what she needed).

The ghost came to. That fucking zombie was clawing at her throat (again).
Scratch marks from the last attack hadn't even healed yet.
This was a test (and the ghost doesn't like being tested).

If she fails, there is always summer school.

Enveloped by a dense fog, the ghost slowly evaporates. As each day passes, she becomes more and more invisible (almost transparent). Once day she will completely disappear.

The ghost ceases to exist. (one big breath and you'll blow her away)

She floats above the ground under a dark and starless sky, hidden by tall swaying blades of grass. Supple drops fall
down,
down,
down on her.
Rain sprinkles slowly at first, then crescendos to a fast and steady stream. Water pours over her, pricking and kissing every inch of her flesh, bathing her anew.

This ghost is baptized. (Hallelujah)

and it’s not a cry that you hear at night
it’s not somebody who’s seen the light
it’s a cold and it’s a broken hallelujah
hallelujah, hallelujah
hallelujah,
hallelujah.

the ghost contracted a virus, the kind she has not been accustomed to since she was living. on a routine haunting she was spotted by a small child in a dark corner of an empty room. they were both startled. the tiny human lunged at the ghost and sunk her teeth deep into the flesh of her cold arm. the ghost jerked away and the clutching grip was broken. she was struck with shock, mesmerized by her new puncture wound. the ghost stood frozen and the child scurried off. within moments, she could feel the chill from a fever and a deep burning from the ache in her bones.

she was infected and there was nothing to be done about it.

the ghost has taken a vow of silence
dracula is on vacation (cabo is nice this time of year)
and frankenstein is just too fucking lazy to care

It was the same sad, pathetic story. The ghost was home (again). Depressed, broke and alone. Boo-hoo, nobody loves me. Even she was tired of listening to the same broken record play over and over and over again. She was miserable in the dark on her favorite night of the year (and it was bullshit).

Then, the light turned on (a-ha).

She could do anything she wanted (and I mean anything). Frighten small children, steal candy, terrorize the spirits from beyond. The afterlife was her oyster and she was wasting it all away on her broken heart and lost lover. It was pitiful and would stop right now. What other night of the year could she get away with black tear stains from gobs of mascara and eyeliner running down her face, dashing and darting through the dark streets hysterical and insane? Well baby, it was tonight and she was taking full advantage.

"Fuck it" she says. "I'm going out."

I don't know who you think you are
But before the night is through
I wanna do bad things with you
I wanna do real bad things with you

dracula finally slept after 6 sleepless days. he awoke to a sky full of stars and the glowing crescent moon. he felt refreshed, maybe even exhilarated.

his mind was clear, but unfortunately devoid of anything creative or interesting to say. it was a trade off.

the ghost soaks in a warm milk and water bath. her cold skin wrinkled and pruned. her face, slick and tight from the hardened clay mask she has worn for too long. without a though she holds her breath, slides down under the milky water and opens her eyes. everything is white and she comes up for air with a quick gasp.

in her sad and quiet house, she secretly crafts a plan. one in which she is not alone and not afraid of loss. (everything goes away.) the tighter her grasp, the faster the life she once knew slips between her icy fingers. she longs for warmth and something concrete, solid, reliable. adapting and growing to appreciate her own company is a challenge.

the ghost is tired of her tears. they taste awful and wreak havoc on her complexion. if only tears were made of something other than salty water, like french wine or (even better) aged single malt scotch.

Dumb Luck

dracula opened his mouth to speak, but the words did not come
the ghost was fading, frozen and paralyzed

In a parallel universe, Dracula and the Ghost could speak everything and were seen everywhere. Too bad they live in the underworld.

they speak in (not so secret) one minute code. he's not even trying very hard to hide anything. you're a fool ghost girl.

and you pay for it too.

the heartbroken ghost crawls into the bed they once shared and curls up inside the contour of where his body slept. if she holds just still, she can almost feel his warm breath on the back of her neck. his scent still lingers on the pillow and she buries her face deep into the memory of him.

if you want to kill the ghost, ignore her.

But your heart can't grieve for your little dreams

The ghost stares at herself in the mirror. Her eyes, red and burnt from too much crying. She thinks to pinch herself, because this can't be her (after)life. It must be a nightmare and she is desperate to wake up.

Deep breaths in and out. (in, out, in, out, in, out) She wipes her tears away, puts the reddest lipstick she owns on and slips her grandmother's amethyst ring onto her finger. Strength arrives in many forms, from the most unexpected quiet corners.

Survive today, then tomorrow and then the next, and next, and next. Time never stops, not even for your tears. So pick, pick, pick yourself up little ghost,
and live.

All your dreams are over now
And all your wings have fallen down

The alarm clock went off (James Brown Live at the Apollo) just as the sun began to rise. He rolled over and looked at the time, took a deep breath and got out of bed. The coffee was on and the shower was hot. It was the most anticipated early start to the day in a long while. Frankenstein had a new job.

He stood in his boxers, ironing his crisp new shirt and mulled over his neck tie selection. He wanted to make a statement, but didn't need to come off too flashy or cocky (yet). He settled on a striped and stylishly understated option that completed his Monday ensemble. Excited and exhilarated, he makes his way toward the front door with his briefcase in hand and a pep in his step.

It had just started, but was already a good (even great) day.

Whoa-oa-oa! I feel good, I knew that I would, now
I feel good, I knew that I would, now
So good, so good, I got you

The ghost bird with the wounded wing, flaps with all of her might. Gasping and grasping, she pushes on. Filled with the spirit of flight, she fights.

he loves me
he loves me not
he loves me
he loves me not
he loves me
he loves
me
not

uncomfortable funny, not funny ha-ha

trapped in his coffin as prisoner to the daylight, dracula yearned for sleep.
(pleaded even)
plagued with with the inconvenience of time and the limitations of square footage, confronting him was an unrelenting certainty.
(dracula was an insomniac)

I need the darkness
someone please cut the lights

The good (ghost) wife's guide

I am the ghost
Lost and abandoned
Spoon-feed me your lies
For the truth is too unbearable

She stands in her heels beating eggs for a cake in the kitchen. Dressed in her Sunday best, strand of pearls around her neck and June Cleaver lace apron tied to her waist. Pork chops and mashed potatoes kept warm in the oven, waiting for the centaur of the house to return home from a hard day at work. She greets him in the foyer by the front door with a double shot of scotch and a warm kiss on his cheek. It is the quintessential perfect picture of an all-American family.

On the outside it was the happy couple, beautiful home, barbecues and block parties. On the inside it was uppers, downers, hard liquor and more than one lady ghost for the centaur on the side.

They sit in silence before their meals. He chases peas around the plate with his fork and chain smokes one cigarette after another. She asks him how work was and pretends to listen to his recounting of the day to day happenings at the office. He doesn’t ask about her day. The thought never entered his mind.

She slices a large piece of cake and pours a glass of milk. He gladly accepts his dessert, kisses her cool ghost forehead and retreats to the television. Settling into the recliner he eats his cake, drinks milk and watches the game with delight.

The ghost clears the table, turns to the sink and washes the dinner dishes. Still in her heels.

The ghost had booked a last minute late night haunting. She almost declined the offer, but her plans for the evening had been canceled.

(her blind date backed out)

Why sit home alone feeling rejected by a complete stranger? At least she wouldn't be by herself and could have something to keep busy with. Make a little money and get some sweet revenge.

(completely for free)

the ghost awoke at dawn and made her way out the front door. she walked down the street toward the rising sun and contemplated the state of her (after)life. the sky slowly evolved from a cloudy gray into a swirling sprawl of pastel violet and orange sorbet. the air was perfumed with jasmine and gardenia. for that very moment in the still air, all was well in the (under)world.

she wrapped those few precious minutes in a satin ribbon and placed them safe inside the locket she wore on a necklace around her neck. within that heart shaped keepsake lived the vibrations of bliss.

coveted and protected, she hid the tiny home that housed her happiness and was always careful to keep it safe, quiet and hidden. like a bird with the nature to fly, she clipped it's wings and kept it caged.

left with no hope of an escape.

Dracula’s services had been retained to officiate a Halloween evening wedding. The bride and groom to be agreed to pay his nightly rate and he had never had the occasion to marry a couple ever before. Besides, he was sure to land a bridesmaid before the end of the night, (maybe even two).

The happy couple had a few unusual requests for the celebration of their glorious union. First, they asked that Dracula have a live crow perched on his shoulder during the wedding (he negotiated that the crow would be optional during the reception). He was also advised that it was very important for him to conduct the ceremony in the typical “Dracula movie Transylvania accent” (how cliche). He submitted to each of their desires with the seriousness of a hired professional. Secretly, he laughed and mocked them.

Frankenstein begged Dracula to coerce the bride and groom to hire him as their DJ for the event. It wasn’t difficult to sell them on the proposal, although it was marginally irritating that he could never do anything for himself.

It wasn’t surprising. After all, Frankenstein had been riding his cape-tails for centuries.

39

that sound you hear is the silence ringing inside an empty ghost. biding her time she counts the seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months. patience was not her virtue.

going through the motions she watches the hands on the clock tick, tick, tick forward. (onward and upward) in an attempt to self preserve, distance and disconnection are her only options. fake it until you make it just wasn’t working for her. (who was she kidding, really?)

the ache where her heart once lived had started to feel like the rule, rather than the exception. inside a room that once felt like home, sorrow and despair had taken up residence. these guests were not meant to stay long, but had made themselves feel far too comfortable to leave.

frightened like a little girl, this ghost has come to terms with the need to grow up, so she can make decisions like a woman.

hey hustler, this ghost thought she knew you
maybe,
not

I know that you want to scream
Run and touch my everything
Because I look like a playground to you, playa

The ghost was dealing with a serious bout of insomnia and in a cold and quiet room she held a silent celebration.

I just don’t know what to do
I’m too afraid to love you

bang-boom, baby

on a regular and seemingly average day, the ground opened, separated and sunk. in a matter of moments, a large gaping hole appeared in the middle of a completely normal suburban street. This occurrence would be both noticeable and inexplicable.

hissing steamy green mist snaked out of the huge hole and as it cleared, creatures of the night began to crawl up and out. these were the ghouls that had never seen the light of day in a human world (because some creatures are confined to the underworld for good reason).

the lid to the (literal) pandora's box of death had been blown off and although they (unsuspecting humans) didn't know it yet, soon they would see.

chaos and mayhem was on the prowl and would bring a world of hurt with it.

By the rivers dark
Where I could not see
Who was waiting there
Who was hunting me
Then he struck my heart
With a deadly force
And he said
This heart: It is not yours

dancing queen

i am the ghost who dances with her eyes closed
the music stops, but i ride or die
swallow the silence and set the air free
tonight, i plot an escape and fly

Dracula had a thing for braces. Retainers did it for him too. There was nothing more seductive or inciting than the forced structural and cosmetic correction of teeth. It was even better when the braces caused his victim to have a slight lisp as they spoke. It drove him crazy.

He day dreamed (in his sleep) about feeding on his metal mouthed beauties. As his obsession grew, he spent more and more of his free time perusing orthodontic websites and trade magazines. He even considered attending a national convention for orthodontists that met in Boca Raton, FL.

Before he knew it, his lust for blood could only be satisfied when supplied by a human whose smile reflected the moonlight. Regular teeth just didn’t excite him. He knew it was going to eventually cause a problem.

Maybe he could just open his own practice.

big dreams, gangster

dracula slipped off into the night
(not before stealing a small keepsake)
the ghost awoke to find her heart missing
(she was only as strong as her secrets)

gullible ghost
in truth, she wasn’t entirely surprised

and I know
that love is mean and love hurts
but I still remember that day we met in december

the banshee was sick and tired of wailing every time someone was going to die. it was exhausting. she had been saddled with the responsibility for centuries and quite frankly, it was pretty depressing.

all she really wanted was to go to an office, do something mindless, go home and collect a check. simplicity was what she longed for.

they hired her on the spot. she would be processing claims for vampire dental insurance. during her week long training class she learned dental insurance jargon, how to properly use the phone system, computer programs and basic customer service. most of friday was spent learning about the more complicated and expensive procedures such as fang removal, fang replacements and the various materials they could be fashioned from. it was all so fascinating to her and just so different from wailing and crying all day.

the following monday she came into the office and was escorted to her very own cubicle, with her very own phone and headset. slightly nervous she sat down and got straight to work.

call after call she spoke to disgruntled vampires who were angry and upset that their claim was denied, reversed or rejected for some nondescript administrative reason. she was completely unprepared, overwhelmed and worried that she had made a huge mistake. filled with some optimism, she decided to give it a few weeks to see if the situation improved.

friday came and she was elated to leave the office. she couldn’t understand how anyone could do this day in and day out. it was torture. all weekend long she was filled with anxiety about returning to the office on monday, but was committed to give it one more week.

by wednesday she could barely take it. every single call was someone more infuriated than the vampire before. jaded, she didn’t even try to sugar coat the bad news she delivered anymore. her headset felt like a vice crushing her head, her cubicle was a corral confining her to the tiny box she lived in 8 hours a day.

thursday morning, she reluctantly shuffled in and slumped down into her seat. her first call was from an elderly vampire who had a fang replacement and wanted to dispute the claim. the banshee calmly attempted to explain the bill to the vampire, but he didn’t want to hear it. expletives poured out of his mouth, directly into her ears. stunned she sat and listed. her silence only enraged him further. instantly, he screamed into the phone, “you bitch, i’m going to rip your throat out.”

and that was it. she stood up and screamed, “fuck you grandpa.”

and not a second later she slammed down her head set, escaped her cubicle and ran toward the door as fast as she could. (crying and wailing all the way.)

dracula had an almost expired certificate for a session of speed dating (sponsored by the lost souls of the underworld singles group). it was given to him last year at the office holiday party. one of the banshees in accounting thought it would be fun to have a white elephant gift exchange.

he had completely forgotten about it and coincidentally came across it while cleaning out a drawer in his desk. he snickered at the thought of going speed dating. after all, he was dracula. the dark under lord who discards the hearts and corpses of women without a thought (or much effort).

it was true that he had hit a bit of a dry spell. there hadn’t been someone who sparked his interest for a while. as he hemmed and hawed, contemplating whether he would actually consider this as a viable option to meet someone new he paused. unwilling to commit at this very moment, he made a mental note of the exact date of expiration on the certificate.

he opened the drawer and placed his free session of speed dating back inside it. slowly, he slid the drawer back into the desk. he didn’t have to make any decisions now.

the offer wouldn’t expire for another three weeks.

{before the great revelation}

he had been awake for more the 36 hours. the secret had been successfully hidden for some time. he was supporting the habit with the income earned from his various appearances. on the cusp of a full reveal, frankenstein grappled with the notion that he was eventually going to be found out.

once a rather amiable fellow, he could be quite the life of the party (even with his limited vocabulary). now he was avoiding and dodging all of his closest companions. he no-showed the ghost that their regularly scheduled sunday brunch date. he hadn’t returned any of dracula’s messages in weeks.

sooner or later, they would come to know the reason for his absence.

{during the great revelation}

as the key turned and the door opened, the ghost and dracula were aghast. his apartment was a disaster. not the kind of disaster you would expect from a bachelor (he and the bride had been separated for some time), but a sight that would indicate severe emotional distress. sifting through the debris they unearthed the clues and indicators that when pieced together, told a dismal story.

the (once dark) cherry wood coffee table was stained with the heavy sprinkling of a pharmaceutic grade white powder. half crushed pills and assorted contraband were ground into the couch cushions and carpet. crumpled pieces of burnt tinfoil were scattered on top of the television and bookshelves.

it was painfully obvious; frankenstein had become a franken-junkie.

{after the great revelation}

rehab suited him. he enjoyed the confines of his new existence and held an appreciation for the ritualistic quality of his regimented schedule. it was easier to not have to make any decisions. the food was okay and he was making friends with the other patients. his therapy sessions were going well and he was encouraged by all the progress he was making.

he took a liking to his therapist. she listened to him (which is more than he could say for the bride) and filled him with a sense of renewed hope. he was working the program and was really looking forward to a more simple, sober life.

he did still feel slightly anxious and a little apprehensive about leaving. re-entering the underworld again would prove to be a challenge, filled with deliciously tempting vices. Could he really change and more importantly, did he actually want to? these were the questions that kept him up at night and were the thoughts he shared with no one.

{post rehab}

dracula picked frankenstein up the day of his discharge. he was armed with a myriad of literature on drug addition and the 24 hour line phone number to reach his therapist.

when they arrived at his home, he stepped inside a very clean and sanitized version of his once almost uninhabitable apartment. (the ghost had cleaned for days) a wave of shame and guilt filled him as he realized what his friends had witnessed.

after dracula left, he decided to unpack. 15 minutes had passed and he was at an utter loss. he had no idea what he should do with himself. he hadn’t been home for more than an hour and was already starting to itch. he knew the odds were stacked against him. he could visualize himself knocking off a Walgreens or CVS and could almost taste the unearthly bitterness that preludes the joy of being spun out on a pharmaceutical tweak.

he was so fucked. maybe he just needed some prozac.