All You Want

by Rachelle Ayala

  “Doing what?” I glance at Shane’s notes. “Drunk and disorderly conduct.”

  “Someone stole my costume,” Al says in a dull voice, the only kind he has. He’s wearing gray sweats and a hoodie, his usual attire.

  “What was it?” I ask.

  “My coal bin ghost costume,” Al says. “But I didn’t want to dress up anyway.”

  “All these years, I try to get Al to play along, you know, and he finally agrees, and some punk had to go swipe his costume.” Justin’s always righteously indignant on Al’s behalf.

  “Where was it stolen from?” I ask, wondering if they misplaced it.

  “I don’t know,” Al says.

  “He checked it in at the bar crawl,” Justin says. “Paul didn’t want anyone wearing masks inside, and since it was a plain old black sheet with holes in it, he had to take it off and leave it near the door.”

  “Maybe it got lost in the shuffle,” I suggest. Or maybe they were too drunk to find it. “You want to borrow a costume from the community center?”

  “No, I just want to go home,” Al says.

  “You have anything to say for yourself?” I glare at Dillon who sits in the corner holding his head. “Or you need medical attention?”

  “I’m good for a fight. Just defending my buds,” he slurs, and I notice a fat lip. “Sorry we got drunk.”

  “We weren’t drunk,” Justin counters. “Never admit anything to the law. Officer Donnelly was just trumping up charges to prove he’s a somebody. Can’t you get us out of here in time for the fireworks?”

  “Only if you pass a breathalyzer test.” I unlock the holding cell and administer the test, which they all pass—Dillon and Al marginally and Justin by a mile.

  Once I’m alone, I brew coffee and unlock the storeroom where Sheriff Weaver kept the paper records. I’m not exactly sure what I’m looking for, but in the back of my mind, I’ve always known he was covering up something for Tami’s father.

  I just thought it was something George did, but maybe it wasn’t him. Maybe it’s Tami who has a secret that Evan found out about.

  The boxes of unsolved crimes are listed by date. I move the latest ones aside until I get to my rookie year. I’d always admired Sheriff Weaver. He kept the town safe and booted troublemakers out of town.

  Now, what could Tami have done?

  ~ Tami ~

  It’s over.

  My grand opening is a huge success.

  I see my parents to their room and make my final tour through my hotel. Everyone’s talking about the grand orange and green fireworks extravaganza and complimenting me on the enjoyable evening they had.

  Social media is buzzing, and the #HarrowingHaunts hashtag is trending. Evan’s ghost-hunting tour was a fabulous success, and visitors were treated to jumping meters, flashing lights, holographic videos, and voices greeting them from the great beyond.

  So why do I feel like a loser?

  Is it because everyone else had someone special to watch the fireworks with? My parents were up on the balcony, and Bonnie and Clifton saw it from the bay window. Molly and Evan hung around after the ghost-hunting tour and watched it from the attic window.

  I looked for my HEX sisters, but they might have gone to the Sixty Miners to watch it from there.

  Now that the festivities are over, I stop by Ma Belle’s Tearoom to see if they’re back. Rosalie opens the door when I knock, and Suzette is right behind her.

  “Did you guys have fun?” I ask, walking into the gaily decorated room with its flowery wallpaper and pastel-colored paintings of teapots.

  Delicate teacups and lace placemats are set on the rattan plantation style furniture, and beaded curtains separate the sleeping area from the kitchenette where guests can try out a well-stocked selection of tea and coffee as well as spike them from the minibar.

  “We did, but we didn’t get lucky, not like Larissa did.” Suzette wiggles her finger cymbals and jiggles the bells on her belly dancer outfit. “That zombie man I snagged wimped out before the fireworks.”

  “I almost bagged me a devil dude.” Rosalie tosses her horned Viking helmet onto her bed and shakes out her blond braids. “Guess my horns are bigger than his.”

  “Who did Larissa hook up with?” I ask since she’s obviously missing.

  “She went off with that huge furry creature,” Rosalie says, making a crude motion as if she’s cleaning a baseball bat.

  “Oh, yeah, that creepy Sasquatch who was hanging around you.” Suzette does a twisting motion with both her hands. “I thought he was your hired bad boy.”

  “Eh, he was a prop.” I keep my voice casual, although I’m wondering if Todd found his mask and went back for Larissa. “Big guys like that are usually disappointing under the hood, if you know what I mean.”

  “Sour grapes, Tami.” Suzette flutters her glittery veil over my hat. “I felt the chemistry between the two of you. He was always looking for you, even when Larissa got her hooks into him.”

  “I’m sure he’s dragged her back to his lair and they’re having wild cave bear sex all winter.” Rosalie presses her hands across her breastplate and makes a swoony sound.

  “She hit the jackpot with that fox costume.” Suzette pouts and plops on her bed. “What a little tart, swinging that bushy tail under his nose.”

  Rosalie yawns and starts unlacing her costume. “I’m bushed. Maybe I’ll have a ghostly visitor. A berserker Viking warrior would do the trick.”

  “Since Larissa’s not coming back, why don’t you spend the night here with us?” Suzette suggests.

  “I might just do that,” I agree. “I was going to sleep in the office, but this will be like old times. We can tell ghost stories.”

  “I’d rather tell sex stories,” Rosalie says. “Would you like a cuppa tea?”

  “No tea, but I have to go get my overnight bag. I left it in my car because I wasn’t sure if we’d have any room for me.”

  After leaving Ma Belle’s Tearoom, I go by the control panels and set the timers for the haunt effects. Since Larissa is not in the room anymore, I change the audio from her name to mine for the goodnight wishes and morning wakeup greeting.

  This is going to be so much fun, and I should take some time to celebrate. Considering all things, this is the perfect ending to a perfect night.

  My hotel is booked to capacity, and we haven’t had any incidents requiring the police. I’m sure Todd must have been hot and bored inside that furry costume. Maybe Larissa caught up with him after I gave him the riot act.

  That hurts, but don’t I deserve some respect?

  Maybe not. No one’s ever looked at me the way Grady looks at Linx or the way my dad cherishes my mom. Actually, there was one boy, who was the son of a maid I used to have, but he was older than me.

  He used to watch me when I played piano, and his eyes followed me around whenever I had a tea party with my dolls. I asked him to join me once, and he ran off, embarrassed.

  After that, I kept asking him to have tea with me, but he always ran, so his mother, who we called Mooma, played with me.

  She read to me, and she brushed my hair. She bathed me, and she dressed me. We played gin rummy, and she always let me win.

  One Halloween, she dressed as a giant spider and had a tea party at our haunted barn party. Somehow, the tea was poisoned, and she drank it and died.

  Which is why I have an aversion to tea and never want another cuppa ever.

  I finish up with the haunt effects and lock up the office, bumping into Neil on the way out.

  “Good night, Miss King,” the concierge says. “I’m heading home, unless you need me.”

  “You deserve to go home. What a night, right?” I give him a high five. “Can you walk me to my car so I can get my overnight bag? It’s a little spooky out there.”

  “Especially with that Bigfoot guy missing.” He tips his head back and laughs. “Think he’s lurking out there in the forest?”

  “I doubt it.” I press my lips together an
d walk with him to the employee parking area where I get my overnighter.

  “Looks pretty quiet out here,” he observes. “Shall I walk you back inside?”

  “No, it’s fine.” I bid him goodbye and watch his car drive away.

  On the way back in, I take some time to look at my hotel from the outside. Some of the windows are still lit, but most of the guests are asleep. The campers in the parking lot are gone, and a dog barks intermittently from the vicinity of the Sixty Miners Saloon.

  An owl hoots, and I feel, rather than hear, the air movement of his wings as he glides between the trees. The smoky scent of fireworks hangs around, and mist descends along with the temperature.

  The air is nippy. A wicked wind howls through the treetops, and clouds partially block the full moon. I hope the forecasts are wrong, and it won’t rain or snow on Halloween and ruin our special trick or treat adventure.

  Trickvenger Hunt is taking trick or treating to a new level. Guests will be given a map to several haunted venues on our property where they figure out puzzles and lockboxes while getting their brains scared out of them by ghouls and scary denizens of the night. Tricks and treats will pop up or drop down on the unsuspecting trick or treater, and since this activity is outdoors, it would be ruined if it rains.

  I take a deep breath, telling myself to stop borrowing trouble, and cross over the loading dock toward the employee entrance. My feet are sore from the vintage tie-up shoes I’m wearing, and my hair’s a sweaty mess underneath the Victorian hat I pinned to the braids I tied around my crown. I need to get to bed and be up at the crack of dawn to supervise the breakfast from the crypt activity where the buffet table will be stacked with bone-shaped buns, pancakes dripping with strawberry sauce, and eggs with ketchup zigzags on the whites to look like bloodshot eyes.

  A sliver of light gleams from a door that’s been propped open. I’ll have to have a talk with the staff about locking up. I get that they need their smoking break, but I can’t have kids sneaking into the storeroom to steal alcohol or rummaging through my linens and supplies.

  The only sound on the concrete floor are my footsteps, and it feels like a creature is watching me, holding its breath.

  A gust of wind raises the hairs on the back of my neck, and I gasp when I walk through the silky strands of a spider web.

  I refrain from looking over my shoulder. No one’s out there, and even if someone’s prowling, they’re not close enough to attack me without me hearing them cross the gravel patch.

  My heart pounding from my throat, I reach the door and lunge for the safety of the light.

  “Aarow!” A black shadow dashes through the door before I can close it and runs toward the loading dock and dumpster.

  “Is it you, kitty?” I ask. “Or are you a rat I have to trap?”

  I grab a broom and follow the creature. My heart calms when I hear it purring. Surely, a rat doesn’t purr, does it?

  “I bet you’re hungry.” I chat to keep the creeps at bay. “You’re only a black cat, and I’m not superstitious. Sure, you crossed my path, but if I make friends with you, you can be my lucky charm, or at least my spooky charm. How would you like that? I’ll name you Spook; that’s who you are.”

  I cross over toward the dumpster and flip on the light.

  The kitten drags a bloody rat across the cement floor and glares at me. A black bundle is sprawled on the floor.

  My foot lands in a dark puddle, and I trip over a baseball bat and pick it up. It glistens with red paint, the same color as the can that spilled on me.

  I sweep aside the black sheet covering the bundle, and I blink, unbelieving.

  Staring at me, blank-eyed and bloody, is the bashed in face of Viola Graham, the town librarian.

  “Meow.” The black cat drops the bloody furball at my feet.

  It’s not a dead rat.

  It’s the Bigfoot mask Todd was wearing, and it’s matted with dried blood.

  I reach down and touch the librarian. She’s still warm.

  Twenty-Three

  ~ Todd ~

  I hit paydirt just after midnight.

  In the distance, I can hear the fireworks exploding ATC—across the creek at ye olde red-light district.

  I’m sure Tami’s having a grand time with her sorority sisters, and Shane was able to get there in time to herald in his first Colson’s Corner Halloween.

  I blow the dust off the box dated more than a decade ago. There was a death that wasn’t a death. I was in high school at the time, and the rumors flew like wildfire.

  It was a Halloween party for children at the King’s barn—back before it burned down.

  Tami’s parents went all out, with treats dangling from the rafters and spooky actors jumping out from the hay. There were fortune tellers, face-painters, magicians, and creepy clowns. A skeleton band played music, and giant spiders and bats served punch. A vampire queen told stories, and ghosts flitted here and there, handing out treats and tricks.

  The schoolyard was rife with rumors. Some say a stuntwoman accidentally hung herself when the power went out. Others say a witch was dragged into the forest by werewolves. The younger kids say a giant spider was bitten by a vampire bat, and teenagers say one of the kids gave an old woman poisoned tea.

  It all went away when the supposed victim, a maid who worked for the King family, left town, and Sheriff Weaver and the mayor made some big speech about how someone took an act too far. Nothing to worry about. Nothing to see here. Move along. Everything’s A-okay type of stuff.

  I find the folder and take it to my desk. Old newspaper clippings are stapled to the official report. I squint at the scribble of Sheriff Weaver. Portions of the handwriting are inked over, and the wrinkled and aged paper has missing and torn pieces.

  I push aside the newspaper clippings, which are likely sensational and fake, and try to decipher Weaver’s chicken scratch writing.

  An adult female had been taken to the hospital. It was ruled an accidental poisoning. What happened next was unexplained. The woman was pronounced dead, but a band of werewolves stormed the hospital, breaking windows and upsetting gurneys. By the time, the police showed up, the people dressed like werewolves disappeared, and only later, did the doctor notice the woman’s body was gone.

  George King identified the woman as Mooma Wolfe, his live-in maid. Wagging tongues suggested she was pregnant with George’s baby, and others say she was threatening to kill herself if George didn’t dump his wife and marry her.

  The newspaper articles quoted George as saying the woman was a lunatic and was caught abusing his daughter, Tami. He fired her before Halloween and didn’t know she’d snuck back into the barn as a black widow spider at the tea party. They analyzed the tea and found poison in it, but without a body, they could not charge anyone with murder.

  At best, the woman was violently sick. At worst, she was dead and buried somewhere out in these woods.

  Maybe this has nothing to do with what Evan was alluding to, but he seems pretty sure of himself. Could there be truth in the rumor that a kid gave someone poisoned tea?

  According to Linx, Tami hates tea and refuses to drink even iced tea. She’s a coffee snob through and through. But hating tea doesn’t mean she was the kid who served the poisoned tea, did it?

  I shouldn’t jump to conclusions, but maybe my sister Becca remembers more of the gossip. I’m about to call her when the phone rings.

  “CCPD. How may I help you?”

  “Shane? I mean, Officer Donnelly,” Tami’s voice says, sounding shaky.

  I’m about to correct her when my blood freezes.

  “Shuh-she’s duh-dead. Viola’s dead.”

  “How? Did she have a heart attack?”

  “Someone, someone, buh-buh-buh-bashed her head, baseball bub-bat. Tuh-tuh-Todd’s mask all bloody.”

  “Stay there,” I bark. “I’m deputizing you. Don’t let anyone enter or leave the hotel. Keep away from the body, and don’t contaminate the crime scene.”

 
“Todd?” Tami screams. “I thought you were Shane. Where’s Shane?”

  “He went to the fireworks. You didn’t see him?”

  The line goes dead.

  ~ X ~

  His pulse thickens as he skirts the hidden nooks and crannies of the Bee Sting basement.

  Princess Poppyboob’s screams tick him off, stirring the rising anger in his loins.

  Her screams piercing through blood and bone, drilling and ripping into his skull. She’s ruining his plans and giving him one hell of a headache.

  Serves her right for having the witch tell stories.

  She’s pacing back and forth, breathing hard. The hem of her satiny blue dress is stained with blood, and her old-fashioned boots are ruined. Her feathered hat is hanging askew, and the hatpin is falling out.

  She’s a mess, but she’s never looked more alluring—especially with bloody hands. Oh yes. He wants so much to lick the pads of her palms, suck and twirl his tongue around each plump finger, and nestle his face between her pillowy thighs.

  His nightstick grows, and the urge to fondle it, to pull it out and wield it takes control. He’s too hot, and his blood pumps fast. He throws off the sheet and creeps from behind the dumpster.

  She’s there. Shivering and shaking, staring at the bloody mask, and she’s waiting for that cop who wore the mask.

  They thought they had everyone fooled, sneaking around as if he wasn’t there watching her every move. Good thing, too. He’d seen her unmask the big idiot and send him packing.

  How convenient this turned out to be. Instead of vengeance, he can put her under his control. She can’t turn to the sheriff whose mask she found. She’ll be so frightened, she’ll run straight into his arms.

  He slams into her.

  “I. Saw. What. You. Did,” he hisses in her ear. He grinds his cock against her butt cheeks with each word he says. “You. Killed. Her.”

  “I didn’t. Who are you? I didn’t do anything.” Her struggles are of no avail.