by D. M. Guay
“Um. We're out of Curse Breaker?”
“You're kidding.”
“I forgot to tell you. Because, you know. You died.”
“Didn't you see my note? Where's my pen? I gotta write you up.”
“What? No!”
“Fine, kid. I'll let this one slip. Mostly because I can't pick up the pen. Just fill the mop bucket, and I'll call Henrietta. Oh, and hot tip: Next time, just follow directions. That should be the easiest part of the job.”
He reeled himself back through the wall, like he was the lure on the end of a fishing line.
I knocked on the zombie cooler door. “It's me. I'm, uh, sorry I was so mean. I have something for you.”
“What is it?” Zack sniffled and wiped his nose as he cracked open the door.
“Surprise! Your own magic cartoon box. Now you can play!”
His black eye sockets lit up. He peered down into the box. “Wow, my very own Xbox! You're the best friend a guy could have.”
“Well, it's not an Xbox.”
He slumped.
“It's even better. It's got hundreds of games already loaded, and it's all yours.” Man. I was really selling this thing. “You can play it whenever you want. You don't have to share. Yay fun!”
He stared at it. Shit. He didn't fall for it.
But then he grabbed me and squeezed me so tight my head felt like it might pop. “Eeeeeerrrrrrrrrr. This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. Literally, because I usually only see people when they die. Hurrrrrrrrrrrrrr.”
“Okay. Great. We'll get you a TV and set it up tonight, okay?”
I plastered on a big fake smile. Because dude. I was row row rowing my boat, gently out of shit creek. Slowly, but hey, every paddle counts.
He took the box and plopped down on the mattress. He inspected one of the cheap plastic controllers.
I filled the mop bucket and wheeled it out front. DeeDee stood by the register, reading her employee manual, talking to the puddle of Kevin. His arms dove into his puddle butt, over and over, coming up with nothing. “Dammit. Doc better get it in gear. I can't reach my book. I sure can feel it down there though. Oof. I don't know what part of me that is, but ouch. I gotta paper cut. You got anything?”
“No luck. Not a single entry about ghosts. No reapers either.” DeeDee shook her head. “I really hope Lloyd's book has something in it, because if it doesn't, we're screwed.”
Chapter 15
DeeDee looked at me and said, “Please tell me your book has some answers.”
I immediately broke into a cold sweat. “Um, let me go check.”
I tugged at my collar. Fear had me in a vice grip. Well, this was it. It was time. I couldn't avoid it any longer. I had to consult my employee manual. “Heh heh.”
Dude. I don't know why I laughed. Maybe because it matched the stupid fake smile on my face? Because the thought of that book terrified me?
DeeDee raised an eyebrow as she watched me casually back step to the stockroom door, arm pits gushing like Niagara Falls.
“What's wrong with you, kid? You got the runs? Just go already. No one cares!”
“Wha? Me. Noooooooo.”
But Kevin called it. I totally did look like I was on the verge of a DEFCON one dump—full turtle's head poking out—because I was drenched in sweat, butt clenched tight from stress.
I had a sinking feeling my book was not gonna be happy to see me. Ergo, it wasn't gonna be cooperative. Like. At all. Hello. You've seen that thing!
I played it cazh until I stepped back into the stockroom, then I booked it to the employee lounge. I kicked open the door, and...
Shit. No. Not my pants.
We're screwed. Totally screwed.
Because my employee manual? It escaped. My locker door hung open, bent, barely clinging to the hinges. I tiptoed closer, fists at the ready, and prayed, “please be in there. Please be there. Please.”
But nope. It wasn't. No book. Not anymore. Because it had somehow managed to kick right through a combination lock and punch open a steel door from the inside. Yeah. Because that's normal.
My gym bag lay in the bottom, open. It had shredded all my clothes and formed them into a nest just like the one in my bedroom closet.
Dude.
I had to find that book. I did not need to give Kevin anything else to write in that little pink book of his. Although, maybe he'd cut me some slack. I could not have predicted this. It's a book, not a bulldozer. How was I supposed to know it could escape?
Tink tink tink.
I stood up stick straight. So did all the hairs on the back of my neck. My ears perked up. It was the sound of glass clinking in the hallway, just outside the door. Uh oh. The utility rack.
I followed the sound. I tiptoed to the door and peeked out. Faust's cardboard box of weird junk moved. Thumping. Jiggling. Bumping against the lone bottle of Gut Scraper. It flapped, and I caught a glimpse of red. A book cover.
Ha! Got you now. I slunk closer, closer, closer, and ATTACK!
I lunged. I grabbed. “Ha! I've got you!”
And I did. That book shook in my hands, looking up at me with a spine full of little glass vials.
Chomp, chomp, fwap, slurrrrrrrrrp.
Um. Yeah. It sucked those vials—plus, judging from the flash of blue, at least one of the glass beads—in through its pages and started to chew.
“Uh. Stop. Stop that.”
The book did not stop.
“Cut it out! Faust needs those.” I shook it. “Stop! Cough 'em up!”
The book did not cough them up. It clinched tight.
Glurrrrrulp.
Yep. That was a swallow noise. Because 24/7 Demon Mart employee manuals couldn't just be stapled photocopies with cheerful card stock covers. Nope. They had to be animate. With stomachs. Because some asshole thought that was a great idea.
“Gah! Don't do this to me. Drop it!”
I shook it. Harder. But that just made it mad. The cover bucked, kicked into my belly, and used my pudge to slingshot itself straight out of my hand and halfway down the hall. It hit the linoleum, then scuttled away from me, spine opening and closing as it dragged itself across the floor.
It stopped suddenly, turned, and beelined for one of the cleaning crew, who was dragging a damaged pack of Red Vines into his cardboard box lair. The book bit into the other end of the package, and the two of them tug-o-war ed that candy like their lives depended on it.
Wow. They both really loved Red Vines.
I kicked into stealth mode and inched closer as the cleaning crew dude, streaked with dust from his adventure in the heating vent, clung to that licorice for dear life.
Grrrrrrr. Rrrrrrrrrr errrrr.
That was my employee manual. It growled and snarfled, then suddenly let go? The cleaning crew dude fell flat on his butt. The Red Vines dropped, undefended. My book charged. It grabbed the entire pack and sucked it in, swallowing it whole, plastic wrap and all, before that little creature even managed to sit up.
Wow. Talk about a fake out.
The book harmphed and mummmmmphed, glugging the pack into its booky innards. It was distracted, so I charged. When it saw me, its spine curled back, and it spit out a piece of plastic wrap stamped “EDVIN”, as it made a mad dash out into the store.
Shit! I can't let Kevin see this! “Get back here!”
I ran after it, but my foot slipped on that plastic, and I slipped.
Dude. Did I slip, like I was on ice.
Thump.
Ow. The door hit me square in the face. Because my book kicked it closed right on my head.
The stockroom door was no match for my immense girth, because I fell right through it, landing face down on the linoleum by the Cherikee Red pop pyramid.
Double ow.
I sat up. And the scars of battle were not for nothing. Victory! I had that book cornered. It cowered behind the bottles, quaking. I put my hands out, ready to pounce, but it must have seen me coming, because it scampered away. Again.
Man. This was a lot of work for one lousy book.
“OW! My foot!” Yep. My bad. It didn't scamper away. It attacked. My employee manual bit into the toe of my Puma, like it was starving to death. “Ow! Ow! Ow!”
I shook my foot, but it clamped down harder. I shook my leg, hard, so hard my pudge vibrated. But that book didn't budge. Man, it was really on there!
“Jesus Christ, kid. No wonder you didn't use the form. What the hell did you do to that thing?” Kevin's top half floated up next to me to inspect. “Employee manuals are like dogs. You can't just stick 'em in a closet and ignore them. Look at it. It's gone feral. You have to train it. Take care of it. Tame it. You better start now, or I'll have to report you to HSPCB.”
“The what?” Shake shake shake. Ow ow ow.
“Hades Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Books. What are you waiting for? Give it a treat or something. You need that book as much as it needs you, you know.”
I highly doubted that. Shake. Bite. Ow. “It already ate!”
I shook one last time, and the book flew off my shoe. Because it let go. On purpose. It arced over the chip aisle and thunked down somewhere by the nacho cheese dip end cap.
Great. Now I have to chase it down. Again.
Hunter floated up next to me. “Wow. Great cardio. You're really working up a sweat. Here. Do some squats with me.” He put his arms out, feet shoulder width apart. “And one. And two. And three. Champ? Uh...Champ?”
He called after me. Because dude. No. I did not stop to do squats.
I rounded the end cap. My book looked back at me. I looked at it. Then it made a break for it. I followed it down the row of reach-in beer coolers. Limping. Me, not the book. Because ow. It really did a number on my toes.
I was moving a little slow, but I managed to gain on it because the darned book stopped to stare down each aisle, like it was looking for something, before it moved onto the next. Weird. It stopped again. It looked down aisle three, then made a break for it.
I jumped into the end, cornering it. “Ha. Got you!”
Huh. Never mind. I do not got you.
Aisle three was empty. Just me and the beef jerky and candy, sparkling under the fluorescent lights. Angel eight ball rolled out from under the gummy bears. “Can you please stop kicking me? My water level is perilously low as is.”
“Shut up, already!”
“Really, Lloyd. That's the thanks I get for saving you from eternal damnation? And from love handles? You should be thanking me. That look is only good on teddy bears, not grown men. Now, about that checklist.”
Gah. Jerk!
Where did that book go?
Shshshsh Shsshshshsh.
There you are.
I followed the sound. To the Slim Jim display? I scanned up and down, but I didn't see a book. Giant meat sticks. Monster Meat Sticks. Tabasco. Hot AF. Big Boss Beef and Cheese. Yes. Yes. And Yes. But no book.
Then, one of the Slim Jim Savage Meat Sticks moved ever so slightly. The plastic-wrapped meat stick sunk down, down, down and disappeared under the lip of the display box. I looked up and down and all around, but I didn't see the book anywhere.
Huh. Maybe I imagined it.
Then a second Savage meat stick dropped, like it was slowly being sucked out of the bottom of the box. And another. And another. And more. At least a dozen of them, until only one was left. That one sunk down down down, and I grabbed the end and pulled it up. Something pulled it back down.
I pulled up. It pulled down.
Then I heard whining, like a puppy, coming from behind the hanger racks of Combos underneath.
I bent down. “Uh. Are you all right?”
My book flew out and landed next to my shoe. Sure enough, it had a spine full of Slim Jim Savage Meat Sticks. And I mean full. More than a dozen of them. The whole box!
And it mummmph heerrrrrk. Slurrrrrrrrrp murrrrrrrrped. Sucked them all down.
“Wow. You really are hungry.”
Then charged at me.
I screamed. “Why are you doing this to me? You're supposed to help meeeeeeeeeee!”
It stopped. It looked at me. I looked at it. It whined, then it suddenly flipped open to an illustration of some sort of craft project. It looked like sticks, tied together with string, into a crooked hexagon shape with a cross in the middle. Dude. It looked like something I made at vacation Bible school. Wonky, ugly, off kilter.
Huh. Maybe Kevin was right, and this book really was like a dog. “Dude. Do you need sticks? Because there are plenty outside.”
It growled.
Okay, then. Guess not.
Its pages fluttered, turning as if ruffled by air. I totally squinted and leaned in close, trying to get a peek at the mouth that had swallowed all that junk food, but I didn't see anything. It stopped on another familiar page: A drawing of a hand, scrawly and ornate, with an eye in the palm. A green eye. A real eye that glowed green, then blinked and looked around.
Nope. Eep. Seriously. I didn't see a stomach, but I sure found its eyeball. Hello. Creepy! I closed the cover. “I'm serious. I need help. These ghosts have to go!”
It huffed and turned back to the stick art page. A line of fancy cursive words at the very bottom glowed. They said, “Clafoooo Varapa nick? Nik huh. Nickel?”
“That part was so funny, right? I didn't know you liked Army of Darkness. I love that movie.” DeeDee stopped at the end of the aisle. She looked at my employee manual. “Anything we need in there?”
I shrugged. Dude. I wasn't gonna say, “How the hell should I know?” out loud. To DeeDee. No way.
“Okay. When you're done, come help me move the TV into Zack's room.” A flash of blue light spilled through the cooler doors behind her. “Never mind. Morty's here. I'll have him do it. You keep working on that book. Let me know if you find something.”
“Uh, huh. Sure.”
She left, and the book bit my ankle.
“OW! Let go!” I lifted my foot, ready to stomp, then I realized it wasn't trying to bite me. It was tugging on my sock, while the other edge pointed like a dog. “Huh?”
I looked up. Zack stood at the end of the aisle, robes on, hood up, brooding. Holding a big brown scythe? I wasn't sure where he got that, but I didn't care. Because he shouldn't be out here. “Please stay in your room. DeeDee's getting the TV. I'll hook up the console in a minute.”
He just stared at me with lifeless black eye sockets, an emotionless skull. He pointed his scythe. At me.
“Uh. You okay?” Gulp. My mouth went dry. Zack looked unusually serious. Like a legit angel of death. I ran my hands down my clothes and glanced around my ankles for witch snakes, but I uh, was pretty sure I was still alive. Shit. He's mad at me for locking him in the zombie cooler. He's gonna kill me, isn't he?
My book hid behind my legs. Shaking.
“Uh. You okay there, Zack? You look very, uh, grim.”
He said, “Who's Zack? Wait. Do you mean Zackumzaphielhermesiappotholonian? No. Sorry. I'm Yurialaempholalmodephianous. You got the wrong guy. Common mistake. We all look a lot alike.”
A scroll materialized out of thin air. He unrolled it and stared at it for a long time. Then at me. Then back at the scroll, then at me. Then he pointed his boney finger at me and said, in a deep, ominous voice, “Humphrey Edward Murphy, born April 1, 1927. Today, is the day of your death. It is your time!”
He floated toward me. Scythe at the ready. “Sorry I'm late, by the way. Traffic was terrible. The big man really needs to add another lane to the Celestial Forty. It's bumper to bumper constantly. I don't know how the guardian angels handle that commute every day.” He shrugged. “But at least your cat didn't eat your face before I got here, so, you know. That's good.”
“What? I'm not Humphrey! You've got the wrong guy!”
“Sure, buddy. Sure. That's what they all say. Let's go, dude. I'm already running late. That commute set me way back, so we gotta make up some time. I can't muck this up. You're my job interview.” He said. “I ha
ve to get out of janitorial services. You have no idea. It's literally like wiping up the shit stains on the celestial toilet bowl of souls. The amoebas are the worst. Who would have guessed such tiny things could leave such big streaks? Those amoebas. Still mad. Spiteful little creatures.”
“Angel! Help meeeeeee!” If there was ever a time a guy needed a guardian angel, it was now. But he just sat in the gummy candy section, triangle blank. “Thanks for nothing!”
“Wow. You reapers don't know your asses from your elbows.” Kevin's fat top half stretched all the way from the counter, looped around the doughnut case, and right on up to Yuria—Uh. Yuri-whatzit?
“He ain't lying. His name is Lloyd Lamb Wallace. You got the wrong guy.”
Thank God. Ghost cockroach to the rescue!
The reaper squinted at me. “How old are you?”
“I'm twenty-one!” I screamed it as I stumbled backward.
“Huh. Really? I never can tell human ages. You're all so fleshy.” He examined his scroll, then looked around. “Is this the Shady Rest Retirement Village?”
“No. That's across the river. You aren't even in the right suburb. Geesh.”
“Well, shit.” The reaper slumped. “Well, close enough. You'll do. Come on.”
He tried to grab me by the elbow, but I flailed like one of those wacky air guys in front of a car dealership.
“Hands off the kid,” Kevin said. “You need a soul? We got plenty. Go pick one. You're welcome. Tell you what. You can thank me by taking the hipster first.”
“Are you serious?” Yuri said. “You really have, like, unreaped souls just lying around?”
“What are you, blind?” Kevin thumbed a leg back. “Look around.”
Yuri's eye holes darted from corner to corner, taking in all the ghosts. Lunging Gunther, squatting Hunter, the hipster hovering by the stereo, the old man and the letter, and Candy, spinning above the hot dog rollers, pining for the Sinbad's main stage. He stared at Candy for a long time until the front of his robe started to stick straight out like he was smuggling a log under there.
Anyway. Moving on.
The second reaper said, “Wait. Is this? I remember now. This is where Zackumzaphielhermesiappotholonia's staying, right? Wow, dude. Just. Wow. I didn't want to believe all the rumors, but it's all true.”