A Day in the Unlife of Tara Florence

The therapist’s office smelled of cheap, minty incense and carpet cleaner. An empty-seeming fish tank bubbled under a CRT TV playing Golden Girls. The stereo was jacked. Muffled, canned laughter rattled the abused sound system. Anything over a whisper produced a tin ping with every word. Tara did her best to ignore it. She hovered near the fish tank looking for any signs of life. There was a tiny yellow castle she figured the tank’s occupant hid in. Its spongy crenellations and walls protected whatever creature was inside. From most people, anyway. 

Behind her, the office receptionist watched her from her round-rim glasses. The elf suspected Tara would try and press through the glass to steal a peek. Tara wasn’t planning too. The air around her chilled. If she touched the glass, it would frost over in seconds. Tara only wanted to see what kind of fish was in the castle. Not make it a frozen fish stick. She frowned. Tara caught a glimpse of herself in the tank: a translucent, blue silhouette of a human body saddled in an oversized Megadeth hoodie free floating in the therapist’s lobby. A tail of blue… stuff formed a tail where her waist ended. Her long hair floated wild like a depressed bush behind her.

She couldn’t be bothered to style it before she left her haunt. The office door opened. A human face peered out into the lobby. “Ms. Florence?”

Wordlessly, she entered the claustrophobic hallway leading through the four offices different therapists used. Her doctor, Dr. Stephens, occupied the far left office near the anvil shaped radiator under a window. A singular Santa straggler, a plush, fat doll high overhead, stared out to the main street outside. Dr. Stephens was alone today. The heat vented in a constant low whistle from the pipes and wet the glass surfaces with humidity. Even Tara’s supernaturally cold form emitted a mist when she passed the metal fixture. The others used the tiny office for traveling appointments, or worked schedules opposite of her doctor. There was a desk, a chair for her corporeal patients, and Dr. Stephens’ fancy, red leather computer chair. Books occupied a shelf just visible on the left of the chair. Their titles were the kind Tara’s focus melted over. 

“Thank you for coming Tara,” Dr. Stephens began. “Would you like a seat?”

“Eh,” She shrugged and floated backwards. She feigned leaning back against the door and put her hands in her pockets. “I’m good.”

“Of course.” Dr. Stephens’ computer hummed to life. She had one of those super thin screens Tara noticed were more and more common nowadays. The doctor clicked around and opened up her notes. Her curly auburn hair was kept out her eyes by a large hair clip that moved as the doctor read. “Did you enjoy your new years?”

“It was cool.” Tara shrugged again. “I was with Elle and her friends.”

“Did you go anywhere?”

Tara crossed her arms and turned her head. “Nowhere special. Her parents ordered them some pizza, some wings, and, like, all that stuff.”

“And did you try any?”

The ghostly girl winced. She was thinking about how spicy the wings were on her lips, the juices on her tongue, and the relief of ranch dressing cooling her off. Sweat. Tears. The way things crunched between her teeth with a visceral snap or pop. It just wasn’t in her body. She was a ghost; she didn’t need to eat. “They let me. Just for a little bit.”

The typing paused, and the doctor smiled. “And?” No condemnation followed. 

“It was so good. The Donbedians make their own hot sauce. It’s totally spicy.” She fanned her tongue. “I can still feel it.”

“It sounds like a good time.” Dr. Stephens continued her notes before her blue eyes Tara’s once again. “You also left your host on your own?”

“Elle… let me borrow her body. I set a timer like you suggested, and it reminded me to let go.” If she could blush, Tara’s face probably would be bright red. “I got to play some games too. It was on the new Nintendo thing. Mario Kart was fun.”

“Do you mind if I ask how long you possessed your friend?”

“An hour.” Anymore and Tara might lose herself in all the sensations of feeling alive again. She wanted to say how she didn’t want to let go, how great it was to feel the cold from the window blow in, and the couch cushions holding her weight. It was as natural as breathing, and letting Elle go was like asking Tara to hold her own breath, forever. 

Dr. Stephens’ expression reflected Tara’s visible discomfort. With a touch of her finger to her rounded glass frame, she coolly spoke. “You’ve made significant improvements Tara. Experimenting with boundaries is an important part of anyone’s development. Just as important is knowing where your boundaries are.” The chair squeaked as she moved away from her computer and clasped her hands together. “Do you feel like you touched on something sensitive?”

Yeah, duh, she possessed her first friend in twenty years. Tara hated herself because how much she enjoyed it, and that she would do it again in a non-existent heartbeat. The weight of her guilt caused her to sink down a few a few inches. Dr. Stephens’ gaze followed Tara as she descended almost into the floor. 

“I’m going to mark that down as a yes if you don’t mind.”

Tara stammered out a half-hearted rebuttal. “I mean, yeah, sure, whatever. I just-” She fumbled with a few excuses in her head before giving up. “It was nice to feel things again. It’s been so long. I know I can cause problems and I really don’t want to, like, hurt anyone, again.”

“I think you’ve done a good job so far,” Dr. Stephens began. “Weekly meetings with Anonymous Anomalous. You’re almost done with your community service. You’ve made connections to people around your age-”

“Am I?” Tara was born in 1990. She died in 2007. It was 2026. “I’m going to be 36 in April.”

“Elves are treated as dependents until they turn 150. Other undead Myths have particular milestones for their youths to come of age. Plant Mythfolk go through cycles of aging and rebirth. I moved in with my parents after college. It’s not all a straight line from being a kid to an adult.”

“I don’t feel like I’m 36. Eh…” Tara shook her head as she ascended back up to eye level with the doctor. “No, not at all.”

Dr. Stephens nodded twice before returning to her computer. She made a few more notes before grabbing a pen from her mug full of them. “Make any resolutions this year?”

“No.” Tara rolled her eyes. “Not yet. I haven’t had time to think about it.”

“That’s fine.” The woman doctor scribbled something down on a sticky pad and removed it. “Next time then.” She stuck it with a few others over her desk. “I thought of a few. I keep them as reminders. I pull them down as I go.”

“So you finished all them last year?” Tara scanned the newest: travel to Puerto Rico. 

“Most. I wanted to try blacksmithing, but the summer got away from me.”

“Uh huh…” The thought of her therapist hammering metal at a forge amused Tara, though she refrained from laughing out loud. Try the new Peruvian place. Visit the Observatory. Tara remembered the observatory opening. Her fourth grade class did a field trip when they opened. She was a little surprised to see it still open. Everything kind of closed during the pandemic a few years ago, and she assumed all of the fun things to do in town evaporated.

“Was there anything else you would like to discuss?”

“No, not really.” 

“Sounds good. I won’t hold you up. It’s always a pleasure seeing you Tara. Julie’s already got your billing so you’re free to go.”

Tara phased out the closed door, through the wall, and apparated just behind the secretary. The older woman was engaged in flipping candy tiles on her phone. She didn’t hear Tara, nor see the ghost girl turn the office heat up. Tara spun the dial ten degrees hotter, then flew down into the floor and back to the ground level. Gliding along the ceiling, the pipes banged and groaned with the extra demand to the third floor. That jerk Julie could sweat it out a little before checking the thermostat. Tara exited out to the main road and began her flight home.

Ghosts were not subject to the same constraints other flying Mythfolk dealt with. Tara did not need a license to do her city flying. She could fly on high wind or cold days when others might have to take a cab. Her night vision meant she didn’t need to wear any lights after dark. After all, if she flew into anything, she’d pass through it. This did not mean she could carelessly fly over the city. Tara watched for birds in case one crossed her. Moving through inanimate objects was one thing; having a living thing go through her form was another. The poor thing might miss a heart beat, or worse, Tara might accidently possess it.

She followed the road south, over the busiest section of main street, and crossed a bridge into South Side. For those below, she might as well be invisible. A few crows on power lines preened their wings while their fellows flocked around a garbage bin below. Tara gave them a wide berth and glided over their perch. Possessing animals was gross. The fur. The smells. Her brief time possessing a cat lingered fresh in her mind even fifteen years later. She scared it when it slunk into her old haunt, and it ran through Tara. They ran off in a panic, and it took her hours to get out of the feline. Tara grimaced and flew out of the city’s boundary and into the orbit of a collection of gas stations and her home, an abandoned strip mall.

Tara’s current haunt sat back and away from the gas station intersection. Once a strip mall anchored by a Kmart, Tara remembered shopping here with her parents back when she was a kid. There was a pizza place, a thrift shop, and a UPS store flanking the Kmart. They would come to try on school uniforms and eat pizza next door. Her brother got his Gamecube here, and she used to loiter outside listening to My Chemical Romance on a CD walkman. When she got exorcized from the high school, this was the place that called to her next. She flew through the roof and directly into the old electronics section.

Little remained of the front store: a few shelves too large to disassemble, the empty check out lanes, and the rotten, composite wood counter where electronics used to be. The u-shaped island sat alone on its side of the store. Tara drifted down and rifled through her few things tucked inside a magicked bag. She grabbed a soda can labeled Diet Scream between her borrowed Ipod and the few pictures she kept from home. With a crack of the tab, the beverage container emitted a man’s wail of despair. It echoed out in the cavernous space. Artificial terror-in-a-can lacked substance, but it refreshed the ghost girl like stepping into a hot shower used to be. The purple drink inside tasted faintly of grape to boot.

Her flip phone buzzed in her hoodie’s pocket. She pulled the ghost friendly device out and gave it a flick of her wrist. It snapped open to her home screen. Her wallpaper was from the new year’s party, and she was a vague outline in the back of the group. She was hovering over Big Dan and flashing a pair of barely visible bunny ears over his ears. Elle and Lorry were arm in arm in front. Jess ate cheese curls out of a big bowl on the L-shaped corner couch, and even on Tara’s compressed wallpaper they were visibly orange. It cheered her up before she glanced to her inbox. (53) New messages.

Tara left a lot of messages unread. It was spam, mostly. At the top were her real contacts: Elle and her new friends first, Jerry, and Ms. Bliss, then her parole officer Dufrane and the office number for her therapist. She thumbed down to Jerry’s message.

“Dear Teresea-,”

Jerry was a ghost’s ghost: the first spectre of Pascal, maybe even Ohio, and the source of many tall tales throughout the area. Tara even knew about him when she was alive. His haunt was an arboretum out in the middle of nowhere, and its spookiness rivaled The Amityville Horror or any other movie Tara could think of. Tall hedgerows fenced the dilapidated property. The glass greenhouse was obscured in shadow day or night. Steamy, suffocating fog filled the air. A ghost’s haunt was a reflection of their character, and Jerry wanted nothing to do with the living.

“I have cultivated marvelous tulips and winter Jasmine this year. They are due to bloom in the weeks to come and come to mine arboretum. Witness nature’s true beauty when not marred by the vulgar, rough hands of the living. (Or as I like to call them, Livvers.)”

Though hardly personable, Jerry was the first ghost to reach out to her when she began her afterlife. She typed out an equally lengthy response while floating in circles around the empty store. 

“I would be honored Jerry. Just let me know when we are close to the day and I’ll zip over there.”

Ms. Bliss was another acquaintance, and also a ghost. Her message was asking if Tara was going to Jerry’s for flower viewing. Ms. Bliss haunted the same small apartment building downtown she lived in the 50’s. Tara guessed Ms. Bliss enjoyed being around people, and she was quick to try new things. Tara sent a “👍😉,” and got to reading messages from Elle.

Reclining mid-air, Tara stared at the dozen messages Elle sent the start of the day. They were not long lines of text, but the casual exchange of small pleasantries Tara desperately craved. Heya. Good morning. My brother was so annoying. Tara giggled, and the warmth carried through her empty haunt. How should she respond? What should she ask? She wanted to avoid asking about school, but it wouldn’t hurt to know how Elle’s classes were going. Snow melt on the roof dripping through cracked, moldering ceiling tile kept time as Tara went back and forth at her text. 

Time meant little for undead Mythfolk. Two hours passed in what felt like a blink of an eye when Tara’s next alarm rang out. She peered up from her first draft, glanced around the empty building, and let out a quiet, low sigh. She hit send. She had another obligation today. At least she felt recharged by her late breakfast and her time in her haunt. Tara returned her things to her bag, hid it again, then drifted back out the front door. It was important to keep her commitments.

Flying back toward town, she veered west of the main drag and to Court Hill. She used to live here. Her high school was in Court Hill. She attended K. Nash Elementary not to far from that. She gave them all a wide berth as she flew to the Pascal Shopping Center. A mid-tier grocery store hugged a furniture outlet and a chinese restaurant on one side of the complex, while a smattering of small businesses clung to the opposite side of the parking lot. Tara spied the remnant of the Blockbuster sign, a tilted VHS recolored red and white and repurposed for The Book Cellar, and hovered over the overhanging red awning. 

About a dozen people walked under her: a pair of middle-aged, dusty blonde women smoked at the awning’s end, another woman, a short green-skinned goblinoid Mythfolk, pushed a cart twice her size into the Spin-matic’s narrow doorframe, and a family of wolf-eared Myths exited Mario’s with their two boxes of take out pizza and a pack of scruffy, rowdy kids pushing and bickering behind them. Tara didn’t want to scare anyone so she floated over top of the Dandelion shop and phased through to the storage area.

Of course, the only other employee of Dandelion was organizing boxes of clothes, incense, and pewter jewelry. He saw Tara before her head appeared, and doubly of course, he yelped when Tara’s ghostly tail swished the back of the bristly nape of the neck. The cold sent goosebumps down his spine and all the way to his palms. He tossed aside a box of jeans and threw himself forward. “Holy shit! Holy Shit!” His eyes locked onto Tara descending from the ceiling. “

“Wait! I didn’t know you were there.” Tara initially considered fleeing, but that might lead to problems later not to mention her promise with the store’s owner. The man crawled back inch by inch away from her. “I didn’t think anyone would be back here.” As she descended, the man only became more frantic.

He scrambled backwards on the floor and retreated into a stack of teetering boxes, bumped them, and sent them tumbling onto his head. Tara flinched as the human-looking man suffered an audible hit just above his left ear. It was a glancing blow, but he yelped again. His eyes glowed and green spines erupted all along his arms and under his neck like a floral five-o’clock shave. His hair almost fell off his head exposing part of his fibrous head and many tiny foliciles from his greenish scalp.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

“Ow, ow…” The man rubbed his head and fixed his wig. He got onto his two feet, but Tara noticed his lack of shoes and the root-like quality to his lower body. There was a motion of roots under his pant legs helping to stabilize him. He was nearly eight feet tall standing. Another few inches and he’d scrap the ceiling. No wonder Tara’s estimate of where to enter the roof didn’t work out.

The door to the back slammed open and down stooped a woman of similar make and build to Tara’s victim. “What the hell is going on back here? I heard something fall and…” She spotted Tara and crossed her arms. “You came in through the roof?”

“Yeah, but-”

The woman preempted Tara’s explanation with a wave and pointed to her other employee. “You alright Lloyd?”

The man nodded while fleeing to the door between the store’s front and back. He hid behind his manager like a kid might hide behind their mother. Tara fought to keep a straight face. “I’m really sorry.” Tara couldn’t pick up the heavy stuff on the ground, but with some effort she began lifting bags of tea and incense and floating them back into the box that fell.

“It happens. Lloyd, can you handle the front while I catch up with Tara?”

“Yes. Sure can.”

Lloyd darted out of the storage room. Tara caught a glimpse of a few living folks in Dandelion’s store front; women scouring wood and wicker displays containing different homemade trinkets brought in from all around the county, a kid watching something on a screen the size of his head near them, and an older wolfish Myth carrying a poodle in her purse smelling car tree smell things. The door quickly closed behind Lloyd. Now Tara was trapped with her friend-slash-boss Helia.

“Did you have to scare my nephew?” Her friend slid her fake brown hair behind her ear while bending down to collect the heavier things from the box. Metal statuettes Tara guessed were paperweights. They were shaped like stout tropical birds with holes where their eyes should be.

“No, it was an accident. I came in through the roof and I thought- well I thought it’d just be me by myself again.”

Helia and her nephew were both plant Mythfolk; rail-thin, green skinned sunflower types that towered over most other plant Myths save those tree-born types rare in the midwest. They had roots that could mimic feet, and in the summer, yellow petals that formed their hair. Helia continued speaking as she adjusted and set the fallen box aside. “It’s fine. He’s a shrinking violet. I even told him you’d be in today.”

Tara faked a laugh. Though scaring living folks sustained her, she preferred to do so on her own time, intentionally. A twinge of guilt stuck at what she imagined to be the pit of her stomach. “What did you need me for today?”

Helia wiped sweat from her face and dried it on her green apron uniform. Tara hadn’t noticed condensation forming near her. It must’ve been quite hot in the storage area. If she were alive and someone put an ice cube on the back of her neck Tara would have jumped too. Nonetheless, Helia led her to the back of the storage room to the bay door and another box. Red, sticky blood leaked from the bottom of the box and onto a blue tarp Helia set to keep the floor clean.

“I got these cursed items at an estate sale. I thought they were neat, but last week they started bleeding.” Helia recoiled at the word. Tara knew plant Myths didn’t have blood necessarily, but to be fair, Tara wasn’t a big fan of blood when she was alive either. She scoped out the plastic box. It was packed with old kid toys and wood instruments. About a liter of blood sat inert under all the items. “I intended to get it exorcised, but my usual guy is out of town, and Dr. Piesch-”

“Ugh, right? He’s such a weird guy. Just seeing him gives me the jeepers creepers.” 

A bit of surprise colored Helia’s expression, but she refrained from asking. Tara had run-ins with every exorcist, witch doctor, and priest in Pascal at this point. Dr. Hammond Steven Piesch worked for the city. He was the first guy people called when they were dealing with unexplainable phenomenon like curses, and ghosts. She didn’t know him when she was alive, but he was the one who ultimately evicted her from her last haunt. Other exorcists asked the ghosts to move on, to recognize the harm they are doing, and offer something to lead them elsewhere. Dr. Piesch cut her off. He hurt her. She wanted nothing to do with him.

“I’ve heard about him through the grapevine,” Helia stepped away from the box of cursed objects. “You can handle this?”

“I can try. Could you tell your nephew that I’m not going to haunt him, or whatever.”

Helia left Tara to her task, and back out to the busier storefront. Tara was thankful to Helia: her sunflower friend was the only person who bothered to contact Tara after she died. Removing a curse from a few toys was small potatoes. She levitated a tin duck from the top of the pile and instantly it weeped blood from it mouth and eyes. Globs of the stuff splattered onto the tarp. She rotated it looking for any signs of tampering, but the toy was intact and no obvious seams indicated it was put back together.

Dying took a lot from Tara. She struggled to interact with the world. Her senses were all muted save her sight. Her loved ones moved on without her. She lingered in one high school for a decade, and the other for three. Tara couldn’t let go of what she missed, and so she missed her chance to reconnect with those continuing their lives. Tara stared hard enough at the toy to blur her vision; spectral energy appeared like a gray, thin bonfire burning in the center of the container. Dying made her closer to the spiritual too. Magic like curses were readily apparent to her, and if she focused, she could see the soul of things. 

Unlike the living, whose soul was firmly planted on the inside until, well, they died, few objects were created with to components of a soul. Most stuff was made empty. Tara felt a heat from the single flame like a distant warmth akin to a space heater set to low. She touched the blaze with her ghostly hand. The flames didn’t hurt her. Licks of flame curled around her hand, into her palm and desperately tried to guide her down to the box again. No, empty vessels were filled over time. They picked up the emotions and discarded fragments of the people close enough to them. It pulled her down gently.

“Why would someone abandon you?” Tara pulled another toy from the box: a blood soaked straw doll with a red-stained leather hat. It wore suspenders made of rope and denim pants. Its hat dripped with blood while hanging in the air. “Maybe it wasn’t on purpose, huh?”

She waved the doll’s arms, then gingerly set the toy on a dry spot of the box. “Let’s see who else needs a lift…”

All the toys moved to her like flowers seeking the sun. Tara played with the blood soaked toys one at a time: first a pair of porcelain faced dolls in dresses smeared like butcher aprons danced in circles above the others. The blood flowing from their joints ceased after a few minutes of whirling about. The joined the strawman, then Tara lined the toy duck ahead of the other wooden animals and had them march in the air until their restless spirits also eased.

Curses came in two flavors; the unintentional, and the intentional. Unintentional curses were about as common as rodent infestations, but posed only a minor threat to the living. Bleeding, projecting hallucinations, making threats, or otherwise demanding attention to assuage their gathered grief. Ghosts shared that in common with unintentional curses. They were both accidents animated by strong emotions. These toys probably lost their old playmate and like a newly formed ghost, demanded attention by drastic means.

Tara cleaned each toy with rag shirts labeled damages. Blood under the box dissolved as the curse dissipated. It would take her some time, but Tara began the work of cleaning the toys and the other contents of the box. She wanted to get them as close to clean as possible before Helia dunked them in whatever solution to make sure the supernatural blood was all gone.

“I never saw the Shining,” she told the straw doll. She’d taken a shine to the sharp dressed man and his two tiny button eyes and his neutral expression. “I thought it was too spooky, if you can believe that. I don’t like tense movies.”

Satisfied with her work, she moved to the door. Helia could do the tangible work of cleaning up. Tara wanted to catch Elle on her way home. She heard a heavy thump behind her as she passed the place where Llyod fell. The strawman threw itself to the ground and lay on the cement floor facedown. Tara could see the faint curse magic simmering on its body. The other toys were sated, but the straw doll remained restless. She hovered over it. “I think you’ll find a kid who will love playing more than me.” She demonstrated her intent by swiping through the toy. Her hand passed through the doll to no effect. Still, it burned weakly. Tara couldn’t leave it. Not when the curse lingered.

“You really don’t want to stay with me. I swear. I’m a mess.”

The flames burned up and wrapped around her index finger like ribbons. Tara did not pull away. It was strange feeling things with her ghostly body. She let it hold her. “Oh, what am I going to do with you?” She lifted up, and the doll followed like a puppet. “Whoa.” Tara bounced the doll once, then twice, before realizing she could take it with her now. Should she? Tara didn’t own much, but she thought of Chucky. She wondered if her doll would be jealous of her flesh and blood friends. Would Helia let her? Probably. All Tara had to say it was ghost business and her friend would understand.

“Oh this is a bad idea,” Tara lamented despite knowing she was going to take it with her, “I’ll have a talk with Jerry, and Ms. Bliss. Maybe they can help put you at ease.”

Tara hoisted the cursed doll up and let it wrap its flame around her wrist. It hung from her like a hanged man. The comparison did not put her any more at ease.

Carrying the doll also meant she would have to leave through the door, like a living person. She peered through the other side. Helia was talking to customers as they left. Llyod cleaned up a spill near the register. Once the other living folks were on the other side of the glass, Tara spoke up. “Hey. Helly.”

The sunflower woman spied Tara’s head and stifled a chuckle with her spindly hand. “Everything okay back there?”

“Mostly. The toys in the box are safe, and I cleaned them up as best I could. Same for the instruments. They just were grieving their old playmate.”

“Ah. Any reason your head is the only thing sticking out of-”

Tara flashed a pointed glare in Lloyd’s direction. Helia’s nephew was making his to the opposite side of the store and out of Tara’s sightline. “Well, two reasons. One, I really didn’t want to scare Lloyd.” She emphasized that point loud enough to call a shout. He jumped in place, but at least he didn’t topple all the shelves around him this time. “The second is a bit more complicated. Could you get the door for me?”

Helia stooped down to the handle and loosed the handle. With a pull, Tara and her doll exited the storage room and into Dandelion proper. The muted smell of varnished wood and different incense briefly distracted Tara from her concern. Helia’s store had wooden slats for walls, and an arching roof overhead that gave the establishment the appearance of barn. Cattle troughs were filled with locally sourced wares, while shelves and human-sized fixtures displayed silver and pewter worked necklaces, bracelets, and a variety of bejeweled statuettes. Helia said homemade stuff was popular, but Tara recoiled at the thought. Hot Topic was cool. Anime, that was cool. She wanted colorful plastic trinkets she could hang off a bag. The weight of everything in Dandelion would have dissuaded Tara even when she could lift a purse. Worse, it reminded her of stuff her mom’s mom liked, and Tara didn’t like her grandma very much either.

“So? What’s complicated?” Helia braced herself for bad news, though when she saw the doll floating on its own, her serious facade faltered.

“This little guy wants to go with me-”

“Keep him.” Helia didn’t skip a beat. “Consider it a bonus. I’ll deposit your fee for you like usual.” She moved to block the door. “It’s really good seeing you.”

“Ah-” Tara would blush if she could, “It’s no big deal. I’m happy you ask me to help out. It makes me feel… needed.”

Helia shook her head. “It’s good just having you here. Why not visit more? Or we can go out some time?” Helia’s smile shined bright under her brilliant yellow pupils. Even in the cold season, she was a ray of sunlight.

“I don’t know. I’m not exactly comfortable in crowds.” She against pointed to Lloyd who pretended not to be listening from his station.

“I actually had two tickets to an ice show in Cincinnati. Won them in a contest and well-”

Helia and Tara knew of each other from school, but they ran in different social circles. The sunflower Myth was in the crew for drama club, and did a lot of music classes. Her friends were preppy, upbeat goody two-shoes. Tara took art classes, but preferred her reject friends. They worked only together a few times in their freshman and sophomore years. Tara got roped into painting the background of the musical her first and only two years. Helia was her helper. They talked a bit. Tara didn’t think much of it. 

Even after she died, Helia didn’t cross her mind. So wrapped up in living in the past, Tara tried to force the world backwards. It got her into trouble, a lot. One time, she forced the boy she possessed to recreate the woodland background from her time in school. Forget that they were doing Sweeny Todd, or that she worked that poor kid to exhaustion painting a background no one asked for or needed. Tara wanted to recreate her own past. She hurt a lot of people. They excorised her from the kid, and Tara was lost again. She still haunted the school, and the cycle would repeat the following December. This time I’ll get it right. I’ll graduate this time. That’s what being a ghost was like. It was constant obsession and grief and self-pity. 

Helia stopped Tara in 2014. She heard about what happened the previous year, and she staked out the art class for her ghostly acquaintance. When Tara materialized a month before the anniversary of her death in January, Helia greeted her. It was strange seeing someone she knew in life after so long. The world had moved on without Tara, but Helia noticed her. She was on break from college and she needed to see if her accomplice in painting was alright. Tara rejected her. She threw paint cans and paper and retreated back into the building. Helia told her to find her any time as Tara fled.

So, after a few more years of possessions, exorcisms, arrests, and soul-searching in a literal sense, Tara took Helia up on her offer. By 2019, Helia opened Dandelion, and she let Tara crash in the back whenever she was in between haunts. In return, Tara did what she could. She could lift a small brush and sweep. She could move inventory, slowly. It was her skills with curses that proved more useful. Helia bought cursed items at rock bottom prices, and Tara lifted them for a cut. 

“I can try,” Tara offered. “It sounds fun, anyway. Let’s do it.”

“Perfect. I’ll text you the details.”

Tara exited out the main entrance with Helia’s help again, and she flew off with her new toy in tow. The pair gusted up and away towards West Pascal High School. This early spring, late winter sun was taking its time setting; Tara guessed it was close to 4PM. Elle would be walking home. Tara knew her route, and began following the sidewalks from above. The straw doll flapped and flailed in the wind, but its gentle grip on her refused to budge. Tara thought it sounded like a flat tire, or a slap band since it was on her wrist. 

Flying from the high school’s entrance, she worked backwards. Elle moved surprisingly quick. Perhaps she needed to due to the house arrest situation. Her friend was a changeling, and used that power to impersonate people to write bad checks. It’d be another few months before she was free to be anywhere besides school, home, and Anomalous Anonymous. Tara spotted Elle not to far up the next road and flew just over the heads of the other students.

She was with her other friend Lorry. Tara hovered above them by a couple feet. They were engaged in a lively discussion.

“Mrs. Soulsby said we could,” Lorry insisted. The angel Myth’s wings stretched out as she yawned. The blue-eyed, blonde haired angel’s voice carried like a melody with every syllable. “It would disadvantageous to ignore her offer.”

“I wouldn’t go that far- hey, what’s that up there?” Elle pointed to the straw doll bouncing up and down as Tara observed them. The two girls squinted and spied Tara’s near-transparent outline in the sun. 

Tara didn’t wave even though she wanted to. She knew they couldn’t see her that well. “It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood,” Tara said sing-song. The reference was lost on her friends. She chuckled because that one was even old for her. “How’s everything going?”

“It is well Tara,” Lorry added with a curt wave overhead. 

“Yeah, we’re going to my place for a study session. Want to tag along?”

Tara wanted to, but she was already getting tired. Being away from her haunt was exhausting. If she pushed her luck she might dematerialize. Ghosts didn’t need to sleep, but they needed a place where they could recharge. Tara initially haunted high schools, but found places she was nostalgic for worked just as well.

“I just flew by to say hello, and to show off my new friend.” Tara descended to their altitude and raised her wrist. The straw doll limply greeted Lorry and Elle. “He’s cursed.”

Elle’s pupiless, white eyes focused on the toy. Lorry gave it a wide berth at the mention of the curse. “He’s cute. I assume it’s not a bad curse then?”

“Well… it depends on how you feel about blood,” Tara quipped with a hint of menace. Lorry cringed at the mention of blood, while Elle’s interest was piqued. “I think it’ll be fine though. As long as I play with him, the curse is calm.”

“Interesting. I think I could copy his appearance when I get my ankle monitor off.”

“With or without the blood soaked clothes?” Tara asked.

“Both, for sure. I might go as the spooky little guy for Halloween. I’m a big fan of his hat.”

“It’s cool, for sure.” The two of them laughed as Lorry leered from the edge of the sidewalk. For a preppy, goody two-shoes Lorry was fine by Tara’s book, but she did not like blood nor the flippant attitude her friends had about curses. It was all angel stuff, Tara figured after happening to meet Lorry’s parent figure. Aeropostale-type people despite one of them being a winged bronze wheel with way too many eyes. Nice enough, but woefully straight-laced.

Elle, on the other hand, appreciated Tara’s dated references and edgy humor. They watched old television shows together, and talked about all the stuff Tara liked. Elle got along with everyone. She was a changeling, and explained how her family had a knack for knowing what people do and don’t want to hear. Tara tried to follow her friend’s interests as best as she could. Tiktok was a whirlwind of nonsense. Youtube was werid too. Elle was big on scientific channels and physic experiments, and what happened when they went hilariously wrong. Luckily, Tara could share her fondness for Bill Nye, and related the two to her success.

“What’s for dinner?” Tara followed up with.

“Steak,” Elle noted. “My dad’s cooking.”

“My family is partaking in the prayers of our followers. My invitation remains open to both of you to join us.”

“Big Dan said it was… good,” Elle commented. “Said it wasn’t what he expected.”

“Yes, he did seem delighted to learn our prayers include the offerings our followers make. I do not understand why he so wrongly believed we consumed our followers.”

“I mean, I did, up until just now. You should really lead with that Lorry.” Tara got ahead of her friends and reclined in the air.

Lorry’s knuckles touched the point of her chin as she considered their observations. When she finished, she smiled brilliantly again. “Duely noted. Yes, we have normal mortal food too. My mother said Tara could dine on our insubstantiated prayers too. You will both have to try them.” It was about as forceful an invitation Lorry could muster.

“I’ll go if Elle goes. It’ll be weird eating a meal… outside of a body. I think i want to try that.”

“Uh,” Elle pointed to her ankle, “is take out an option?”

Lorry laughed at the suggestion. “How silly. That device will not pose a problem for my family. I shall schedule our meal together this Saturday, barring any prior commitments.”

Neither of them could conjure an excuse, and so were obligated to Lorry’s this weekend. Tara didn’t mind. She loved being with her friends. Even her preppy, overly happy, extra insistent angel friend. Elle shrugged her shoulders and sank down, defeated. “I guess it’ll be something I can blog about.”

“Blog? I read blogs when I was alive.”

Lorry raised a brow at the term. “What is a blog?”

“It’s a website I’ve been using to get my thoughts down. I don’t remember the URL, but I’ll share it when I can. It’s nothing special.”

Tara glowed at the thought of reading a blog-slash-diary. “I can check it out at the library. Please text me too.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

The weight of exhaustion pressed down on Tara. She needed to get back to her haunt. “Hey, I gotta get going. I’ll be on my phone if you want to talk, or text or-”

“Sure can.”

“I will endeavor to ask about your preferred tastes regarding our get together this coming weekend,” Lorry said with a clap of her hands.

Tara departed, invigorated, yet increasingly weak as the sun set. She didn’t visit Elle after school every day. She understood how that might look for a ghost getting clingy with a living person. She limited herself to every other day. Sometimes Lorry was there, or Big Dan, or their human friend Jess. She liked talking to all of them. Gliding home with her toy in tow, she looked for the bright signs of the gas stations at the edge of town to guide her down. From there she could figure out where she needed to go-

Who the hell is that? A dark red Ford truck sat in front of her haunt’s parking lot. Local plates, and tanks of- holy water? Tara recoiled and removed her head from the inside of the aluminum barrels in the truck bed. She tried to go through the passenger side of the door, but quickly pulled away from the door when it sparked a purple-yellow when she got close. It was warded. This was an exorcist’s truck, no doubt. They used this type of magic to keep ghosts from escaping. It made sense to use it to keep ghosts out of somewhere too. She grimaced. She was so tired. Being near her haunt wouldn’t help her recover. She hovered to the open door of her haunt and peered inside. A yellow beam of light was scouring the inside of the cavernous building.

“Teresea! Teresea Florence! Reveal yourself!” Dr. Piesch’s shout echoed outside. “We have business to discuss! Come out!”

Tara shuddered. Ugh, she hated her full name. She hated Dr. Piesch. Tara wanted to know this guy was stomping around her secluded, private haunt, but asking him would require talking to him. Talking to him meant having to hearing his voice, and possibly even seeing his stupid mustached face. Oh, that ugly, fat caterpillar on his lip wriggly and wiggling around when he moved his hideous, fat lips disturbed her more than when she woke up from dying the first time. The longer he shouted his calls, the clearer it was to Tara that he was sticking around. She didn’t know when he parked, or how long he would be at it. Minutes passed. Every so often he demanded she appear. 

“I’m not that stupid. Once was enough, thank you,” she said with a pat to her toy. If she remained outside her haunt doing absolutely nothing else, Tara estimated she had a little more than four hours outlast Dr. Piesch. She climbed to the overhanging lip of the steel awning over the broken sidewalks and lay on the roof. She watched the stars to kill time, but found herself unable to relax with that jerk shouting her full name every fifteen minutes or so. One hour passed, then two, then three before she realized he was waiting for her no matter what. She hung upside down and watched the beam of light make its way over to where she hid her stash. He 100% was going to find it. She didn’t want that.

She floated down to ground level and entered through the front entrance. She hovered near the checkout aisles and looked for any traps: circles of salt, heat lamps, and certain trinkets could affect her negatively, and mercifully Dr. Piesch wasn’t able or capable of trapping such a large haunt. Satisfied with her brief recon, she gathered up what little energy she had left and filled the abandoned Kmart with a great wail.

“Fuck you doctor! Get out of my haunt!”

The supernatural sound rebounded further than ordinary shout and froze the city exorcist in his place. He remained standing for a solid minute before he shook off Tara’s bluff and shuffled slowly in her direction. He kept flashing the light in her face as he approached. 

“Hey, knock that off. You’re in my home. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

For once, Dr. Piesch listened. The light focused on his footing rather than blinding Tara. With it, Tara could see his stupid, smug mug from her perch on register 1. 

“Ms. Florence,” He plainly addressed her. His delivery was too dry. He was looking for something. “I’m sorry to bother you this late, or early, but I have an urgent proposition for you from the city.”

“Fuck you, and fuck you message. If that’s all you got to say, get out!” Tara animated a few stones and tossed them into a wall. She doubt she could lift any more after that.

“It will only take a few moments. Certainly, after helping you-”

“Don’t you dare say you helped me, asshole.” Tara glowered from her perch. “You evicted me. That hurt. I haven’t forgotten that at all.”

“Now now, I did what needed to be done. You were out of control. Students were in danger.” His lips sneered.

“Because you did something to me. I know you did. You made me so god damn angry I- I-” Tara forced herself to keep from expending any more power. Another scream might undo her. If she dematerialized, then she’d be out of commission for weeks. She had plans. Promises to keep. This asshole wasn’t worth it. “If you absolutely have to, then out with the fucking thing, then get out of my haunt!”

“Such foul language. I do not think Lorry would appreciate that.”

“What did you-?”

“And your friend? The changeling? A ghost befriending a changeling? It would be very easy for people to get the wrong idea about you, Teresea. Using her to recreate your high school days would certainly get the city involved.”

Tara was speechless. Was he threatening her? Wasn’t being dead enough problems for Tara? If her ghostly form could cry, it would have. “How dare you? I’ve done nothing wrong. Keep away from my friends.”

“I don’t think so. You have proven dangerous to children, Ms. Florence. The city asked me to look into your situation. I do not approve. You leave your haunt. You act as though you can live out your life.” Tara saw him reach into his pants pocket and remove an envelope. “I have here a missive from the mayor. Ahem:

To Dr. Hammond Steven Piesch,

This letter regards the specter commonly referred to as Hooky, or Teresea Florence, deceased. Parents have reported her presence on campus of West Pascal campus despite a court order prohibiting her. You are to investigate these claims, and use your best judgement to determine whether further action will be taken.”

Dr. Piesch folded the envelope and put it away. “And so I’ve investigated. Not only were you on campus, but you’ve also trespassed on several properties. You’ve been neglecting calls from your parole officer and I believe you are withholding contraband cursed items.”

“I’ve done no such thing,” Tara shook her head enough times to make her eyes spin. “I don’t go anywhere I’m not invited. I only know Elle through AA. I’ve avoided the schools. You can’t be serious.”

The doctor chortled, then removed a silvered golf club from his bag behind him. Tara winced. That was the thing he used to poke and prod her before. She remembered it burning her wherever it touched. “I take my work very seriously, Ms. Florence. That’s why I’m here to inform you of the city’s plan. You will remain within your haunt. No more contact with any of your so-called friends. You report to your parole officer daily. He reports to me how you are doing. We do weekly check ins and then we can see about permissions to work.”

“That’s bullshit. You made all this up. Why are you doing this?” Tara sank to the front of where the register used to be. She couldn’t even float up anymore. She was so, so tired.

“I’m doing my job. Ghosts have no appreciation for the work us vigours do. I remember one haunted fellow calling me that, as an insult. It really has a sound to it, eh? All you do is steal from the living. Our screams. Our bodies. All because you have regrets? What a joke.”

“I’m not going to let you do this,” Tara managed. “I deserve to have a life too.”

Dr. Piesch laughed. He laughed like a maniac from a cartoon. He covered his face with his cotton gloved hand and threw back his head as his gasping laughter echoed through the store. “You’re dead. Dead. You had a life, then you lost it. Whatever you are now is only an echo capable of causing pain.” He swung the club in front of him, then set a golf ball down onto the tiled floor. “Fore!”

He shot the ball far into the dark where it hit something metal and bounced. Satisfied, he menaced Tara with his club once more. “I told you to keep to yourself, but you couldn’t help yourself. An outreach group? Bullshit. You should be locked up and sent to whatever afterlife will take you.”

“No…”

Dr. Piesch continued to smile while walking the floor. His leather shoes made dull snaps when his heavy heels hit the ground. He was neither a tall, nor fat man, but his short stature and muscular upper body were woefully mismatched. His brown suit was accented by a checkered handkerchief poking out from his pocket, and the arsenal of golf clubs on his back. A short military hair cut covered his square forehead, and his deep-set, almond eyes offered less humanity than a devil’s. He wiped the head of his club clean with a rag and made one final turn to Tara.

“I’ll be seeing you soon, Teresea. Good night.”

The man tried to open the door, but it would not budge. “I swore I locked this open- Teresea, open this door!”

“I didn’t close it either! It was open when I came in.”

“You lying corpse! Open this damn- door!” Dr. Piesch kicked the stuck door and bounced clear away from it. His clubs scattered behind him as he hit the dirty tiles. “You spineless coward. I’ll get out of here. I’ll- wait, where’s my nine iron?” The doctor looked around his feet for his missing club, and so did Tara. She saw it far from where Dr. Piesch landed. When he got up, another club when spiraling away from him as he turned.

“Teresea, if you don’t stop I will bring the whole might of the Pascal Municipal Service Corp down on your head.”

“I’m not doing it.”

“Well if you’re not doing it then who is? You’re the only ghost here.”

“Is she, fair doctor?”

In an instant, a grinning sack of straw in the shape of a man appeared behind the doctor. Its tattered hat obscured its head, but Dr. Piesch saw the now-man sized straw man looming over his shoulder. Its mouth and eyes were ceaseless voids, and its body moved as though had no bones. Straw hands grabbed the doctor by his shoulders and held him in place. Gore dripped from its open orifices down onto the man’s clean suit. Its wretched, moldy smell forced tears from the exorcist’s eyes. The doctor tried to pull away, but the sack of straw hugged his shoulders no matter how hard he fought to free himself.

Tara watched Dr. Piesch run back and forth in front of the register lanes. There was no straw man holding the doctor, and as he ran around screaming and panicking, the closed door opened. The horrified look on the man’s face warn Tara something was happening, but even with focus she couldn’t see the cause of the man’s strife. Dr. Piesch saw his chance to escape and ran outside.

Straw grew from his mouth and his eyes. He pulled fistfuls from his mouth, and wiped what he could away to see. Dr. Piesch stumbled blindly around the lot for his truck. He parked right in the front. He should have hit it by now. He pulled another painful bale from his retinas and blinked. The straw man was staring down at him now. It wrapped its suspenders around his throat and began to squeeze the gasping man’s breath from him.

“You should’ve stayed in your lane friend. This is your only warning.” 

Tara watched the exorcist reach for the holy water in his truck bed. The canister’s contents spilled over the delirious doctor as he emptied the entire container. His fear was palpable from dozen of feet away inside the store. Dr. Piesch clambered into his truck and slammed it tight. His wild eyes searched for an invisible threat. The truck roared to life, and with a peel of pavement under him, Dr. Piesch ran. He would never work in the county ever again. 

Tara didn’t know what happened, nor would she ever learn why the doctor fled. Beleaguered and exhausted, she found herself cradled to sleep that night in a warm embrace. She hadn’t slept in a long time either. It suddenly felt very safe to rest, to close her eyes, and let the warmth welcome her to a peaceful rest. She didn’t dream that night. The encounter with the doctor faded like a distant nightmare. 

When daylight greeted her in the store she found her straw doll underneath where she woke up. The silvered clubs were gone, and there was no sign anyone was in her haunt at all. Tara chalked it up to a strange dream. After all, she was dead. Every dream would be strange, right? She affixed her strawman to her wrist again and floated over to her magicked bag. 

She would have to tell Elle and Lorry she drifted off before messaging them.

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