It was the Sunday after Halloween night, which made it the unholiest of Sunday mornings. Pieces of orange and black confetti rustled through the streets of Gravewood like autumn leaves and remnants of mischief littered the sidewalks with pumpkin seeds and firecracker shells. Ace relished the sight of ghouls melting out of their make-up on their way home and ghosts shedding their sheets to get ready for church, because it was not everyday that the ghosts revealed themselves human.
The first time Ace saw a real ghost was when he was ten. It was an old lady who lived on the end of the block in an old, crooked house with cardboard windows and a long, skinny chimney. Ace had thought that the chimney looked a bit like a witch’s hat and told her so. She seemed to agree and they parted ways. Later, he’d overheard his parents complaining about the new renovations coming down the block, for old Mrs. Miller had finally passed.
Since then, Halloween had become a night full of dread. It was the busiest time of year next to Christmas for his parents business. There was no shortage of mourning relatives or wily pranksters, looking for a scare. When he was younger, it had been a fun ritual to relay the garbled mutterings of an old plumber to the curious masses. That was before he realized that there was no way a person could hold so much water in their mouths.
Like most things, as he got older, things began to change. Now, bustle of restless phantoms during Hallow’s Eve left him wanting nothing more than to drown in a spirits and bong water.
That morning, Ace added to the ghastly train heading to Marie’s for the Sunday Morning Special. It was a clever marketing ploy, he thought, to bank on both the regrets of Saturday night and the buttoned up early birds on their way to Church. He’d have to remember that some time, when he finally inherited the family business. Morning After Special at Palmer’s Readings, connect with your late Tinder hook up now.
He stopped before the cursive neon sign outside of Marie’s. Of all the ghosts he’d seen, he hadn’t expected to see this one outside of Church on Sunday. It was Duck, set up outside by a little table covered with pamphlets, cupcakes, and a little donation box. Also a clever ploy, luring the weak in with sweets.
Ace had been one of the weak before, lured in by a sweet smile and an offer of banana bread at the ripe age of seven. He thought of himself a better man now after conquering puberty alone. Had finally gotten a clue when Duck refused to look at him in the eyes in the hallways at school. That had been a lot to navigate, but he was better now. He didn’t need Duck when he had much needier ghost friends.
Still, the opening was there. Duck had always been one to be anchored by obligation. There was no way he could dodge him now and after the meeting at Jamie’s shed... Duck wouldn’t have shown up there, right? If anyone was going to eat that up, it’d be Duck who had always toddled after Jamie’s insane ideas like he was the second-coming of Christ.
Suddenly, the awkwardness of seeing an old best friend evaporated in the concern that Duck had been recruited by the only thing worse than Jesus camp: Jamie Ward.
Ace approached the booth was a careless swagger, aided by the headache of last night’s indulgences. The shirt he wore was offensively vibrant for the weather, flapping open down the middle and exposing yet another too-bright shirt. It gave him confidence, like a bird in the midst of a mating dance.
“Hey Ducky. Whatcha got going on over here?” he asked, leaning too-casually onto the table as if there wasn’t a chasm of space between them. His Elton John sunglasses slid down the bridge of his nose, his bloodshot eyes peering out from under them. “You’re here early. Jesus on vacation or somethin’? I don’t think a couple cupcakes are gonna cover the admission to heaven but I’ll take one-- two, actually, if you can cut me a deal. Y’know, for an old friend.”