Desert during the Day of the Dead

Desert during the Day of the Dead

The amazing cover art of my story.

The next morning Maria woke with a gasp. Her head pounded from drinking a bottle of wine all by herself. She scrambled off the couch and knocked her wine glass to the floor. She was lucky it didn’t shatter. It must have been sleeping on the couch with her. She must have finished the wine because there was nothing but a red stain in the bottom of the glass. She didn’t quite remember falling asleep. She remembered staring out the window waiting for the spirits to come and eat the feast. Her nerves threatened to constrict her throat. Last night was Day of the Dead. She slowly turned her head to confirm her worst fear. It was true. She had fallen asleep with makeup on her face! Now the cheap Halloween sludge was smudged all over her grandmother’s couch! She was such an idiot. She stumbled out of the living room into the kitchen. “Crap. Crap!” she cursed.

She caught a glance of her face in the mirror. The once beautiful makeup job was now a complete mess on her face. She looked less like a Day of the Dead celebrant and more like a drunken Halloween date. But there was no time to fix her face. Her family would murder her if they found out she ruined the couch. Everything in this house was precious or at least so she thought. In reality, her uncle would probably sell as much as he could on Craigslist after the family picked through the belongings. It was sad really, her grandmother’s last belongings picked away by estate sale shoppers.

She grabbed a mess of Kirkland Signature paper towels. As a child, she always thought Kirkland products were from Kirtland Air Force base in Albuquerque. Her mom laughed and told her about the “t” in Kirtland and about far-off city of Kirkland, Washington, home of Costco. Her uncle bought her a giant Costco-sized package of paper towels when she first decided to stay in her grandmother’s ramshackle house. Not that she would use that many during her sojourn in the desert. Her uncle was kind of lazy unlike his sister, Maria’s mom, who was so driven and passionate to the point of being a little too intense sometimes. Maria definitely inherited some of her father’s ability to be okay with doing nothing whereas Mom couldn’t sit still. Maria gathered a giant wad of paper towels. She doused them with cold water following her mother’s advice about getting rid of stains.

She brought the still dripping pile of paper towels into the living room when she screamed and dropped the slopping mess. The food on the porch was gone. There was an empty wine glass and a tipped over wine bottle. The burrito, the green chile, and everything else was gone! She carefully made her way to the front door. Even though the morning sun was bright in the sky, she walked like she was in a horror movie discovering a dead body. She wanted desperately to see her grandmother last night. She knew her grandmother was dead. She knew there was no magic in the desert. It was just a fantasy.

She pushed open the front door. If she had been in an actual horror movie, she should have a gun or a frying pan but Maria wasn’t thinking. In fact, her eyes welled up as she surveyed the feast. It was really gone. Every last morsel had been eaten. There was no food left on the table. Maria up righted the empty wine bottle. There was a red stain in the bottom of the glass. Maria’s knees buckled. She slumped to the ground and began to cry.

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3 Freakin’ Ghost Stories

Welcome my fellow readers to a cliché so terrible that you will die of fright, have a  brain embolism, projectile vomit poop from your mouth, and perhaps tinkle. Just a little tinkle. Like a wee bit of wee. The kind that leaves a little dot on your pants but you don’t change the pants. The dot will dry. Just sit really close to your keyboard. Your boss will probably just think you are working hard.

Boss: That Jenkins sure does work hard.

Lackey: He only seems to do it after he pees.

Boss: Hmmmm….. I think we have something here.

The next day during the meeting:

The employees are forced to drink water.

Boss: Drink it! Drink it!

Employee: I’ve had eight.

Boss: Drink it or you are fired.

Employee drinks while crying.

Yes, horror stories happen at work all the time ladies and gentleman. Are there really any gentleman anymore? Isn’t the new sexy some guy named Rex with fifteen tattoos and has killed at least three dozen people?

Rex mows down five-hundred henchman with a machine gun, fist fights the boss, and eventually impales a super ninja cyborg with a meat hook. There is a hot babe with revealing torn clothing waiting for him.

Babe: That’s all hot. Let’s fuck.

She tries to run to him across a blood splatter and he halts her. He takes off his coat and places it on the blood.

Rex: Milady, you shall sully your feet if you advance any further. Prechance, might I entice you to a stroll around the garden?

Babe: You want to smoke some weed?

Rex: Dear heavens no! Sound body and mind. Daily calisthenics! But soft! From what light through yonder window breaks-

Babe: Are you on drugs? I don’t want no man on drugs!

Rex: Wait! Perhaps I may sing praises of your beauty!

Babe: I am out of here.

Rex begins to prep his vocal chords.

A good crypt keeper, grave digger, vampire, night watchman, creepy butler, guy in front of a fireplace, BLAM!

We have fired the host. Literally. Because bad puns about death are in every pulp Halloween special! Enjoy the last Freakin’ Ghost Story.

Ghost: Finally! These aren’t really ghost stories. I am appalled and angry. I plan to write an angry letter about this injustice to all ghost kind. Unfortunately, I don’t have any corporeal hands so it’s hard to write the letter. But I have used automatic writing before. Though only to mess with the living. I give them dire predictions, like the day the governor will be shot and then laugh my ass off when nothing happens. One time, I convinced this girl that in order to lay my spirit to rest, she needed to jump in a well. It was freakin’ funny! The living are completely clueless. You just need to crawl funny, turn your head, and maybe vomit some blood for effect and they shit themselves. Try this: Go to a medium and tell their client that the father they are trying to contact is disappointed with them. It’s a riot. Ghosts get so much crap in movies. Like we have nothing to do but kill people. Do you think we’d want to add another undead resident to our house? I like living alone! Imagine if I had to share the place with another ghost! They’d eat the crap that I buy from the fridge. I hate that. After a day of spooking the living, I want to just enjoy a sandwich but all the bread is gone. Don’t get me started on the beer.

We hope these make you pee. Happy Halloween!