Page 55 of All You Want
“He won’t say much of anything.” Rosalie hooks her hand around his furry arm. “Just grunts like a Neanderthal.”
“That’s because he’s a bigfoot.” I play along and give Todd a wink.
“Big foot or big something else?” Larissa giggles and rubs her fox tail against him. “Where’d you find him?”
“Online.” I stick to the story we concocted. “Bad Boys for Hire, Bigfoot Edition.”
“Oh, darn, I should have hired me one of those bad boys—Sheikh Edition.” Dark-haired Suzette, who’s dressed like a gaudy belly dancer, shakes her girdle full of bells.
“Hook me up with a Viking Bad Boy.” Rosalie flexes her biceps and pulls out a fake sword from underneath her fur-trimmed Valkyrie cape. The horned helmet bobbles down and covers her eyes for a moment, causing us to dissolve in giggles.
“Hey, I want this Sasquatch for the evening. I’m a distant relative. I’ll show you my private fur if you show me yours.” Larissa in her Robin Hood fox costume grabs Todd’s paw. Her green eyes shimmer underneath her red bangs, and she twitches her black grease-painted fox nose.
Someone pops a champagne bottle nearby, and my parents flap their bat wings into the dining room. My mother wears a black velvet flared dress, and my father is in a tuxedo. Blood-red lips, white makeup on their faces, and fangs fitted on their teeth gives them a fresh-from-Transylvania look.
More guests arrive, including my bestie, Linx, and her sisters, Joey, Vivi, and Becca—all dressed in a variety of witch-like attire. I haven’t seen their brother, Scott, since the summer when we had all those fires, but Chad shows up as a zombie cowboy, wearing a bloodstained ten-gallon hat and a wig tangled with bits of bone and strips of plastic flesh.
He gives me a thumbs up and points to his Zombie Sheriff badge. Randy Sutter, Molly’s brother, is also in place as the other security guard. He’s some kind of trapper, wearing strips of fur over a buckskin jacket and pants. His face is grease-painted brown, and he has a hunting knife sheathed to his waist.
I spot Evan Graves with a glowing alien mask over a Victorian steampunk costume full of gears, goggles, and other contraptions.
The last guest of note is Mayor Chip Colson. Wearing a skeleton clown suit, he staggers in from the bar with his arm around Diana Van Dirk who towers over him.
Strange. I didn’t know they were buddies, and I wonder if she has an ulterior motive in hooking up with him.
“To the King family of Colson’s Corner,” he proclaims. “We hereby declare the official start to Spooky Fest. May this night be full of horrifying and hair-raising haunts.”
Twenty
~ X ~
Well, well, well, he thinks to himself as he watches the fancy guests check into Princess Kingpin Puff’s Harrowing Haunts Hotel.
So smug and upper crust—all of them. Driving to the parking circle in their Mercedes, BMWs, Porsches, Audis and one ancient Datsun 280ZX.
That would be Poppyboob’s tin can. It must cost her a mint to keep that old Japanese import running.
Then again, she has to be the center of attention, especially tonight. There she goes, strutting around like she owns the place.
On paper, she does. But not on ash, dust, or dirt.
She can never own the blood that soaked deep into the ground, the sweat that watered the earth, and the rivers of tears tunneling underneath.
Neither does she own the broken spirits and crushed bones. Her money can’t buy the misery that cries to the heavens, demanding revenge and retribution.
She owes me.
He spits on the brown earth and shoves his hands into his pockets. He’ll keep watch all right, and he’ll watch the deputies who are also watching.
The four old guys are of no account.
They call themselves the Vice Squad, but the only vices they indulge in are gossip, cards, and the circle jerk while watching porn.
Pathetic.
Their eyes are weak, and they can barely breathe.
They’ll cause more trouble than help. Think heart attacks, strokes, and trick knees.
