One Ghost Per Serving (27 page)

Eric cleared the table in the Princess. He placed a copy of the game rules, a 3” x 5” index card, and a stamped, addressed envelope to the side. He carefully printed his name, address (using Willa’s dad’s house), and phone number on the card. He opened the safe and removed his collection of foil lids.

Rex phased in by the driver’s side door and sat next to Eric on the sofa.

“Why don’t you bask in the glory of those lids for a while?” Rex said. “You deserve it.”

Eric opened a yogurt from the fridge, wiped off the lid, and got a spoon. He sprinkled some cinnamon in the yogurt before eating it, and felt a stab of disappointment for losing the shirt Taffy had made him.

“There’s a lot riding on these.” Eric flipped the lid around his fingers like a coin.

“We spelled P-U-D-D-I-N-G with the glyphs,” Rex said, tapping his chest. “That’s it. We’re set. No one else has a chance of winning this thing. Your entry will be the only one that spells out that word. Even if another contestant somehow had access to a spirit as old as I am who could crack the code, there’s no way they would have also collected all the glyphs. Hell, you must have bought and opened five hundred containers before you finally got the glyph that translates to a ‘P’.”

Eric slumped back and watched a nature documentary.

Rex turned around on the sofa so he was facing Eric. “This is what you want! You should be elated right now, but you look about as happy as a small business owner who just got served with their first lawsuit.”

Eric sighed.

“I’m going to build the Eric Snackerge Wing of the Center for the Permanently Bummed,” Rex said.

“Oh?” Eric said. “You got a grant from the Endless Losers Foundation?”

“I have a little saved up,” Rex said. “You’ve got the damn word spelled. Look at these lids! Why the bleak face?”

Eric picked up a lid and leaned back again. “I thought that winning this contest would get Taffy and Willa back on my side. But Mark is moving in on them, and the worst part is, I told Willa that he sabotaged me at the firm. And that’s fine with her, that Mark did that. Or worse, she doesn’t believe me. No, wait – the former is worse, if she believes it and is fine with it.”

Rex changed the channel to a boxing match.

Eric changed the channel back to the nature show. “So I could win the contest and still lose Willa and Taffy. And now I’ve got this asshole and his promotion company trying to basically kill me for trying to win the contest that
they
promoted!”

Rex nodded, then turned the channel back to boxing.

“Then on top of that, they’re infecting their customers with poltergeists.”

Rex had a grim look. “Commerce spirits gone rogue, like one of those circus monkeys that finally loses its patience.”

“They sent us those mailers,” Eric said. “They’ve been in Willa’s class, they’ve seen Taffy at school, and they only know about them because of me and this stupid contest.” He stuffed the lids into the big envelope. “I still have to send these certified mail.”

“Do not ask me to go to the post office.” Rex shuddered. “I can see their real faces,” he whispered.

Eric pressed the envelope down on the lids. He still had enough time for the Quantal game-handling division to receive the mail. Then he had to wait until the handlers verified the game pieces and rule compliance. He had read the game rules multiple times a day since he decided to start: at a stop light, in the store checkout line, in the bathroom. He had double-checked, triple-checked: none of the foil lids were irregular or torn in any way.

But it didn’t seem like anywhere near enough.

“We have a new member,” He Who Cleans House said. “She has reached her hundredth year as a beer stein and is now a spirit! Please welcome She Who Provides Sustenance!”

The others cheered. The stein flapped its lid. “Thanks very much.”

“We also have a few buttons to give one of our long-standing members.” He Who Cleans House held up a bag. “The Ghost of Christmas Past, for not tormenting anyone for one whole week about Christmases they’ve had. Congratulations!” The rangy man with tattered clothing accepted the button with a grim smile. “And to He Who Eats Grapes. Four months since his last possession!” The cyclops gorilla waddled up to the sprite and took the button proffered him.

“Finally, He Who Digs In, who has gone a whole day without scaring anybody or mauling any upscale furniture.” The talon didn’t come up.

“Isn’t he here?” He Who Cleans House said.

“He had an errand to run, but he said he’d be here soon,” He Who Eats Mucous said.

“Alrighty,” He Who Cleans House said. “I’d like us to play a game.”

A collective groan rose from the group. He Who Dances for Ladies did a jubilant square dance.

“Eric, why don’t you start. Pretend to be … someone from this group.”

Eric cleared his throat. He stood and shook out his arms and cracked his neck to the side. “Hey, buddy, you don’t mind that I’m here, do you? I know you can’t decide on a single thing without experiencing crippling anxiety and fear, so I’m here to help with that. I’m here to take the risks that you can’t take for yourself!”

The man-sized caterpillar whistled through its abdominal spiracles.

Eric got into it. He walked a circle outside the circle of chairs. “And if you want a constant reminder of how you screwed things up, I’m the very personification. Be my sponsor! My recovery group meets at the school. We don’t believe in ourselves enough to just be spirits and we need guidance and support, too, so we possess other people. But I love possessing others, so my participation is a lie.”

The room was quiet. He Who Eats Grapes blinked slowly. He Who Squeaks wheezed.

He Who Cleans House nodded. “Okay, good. That was – good. Rex, why don’t you be Eric?”

Rex stood and moved his shoulders in circles. He stood still for a second, then disappeared.

“Where’d he go?” He Who Reclines, the orange ladybug, said.

A minute later, Rex popped back into the space he had vacated. He was holding a bottle of beer. “I just teleported to The Gutbucket and stole some guy’s beer.” Rex gave the beer to He Who Cleans House then phased out. “Invisible!” Eric could hear him but not see him. Rex phased back in, then morphed into a tortoise, then a bear, then a cat, then back to himself.

“Rex, how many coffees have you had?” He Who Cleans House put his fists on his hips, elbows akimbo.

Rex phased into the beer stein. “I possessed the beer stein!” he said from the stein, then phased back into the chair.

“What’s the point of this behavior, Rex?” He Who Cleans House said, hands resting on his clipboard.

“The point is that Eric takes me for granted,” Rex said. “I can do all these things, but does he take advantage of any of it? No.” Rex crossed his arms and pouted.

He Who Cleans House looked up and scratched his face. “Mm.”

Eric laughed. “I already
did
take advantage of that, against my will. Or do you possess so many people for eighteen months that you don’t even remember how you took that much time out of my life.”

“Of course I remember,” Rex said. “You should be flattered. I don’t usually spend that much time possessing one person, putting up shelves, hanging a plant. I like the occasional long weekend.”

Eric went over to the food table and poured a cup of hot water for tea. “I’m so flattered that you chose to possess me and take over my life for more than a year. Who wouldn’t be flattered by that?”

He Who Cleans House held up a finger as though he were about to speak, but Eric kept going. “Your life looked pretty damn good, but oops, I forgot to de-possess you. Sorry for running your life into the ground.”

“Like it was all my fault,” Rex said.

“A massive cause of it, yeah.” Eric grabbed a cup and pulled the carafe dispenser for some coffee.

He Who Cleans House stood, all three feet of him. “Eric, let Rex have his turn.”

Eric laughed so hard he had to put down his coffee and wipe away tears. “Good one, sprite.”

The sprite looked confused. “Rex, let’s try this again. Why don’t you go ahead and pretend to be Eric.”

“But I’m afraid,” Rex said. “Can I get a consensus from the group so I know what to do? I’m just so fearful about what could happen. Wait, let me ask the guy who’s always around, assisting me, giving me pep talks, trying to make up for the whole possession thing.”

Eric sipped the coffee then set it down. The water sloshed onto the blue paper covering the card table. “Pep talks?”

“I’m gonna ask for his advice, then I’m gonna push him away.” Rex’s eyes flared. “Because I don’t trust anyone, even him.”

“Oh, because you should be the first person I would trust.” Eric waved around a cookie.

“It doesn’t matter whether I am or not.” Rex adopted Eric’s body language. “Hey, Rex, I hope you have the patience for when I test you every minute. I don’t know if you’re really on my side or if you’re angling to possess me again, so I’m going to accept you into my life then push you away. I’m going to be all likable and stuff, but then I’ll doubt you, because I doubt myself.”

Rex stopped, looking weary. Parts of his form phased out.

“Rex, you’re getting intangible,” He Who Eats Mucous said.

“It’s just hard to be his friend,” Rex became almost completely transparent, then flickered back. “He never tells me these things. But I guess I wouldn’t want to be reminded all the time about something it hurt to think about.”

He Who Cleans House nodded.

“I thought he had made his peace with our past and, you know, forgiven me. How the hell was I supposed to know how much he still resented me, or that he hated me the whole time? He never expresses himself.” Rex sighed then lowered his voice. “The truth is, I don’t possess anyone else.”

Eric moved his neck forward and widened his eyes. “Excuse me?”

Rex stood behind He Who Eats Mucous and put his hands on the back of the chair. “All those times you thought I was off possessing someone amazing?” He shook his head. “Never happened.”

“
What?
” Eric said.

“Yeah. I actually can’t leave your general vicinity for more than an hour or so, or it feels like I’m being wrung out like a wet gym towel. Something about possessing someone for such a long time. So I make myself invisible, to give you some space. I know you don’t want me around all the time.”

Eric rose from his chair. “
Seriously
?”

He Who Cleans House slapped both of his palms on the clipboard. “That was a real breakthrough. Let’s move on to you, He Who Eats Mucous, and you, He Who is Delicious. Go ahead, Delicious.”

Eric slowly took his seat again.

The jar of pickles stood in the center of the circle of chairs and cleared his throat, as he got into character as He Who Eats Mucous. “I was born female but got bigger than the largest male in my area by eating more than he did. And since I have territorial and body image issues, I surpassed the male in size, took over his territory, and turned male. Now I live in fear of a female doing the same thing I did, because I’m a greedy, prejudiced hypocrite.”

The rest of the group turned to stare at He Who Eats Mucous, who put a hand to its mouth, eyes wide.

Eric didn’t pay attention to the psychodrama unfolding around him. He thought about what Rex had said. He wasn’t sure if he should feel outraged or sympathetic. He was experiencing both of those emotions, maybe more the latter. He hadn’t decided yet. And maybe Rex was right. If he doubted himself so much, how could he really connect with Willa or Taffy? How could he expect them to believe in him? He cradled his head in his hands.
That’s
where he went wrong.

“I have to go,” Eric said, looking up, grabbing his bag, then rushing out the door.

“You see what I mean?” Rex said.

At the door, Eric stopped then turned around to face the group. “I could have kicked Rex out a couple of times. I was strong enough. But I didn’t.” Eric shifted his eyes to Rex, then left the door swinging behind him. “That was my fault.”