We left the complex and phased back into my plane of existence. I always wondered what it looked like when I crossed over, but no one ever seemed to notice me to begin with, so why would they suddenly start now? The living are so good at ignoring things that don’t make sense. If there’s no place for the brain to put something, or context to link it to, it gets swept under the rug, so to speak.

  We headed straight for the nearest grocery store, a couple blocks away.

  “I miss food,” Orson said, floating beside me, “Being a ghost is great and all, but I miss food.”

  “Do you get hungry?”

  “No, but I can remember what it felt like. It’s kind of like, you know when you get bored so you get a snack to fill the time?”

  “Yup.”

  “That’s what being a ghost is like. You don’t feel much except cold. Not unbearable. Just enough to be annoying. But I still have all these memories of what things used to feel like.”

  “That sucks,” was all I could think to say.

  “It really does,” he said. Then he smiled. “But sometimes times you get to do shit like that asshole.”

  He pointed ahead.

  Leaning against a bus stop shelter was a young man missing a sizable chunk of his head. A beam of light hovering above him. He had a single leg stuck out, and people tripped over it getting on and off the bus. They’d stumble, glare at the sidewalk like it had personally wronged them, then move on. The universal performance to make sure everyone knew it wasn’t their fault. That they actually do know how to walk, but something beyond their control messed up something as simple as placing one foot in front of the other.

  Once the handful of passengers parted, I approached. I looked right at him, and he seemed to squirm a little. Some ghosts did once they realized a living person was looking at them.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, like I didn’t have functioning eyes.

  “Me?” The ghost asked.

  “No, the bus stop,” I said, eliciting a laugh from Orson, “Of course you.”

  “Oh crap, you can see me?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then you can probably see that I’m tripping people,” he said, looking at me like I was a moron.

  “Not that. That,” I said, pointing at the beam above him. “You’re supposed to go into the light.”

  “Oh, that?” He squinted up at it. “I’m not going in there.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “Why would I? I don’t know what’s in in there.”

  “Back me up here,” I said to Orson.

  “Sorry,” Orson shrugged. “I can’t see it,”

  “That’s where you are supposed to go once you’ve finished your business,” I tried to explain, “Isn’t it warm?”

  “Yeah. Very. Quite nice actually,” the ghost replied.

  “That sounds nice,” Orson said.

  “Then go into it,” I said.

  “The sun is warm too.” The ghost replied. “Would you go into the sun?”

  “No. But this is different.”

  “Yeah,” he shook his head, “I’m not so sure it is.”

  “Stop wasting your time,” Orson chimed in, “He doesn’t care.”

  I sighed. “You’re right.” Then to the ghost, “I guess just do whatever.”

  “Didn’t need your permission, but I will,” the ghost said as we walked away.

  The store wasn’t as cold as I’d hoped it would be. Usually, sweating my ass off walking down the street in the middle of summer would mean freezing my ass off in a store after a couple minutes. Not this place. It was hardly cooler. At first, I thought the air conditioner had gone out, but Orson pointed something out to me that should have been a red flag. Maybe the reddest flag?

  “Hey, is it just me, or are a lot of these employees demons?”

  I looked around. Not sure why I didn’t notice right away – maybe I was just too damn hot to care – but about half the staff had horns and were various shades of pink, orange, red, and gray.

  “No shit,” I said, followed by, “Explains the heat.”

  I should have said more, I should have known better, but I was hot and hungry. So, really, when you think about it, it wasn’t my fault I had missed all the signs. It wasn’t like I hadn’t seen demons before. I’m pretty sure I even saw an angel once. So, pardon me for not blinking at a group of demons contributing to society.

  “Let’s just grab the goods and get out of here. I’m starving,” I said.

  It wasn’t until we got to the back of the store, walking past the meats, that I noticed something peculiar. There was an orange glow coming from the small windows of the employee doors. But then I remembered most of the employees were demons, so, you know.

  “Smells like farts,” I said.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  “That’s sulfur,” Orson corrected.

  “How can you tell the difference?”

  “Calista’s trailer smells like that sometimes.”

  “Oh. That’s...unfortunate?”

  I glanced at the doors. “Think there’s a gateway to Hell or something?”

  Orson nodded. “Yeah, you know what? I think we owe it to yourselves to find out.”

  Now, I’m not sure if you’ve ever tried to go through those doors at the back of every grocery store. Up until that point, I know I hadn’t. But, in my one experience, they DO NOT like it.

  I parked the cart and approached but barely cracked the door before a massive demon shoved it open and blocked the way. I stumbled backward.

  “Employees only,” it growled. Well, he growled. I know I shouldn’t assume a demon’s gender, but he presented in a way that I got the vibe he was a dude.

  “Sorry, just lookin’ for the shitter.” I said that without giving it a second thought. Never called it the shitter before in my life.

  From behind the demon, Orson winked—then vanished.

  “That goes for you and your friend,” he added.

  I leaned to the side to see Orson trying to fly through the wall but kept bouncing off. He reminded me of a fly when it gets trapped inside and thinks it can just fly through that opening in the wall. Except, the fly doesn’t know there’s glass there. It doesn’t even know what glass is. I guess that goes the same for me and Orson and whatever was blocking Orson from flying through. Some kind of demon glass?[1]

  “My bad,” I said, throwing up my hands. Then I asked, “You hiring?”

  He looked at me like he wanted to skin me alive. Luckily, he didn’t. Instead, he just leaned in and said, “We’re fully staffed.”

  His breath smelled like rotten shit.

  I shrugged, totally keeping my cool, and said, “k.” Then I walked away.

  At the soda aisle, Orson caught up.

  “Man, that was a lot of demons,” I said as I browsed a fine selection of carbonated beverages. This elicited an odd look from the old lady standing beside me. She left without even grabbing any soda.

  Like, did she even want soda, or did she forget why she was there?

  “Eh, you’ve seen one, you’ve seen’em all.” Orson casually replied.

  It bothered me, but not enough to make a whole thing about it. (I probably should have made a whole thing about it. Just like a lot of things I didn’t make whole things about.) So, I just went ahead stuffed that worry deep down, like I always do, into my sad sack[2] and went about my shopping.

  “Well, what’s it gonna be?” Orson asked.

  “I’m thinking Dr. Pepper for me, and I’ll grab some Coke AND Pepsi.” I said, then looked at Orson, “You never can tell if a person likes Coke, or if they’re a complete degenerate.”

  “Hurry up.” Orson groaned, “This is boring.”

  “No one’s keeping you here.” I replied, “Go haunt some shoppers or something. But maybe not that old lady. She looks like she’s one jump scare away from joining you. Unless you’re into old ladies. But you do you, buddy.”

  Orson floated away. As I shopped for various, unhealthy snacks that I thought Dante might like, I could hear the occasional scream from random places throughout the store.

  That was one of my all-time, top ten, grocery store trips. Number two behind the time a kid dropped his pants and took a dump in the breakfast isle after being denied Pop-Tarts. It always amazed me how little of a crap kids give, but that kid gave a huge crap. It was one of those times I’m glad no one saw me. Then again, maybe that kid did see me and just didn’t care. After all, he was dropping a duce in a grocery store. Sometimes I wonder how that kid is doing.

  When I found Orson again, he was floating a box of Cookie Crisp in front of a guy who very much was your typical dad type. White sneaks, khaki shorts, the whole deal. The poor man stood there speechless, fixated on the terror that was a floating box of cereal.

  I walked up real cas-like[3] and grabbed it. I looked at it, then at the guy.

  “Last thing I needed,” I said. “Time to head out.”

  It was meant to Orson, but of course the man thought I was talking to him.

  “W-w-what?” he asked, capping off his start of a question with a comically audible gulp.

  I smiled. “I know, cookies for breakfast. But hey, sometimes a guy’s gotta treat himself, you know?”

  I tossed it my cart and left.

  When I got to the self-checkout, Orson left me and drifted outside.

  “Make it quick. I’m bored.” He commented as he went.

  The demonic employee lording over the self-checkout watched him, then shot me a mean look. Not sure why, I didn’t do anything.

  Outside I realized carrying everything back would be a nightmare, especially in that heat. Also, I’m not very strong, so the sodas alone were a non-starter. Unfortunately, the cart had one of those anti-stealing deals.

  “I got it,” Orson said before passing his hand through it.

  “Doesn’t look like anything happened.”

  “What, did you expect it to spark or something?”

  “Kinda.”

  “Not everything sparks. Now get moving.”

  We ran for it.

  Well, I ran.

  The demons didn’t follow, much to my relief.

  We got back to the trailer park and Dante was waiting behind his desk. I didn’t even get the cart halfway across the office before he was on top of it, tearing into that box of cereal.

  “Oh mah gawd,” he said between bites. Bits of cookie dust shooting out everywhere, “I haven ha dis in fovea.”

  I took the cart to his desk and unloaded his snacks.

  “Oh, coke!” he shouted and quickly grabbed one from the box. Then he looked at me once he popped the tab, before taking a sip, “You can keep the Pepsi.”

  “I don’t like Pepsi.”

  “Then why’d you buy it?” He asked, followed by a hearty burp.

  “Didn’t know what you liked.”

  “Oh, well anything but Pepsi.”

  “Got it,” I said, “Guess I’ll just toss it.”

  “No, give it to Malachi,” Dante suggested, “Pretty sure I’ve seen him drinking one before.”

  “I thought he didn’t like material things,” I said.

  “Yeah, well like most overly religious people – or at least from what I remember of life before this place – he’s only against things for other people. His rules don’t always apply to him. Orson knows where his trailer is. He can take you.”

  “Yup,” Orson said with a mischievous smile, “I’ll take you right to him.”

  “Why’d you say it like that?” I asked.

  “Like what?”

  “You know, with that mischievous smile,” I clarified.

  “Because I’m going to get up to some mischief.” He replied.

  I shrugged, then looked to Dante as I pulled the remaining money from my pocket, “Here’s your change, dude. Let me know if you need me to make another run.”

  Dante nodded toward his desk because his hands were full of soda and cookies. I took the remaining two bags and left with Orson.

  Outside, Orson frowned. “Why’d you give him all that money back. We could have used it for other stuff. You know, and saved your money for rent?”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right,” I said, adding, “but keeping it wouldn’t have been.”

  “Ugh. Fine.” Orson actually said Ugh. “I guess we’ll have to go out and work for it.”

  “Yeah, it’ll be easy. No sweat. What could be easier than fake exorcisms?”

  That’s when Orson stopped. So I stopped too. We both stopped (as previously mentioned) in front of the creepiest trailer in the entire park—hands down—and I hadn’t even seen the inside. The windows were boarded up, the door hinges were rusted, and the whole place radiated your standard-issue horror-movie vibe.

  The weirdest part? The guy who lived there was the maintenance man, yet his place was the least maintained. I guess that tracks, though. Chefs who spend all day cooking probably don’t want to come home and cook, firefighters probably don’t want to come home and put out a fire, astronauts probably don’t want to come home to the cold vacuum of space, and maintenance professionals probably don’t want to come home and… well, maintain.

  All I had to do was knock.

  I wondered if I’d ever had a tetanus shot.

  [1] I suggested we call it a force field. He insisted “demon glass” was a more apt term.

  [2] “The sad sack,” Amir explained, “is an invisible organ under your normal stomach. When you swallow unwanted feelings, that’s where they go. When it gets full, the partially digested feelings, along with emotional bile, seeps into the blood stream, which is why you can get sick from holding everything inside.” He went on to add that mental health is important and wants to encourage you to “empty your sad sack frequently by crapping it all out in the presence of a therapist or other equally qualified professional.” I told him it’s too long for a foot note. He said to add it anyway.

  [3] He means casual.