Our gazes locked. Would I, Blissful Breneaux, allow a plastic Barbie doll whose ghost-hunting skills involved whistling loudly and undoing the top button of her shirt, win?
Or would I go to Alabama? It was the state I had grown up in. It was a place filled with humongous trucks, radicalized football fans and dead animals hanging in almost every house.
Once I left, I’d sworn I would never go back. I was meant for more than living in a podunk town with folks who couldn’t speak the English language correctly.
Not that I was perfect, but I did pride myself on using verbs the right way. I could accept the suspension and give up everything I’d ever worked for in my entire life. Maybe I could land a job hosting a fake ghost-hunting television show like that horrendous Xavier Bibb guy onGhost Wranglers.It was so stupid. The guy had fake blond hair, dark eyes and such a stupid intensity to his stare that it was impossible not to laugh whenever he came on camera. The man took himself way too seriously.
Okay, so that was one choice. The other was to accept Anita’s challenge. Go to Haunted Hollow, find Lucky Strike and turn him in. Prove I’d captured him and then get the guy to transition over to the other side. I was good at it. Actually I was great at it. It was what I lived and breathed for.
I rolled my shoulders back, cracked the joints of my neck. I stared at Anita so hard I was trying to bore a hole in her head. No such luck.
“I accept your challenge. I will go to Haunted Hill and bring back the spirit of Lucky Strike.”
“You go without equipment. You’re not one of us anymore.”
I gritted my teeth.Way to twist the knife, Anita.“It doesn’t matter. I don’t need equipment to bring in what you’ve asked for.”
Anita extended her hand. I shook it. Her lips coiled into a slithery smile. “Then we’ve got a deal.”
TWO
It was flipping hot. Sweat brimmed my upper lip. It soaked my shirt to the point that I didn’t know where my skin ended and the cotton began. It was only the beginning of October, and it was still so hot Satan would’ve tucked tail and returned to hell just to keep cool.
I slid my twenty-year-old Land Cruiser down Haunted Street, the main drag in this podunk town.
If Halloween had been on steroids, Haunted Hollow was it. Being the second most haunted city in the country, the small town in the eastern part of Alabama was decked to the hilt in all things ghostly.
Cotton blossoms hanging from strands of silk made a set of wind chimes. There were cutouts of Haunted Hollow’s more famous ghosts—a Confederate soldier, a widow who lost her family to Confederates, a man hanged for a crime he didn’t commit. Yeah. Cutouts that you could get your picture taken with. Brilliant.
Children ran down the street in ghost masks. The wine shop I cruised past posted a Specters and Spirits tasting night.
“Great,” I mumbled. “I’m supposed to find one ghost in this mess? When no one else has done it before? Piece of cake, right, Dad?”
I glanced at the photo of my dad I’d glued to the dashboard of the vehicle. It was old, faded. I was eighteen, had just been accepted to the team. Dad and I were shooting thumbs up to the camera. It had been a great day.
And now here I was.
I was not going to cry over spilled milk. I was going to pull my big girl panties on and figure out how the heck to maneuver in this place. The first thing I needed in order to do that was food.
Serious food.
My gaze landed on a sign that read SOUL FOOD AND SPIRITS. Sounded perfect. I could use a comfort meal. I’d been driving for hours. My joints hurt. My muscles were stiff.
I slid into a spot, killed the engine, pulled the emergency brake and got out. A layer of grime coated my face and arms. I stretched and headed into the restaurant.
I entered to a cool blast of air along with hanging ghost mobiles, tarot cards and one of those gypsies in a box that spit out a card with your future branded onto it.
“Welcome to Soul Food and Spirits.”
The hostess was dressed in all black. She sported heavy makeup and a nose ring. I wasn’t sure if it was a costume or her regular day wear.
“Table for one,” I said.
I followed her through the busy restaurant. It was lunchtime, the weekend was approaching and Haunted Hollow was bustling.
I’d just popped open my menu when it started.
“Psst, hey, you. I know you can see me.”
