So Saskia gave her summons. Whether she's aware of it or not.

Nothing seemed to happen immediately. The excitement in the air was still present, but the anticipatory feeling was gone. I'd clearly done whatever was making the presence excited to its full potential. Had something really wanted me to copy the flyer and repeat their name three times?

But nothing actually happened. I felt like there was still something coming, but as moments passed and nothing happened, I figured my feelings were a red herring. Maybe it was just because I felt so much like I needed some hope that my body tricked me into it.

I switched the TV back on, looking for something, anything, to distract me. Maybe there was something in that flyer, maybe there wasn't. But no one could make death feel easier. Better to just try and find another shitty cartoon, since I'd finished all the good ones. Maybe I'd get lucky and I'd find a reboot of one of the shows that didn't suck. I even tried looking for Nicktoons, even though I wasn't a fan of Nickelodeon growing up. Oh well, at least there was more than just Spongebob, since I'd watched about as much as I could take of that (it was a funny show, but the voice acting just made it too annoying to binge on – I could only take it in small doses). It didn't help that the feeling in the air didn't go away. I felt almost like someone was watching me, but I ignored it. It couldn't be real.

It took about an hour before I got any indication that anything had happened. I heard the front door open and slam, and an unfamiliar voice bellowed, "Honey, I'm ho-ome!" It was gruff, it was gravelly, and it sounded elated. For a moment, I froze. An intruder?

For once, my lack of energy didn't stop me. I immediately jumped to my feet, ignoring my dizziness, and ran to the main entrance, where I stopped short at the horror-movie caricature grinning at me.

You could tell just by looking that this was not an ordinary person. He was about the same size as a regular man, young or middle-age, a little taller than me (although we'd be about the same height if I wore heels, or I'd be taller) with all the appropriate appendages and limbs. But everything else about him screamed that he wasn't ordinary.

Just his attire was enough. He was wearing a grubby overcoat with an embroidered skull on the breast pocket and an even grubbier hat with the word "GUIDE" on it. Seriously, I could see brown stains and dust all over it, like it had just been dug up from being buried. Right, that seemed like a joke. Was this just some elaborate joke with a creep who'd broken into my apartment before when I was out, and then put the flyer in my mailbox weeks later, only to break in again?

That said, I could see he appeared to be decomposing. If that wasn't makeup, then he seemed to actually be growing moss on his coat, and I could see patches of what looked like mould on his neck, blueish and disgusting-looking. It made me want to vomit, but I'd done enough of that when I was doing chemo and I didn't want to start again.

That was just his hands and neck – the coat didn't exactly lend itself to his body shape, so I wasn't sure what his frame was like. That was one of the reasons it was hard to tell how old he was. His face wasn't much better. It was framed by clearly greasy white-blonde hair, sticking out everywhere and tinged chlorine-green. His skin was a sickly shade of grey, and his eyes sort of – glowed. I couldn't tell exactly what colour they were, but they emitted a light that was pretty obvious. They looked maniacal, apart from that. His grin didn't help. It was almost as unsettling.

My mouth opened before my brain connected to think of what I should have said. Instead, it was my first instincts that spoke for me. "Oh, look. A zombie. Well, you're early. I was supposed to live a few months longer. You here to eat my brains?"

The guy's smile faded partly and he looked confused. "Wait a sec. You're alive? And you found my flyer?" He came up closer to me – too close for comfort, and I saw his nose twitch. "Yep. You're definitely a breather." He suddenly grinned wider than before, talking so rapidly I could barely keep up with it all. "Wow, babes, I owe you one for letting me out! It's been a while since living people could see me. So, let's have a good chat before we talk services. I like to really get to know my clients. In fact, why don't we get up close and personal-"

He cut himself off to try and French kiss me, pretty aggressively, actually. I was too weak from the way the cancer was making me waste away to expect to push him off completely, but I tried. Luckily, it didn't look like he was trying too hard, because after a brief kiss on the lips, he let me push him away. I even slapped him. Not a good idea, because I accidentally touched the slimy, spongy stuff growing there. That was way too accurate to be makeup.

"Did no one tell you that girls don't like surprise attacks on the lips?" I snapped at him. "Now you know. So you're the one who sent the flyer about death stress? What took you so long?"

The guy shrugged. "Of course I sent it. You called me, didn't you? I just didn't expect a breather to be the first one to say my name – I mean, I heard you saying it first and you seemed to know I could hear you since you just said it the third time without any context, so I wanted to be generous back and figure out a good entrance before you saw me. I was already in town, but I'm invisible when I haven't been summoned and even after you summoned me, I can still become invisible at will. Anyway, you didn't look up long enough to see me if I'd been visible, so I had time to decide how to introduce myself. That's why I kept you waiting." He sighed. "That's all shot now you surprised me with your humanity. I figured you were a ghost when I saw how pale you were. Usually a breather – that's what I call living people – wouldn't have seen the flyer. I was leaving it for a ghost to find. Besides, why would you want answers? You're not dead."

Okay, so that explained why I felt like someone was watching me and the feeling of excitement. Clearly he'd been listening in on me saying it and was watching me all that time.

I gave a sigh. "Okay, so that would mean that you're Betel-"

I was cut off by a hand over my mouth. "Nope, you're not gonna say it again," Betelgeuse (as I now knew for sure he was) stated as a fact. "No one says the B-word. Not after I just got here. I'm staying."

I sighed again. What happened if I said it? Did that get rid of him? "What am I supposed to call you if I can't say your stupid name?"

He just shrugged again. "You figure it out. I don't get nicknames often. Some of the ghosts from last century thought the name was spelled like it sounds and started calling me BJ. I mean, it opened the door for me to offer them a few BJs, but it didn't go down well. Can't imagine why."

Okay, that made me giggle.

"I've had others call me Mr…well. you know, but I can't say it…and that sounds way too polite. Or Mr Geuse, which sounds like I run a drinks stand. I like to get a little more friendly with my clients."

"So I can tell," I muttered. "I don't want to talk about blowing people, so I'm going to call you Beej. That sounds better anyway." I didn't ask if he liked it or not, but he seemed to like it, because he nodded as I spoke. Maybe he preferred it to some of the alternatives. "So why can't you say your own name?"

Beej shrugged again. "Part of the curse. You see, babes, I'm pretty much trapped in the Nether World unless someone lets me out, say a ghost, or preferably a living person like you. I can just about project myself into a cemetery, but that's it – and even then, usually only ghosts can see me, although there's the occasional breather. And the only way to let me out is to call my name three times. Like you did. So I can't just tell them my name. I have to find other ways to let them know how to call me. Hence, the flyer, but you must have a bit of a sensitivity to ghosts if you could see it." Well, he wasn't wrong. He peered curiously at me. "Have you seen a ghost before? Maybe you would have been able to see me after all."

I shrugged and answered honestly. "Never seen a ghost or anything. I've had some experiences, though, like I get this feeling when I'm in a place where someone died or somewhere a dead person loved. So I guess if I came to a cemetery you were in, I probably wouldn't see you, but I'd probably have a feeling I was being watched if you were spying on me."

The man surveyed me again, and then asked "So what's your name? I mean, I have no objection to just calling you babes, but it would be nice to know."

I scowled. "In that case, I definitely need to tell you my name, since I don't like being called that. I'm Saskia. Saskia Weathers." I held out my hand instinctively. I may not have been a nice person, but I'd had this ritual of polite introductions drilled into me from when I was tiny, because Mama was all about antiquated Southern charm and tried to make me be a good, gentle Alabama belle like her. She didn't go so far as to tell me I shouldn't work or had ideas about marrying me off because it was still the twenty-first century and she was overbearing, not insane, but she thought that good manners, no matter how old-fashioned they were, never went out of style. At least for a woman.

As it was, Beej took my outstretched hand as an invitation and shook it before using it to pull me closer to him. "Pretty name. Sounds like winter, actually. Are you a winter baby? I think I was one too, although it was a long time ago. We have something in common."

I pulled away, and he let me. I didn't like being so close to him. He smelled like rotting leaves and compost. Ugh. "I'm actually a summer baby," I informed him. "My name means something like protector. I'm not sure."

Beej's face fell for the slightest moment, and then, he looked at me and his expression melted into a look of concern. It looked genuine. "Um, don't mind me asking, but what's up with you? I can tell you're alive because of your scent, but even up close, you look like death. More than I do, actually."

That reminded me of something. "Probably because I am dying, but we can talk about that later. I know this sounds totally obvious, but what exactly are you and why are you here? I mean, I guess you're here because I called you, but I didn't understand exactly what the flyer meant."

"Okay, explanation time," Beej nodded at my questions. "I think you'd consider me a ghost. Some people think I'm a demon, mostly the dramatic types, but basically, living person who died, yadda yadda. Or if you prefer, freelance provider. I like my freedom, so I offer a lot of services. My old one was mostly bio-exorcist, you know, getting breathers out of the way for ghosts. But a little…uh…incident happened a while ago and I had to do some major community service to get back to where I was – lesson learned, be more careful unless you want to be like all those other suicidal suckers doing office jobs for eternity. So I decided to branch out and offer a few more services. Supernatural information desk, ghost power classes, death coach – that's the flyer you got." He surveyed me again. "So, you gonna tell me why you look like you're gonna keel over any minute? I mean, don't get me wrong, the hair's great, you've got pretty eyes and I like a girl who can talk back to me like that, but that's way too thin to be healthy and you're so pale. You said you were dying?"

I rolled my eyes. He had to be either making it up or sarcastic. I'd only washed my silvery-blonde hair once since I got the news, and only because it had felt gross. I hadn't even bothered to tie it into two ponytails like I usually did, leaving it as a long pale curtain. My eyes certainly weren't pretty – forget pastel blue, they were almost clear, they were so watery. It was true that I specialized in backtalk, though. It was what I was best at, but still, the other things had to be lies or sarcasm.

But I gave a sigh and admitted the reason. "Yeah. I don't have long to live. A few months, I think. And I'll probably spend the last one in hospice."

Beej looked thoughtful. "Don't tell me…anorexia?"

I huffed a snicker. "Skin cancer, actually. By the time they found it, it was too late." I didn't tell him how afraid I was of death, or that my pale face (although I was naturally fair-skinned) and skinniness wasn't just because I was ill. I wasn't bothering to look after myself properly. It wasn't that I was anorexic – I knew that I was too skinny and had no desire to die of weight loss or lose weight at all – but I just didn't have much of an appetite and had been living on convenience food because I didn't feel like cooking, because who needed to be healthy when you weren't going to live long anyway? Anorexics usually thought about food all the time, both how much they wanted it and how they could avoid it, while I had just lost interest in eating. As for my complexion, I was already naturally pale from birth and didn't really tan in summer, just burned (yeah, my skin was the kind that skin cancer was always a risk for), but I usually looked better when I wore makeup. I just couldn't be bothered to do that when I wasn't interested in going out anywhere. My clothes all looked awful on me anyway since I'd lost a lot of weight and there was no point in buying more in a smaller size when all I wore now was pyjamas.

Beej kept looking me up and down. His expression kept changing. One minute I was sure he was mentally undressing me and I was getting ready to make some remark about it, the next he looked like he was genuinely concerned about my wellbeing and I couldn't be mean to him about that. I wasn't sure what I'd imagined had I believed ghosts were visible (I figured they weren't since it seemed like I had a sense for ghosts being around but had never seen one), but this wasn't it. He was so…lively. And even if I took the fact that he really was dead into account, his appearance looked more zombie-like than ghost-like, in spite of his energy – zombies always seemed lethargic in the movies. I'd always imagined ghosts as just apparitions of what they looked like when they were alive. I didn't for a moment believe he was a breeding ground for mould when he was alive, but he looked like one now.

Finally, he spoke up. "Even if you're not anorexic – which I'm not totally convinced about, by the way – you look like you haven't eaten in a while. What about this – you get something to eat and we can talk about what happens now that you've hired me."
"Whatever," I muttered. "Kitchen ho, I guess." It was around two pm by that point, and yeah, I hadn't eaten much, just a bowl of cereal and I hadn't even been able to finish it. But I dutifully made a toasted sandwich just to shut Beej up about the idea that I was anorexic. I even grilled some bacon and put it in alongside the cheese and tomato to prove I was eating every food group – grains, dairy, meat and fruits/vegetables. He didn't want anything, even though I did try asking him. Apparently ghosts didn't need to eat. He also dodged the question when I asked exactly what the price was for "hiring" him, saying we'd talk about it later, maybe when I was dead and actually needed a death coach.

Still, it wasn't until the sandwich was gone that Beej finally asked me the question I didn't realize I needed to hear. "Saskia, babes, I gotta ask you the obvious question. You called me to guide you through the whole being dead thing, right, cause you know you're gonna die soon. But you don't actually want to die, do you?"

"No shit," I snarked. "Does anyone want to? You know, if they're not suicidal? I'm pretty far from that."

Beej shrugged. "I thought so. You didn't seem like the suicidal type. You've got spirit, like you've got something to live for. The thing is, I can help with that, too. Cancer's an illness, right?"

I nodded. "You need clarification?" I added incredulously.

"Hey, we didn't know much about illnesses when I was alive!" Beej held up his hands in defense. "I haven't kept up on breather healthcare since then, so I can only say what I know from when I was alive. We didn't know what cancer was back then. People just got sick and wasted away slowly. Like you are right now. Except for us, it wasn't just cancer. Typhoid, pneumonia, tuberculosis – they were all way long-haul. I didn't know the names of most of them at the time. I remember smallpox, though. Even the survivors were scarred, and some of them went blind. Same thing with measles. Even I had influenza, but I lived – until some years later, that is. And I remember the plague. Boy, that was a good time."

I glared at him, and he immediately looked sheepish. "Right. You're sick. Not funny."

I nodded. "And for the record, smallpox is pretty much dead. The long-haul ones you mentioned exist but people mostly don't die, or they get vaccinated. Same with measles and flu – there's even this one thing that protects you from getting measles, rubella and mumps with just one shot. And the bubonic plague still exists, but only in really poor rural places. But seriously, even I don't joke about illnesses to ill people. So how can you help me – you know, not die?"

Beej listened to all of this, and then summarised what he wanted to say. "Okay, here's the thing. I want out of this curse that can bring me back and forth. And since you're alive, everyone can see me – which is why I really wanted someone living to call me. You've got me out for now, but I don't want to be put away again. The thing is, to stay out forever and be free, I gotta get married. To any living girl."

I hesitated. I wasn't sure I'd heard him correctly. Get married? What the fuck did that have to do with helping me? If it was freedom he wanted, I understood that, but I knew he was asking me to be the one who married him. So that sounded like his hire price, but how was he going to help me? I wasn't sure I wanted to pay such a price. Who knew what he'd expect from a marriage.

I think Beej read my expression. "It's a green card thing, okay?" he said pleadingly. "Citizenship and stuff. I'm bringing it up because it would help you, like I said. When I was alive, this was what marriage was like – love doesn't come first. There doesn't have to be anything real between us at all...unless you want there to be," he added with a lecherous smirk, but he sobered up when I scowled at him. "Thing is, if I marry a breather, we both get kind of…more like each other. For me, that means I'm living, breathing, all that good stuff. I'll still be kinda…part ghost, with powers and not ageing. But I'll mostly be alive, just with some of those bonuses, the good stuff. I mean, I won't have all my powers, but I'd rather stay out here than keep them all and not be able to use them. I want to be able to haunt. For you, it means you're part immortal. You'll still die someday, but only of old age or a freak accident. No illnesses. You won't get sick ever again, and you'll live longer than most breathers. Plus you'll still look the age you are now, like me – your looks can change, just not from ageing. No grey hairs or new sunspots – your skin will still react to the sun, but you won't have cancer anymore and it won't come back. You could sign up for one of those Happy 100th birthday letters from the president straight off, because you'd definitely get there. And as a bonus, you get to be married to the ghost with the most. So many people would love that. So, babes, what do you think? I'll help you, you help me. Then we won't have to talk payment at all."

I believed him straight off. The fact that he'd said there didn't have to be anything between us when he'd flirted with me a few times already was laughable, but it also made me feel more like what he was saying was actually true. He could be my ticket to living longer.

I considered it. I'd never wanted to get married. Ever. Even if I found a man or woman I actually fell in love with, I wouldn't have married them. I certainly didn't love this weirdo. But living to be one hundred, and never getting sick again in my life? That was actually worth marrying for.

The next thing I said was genuine. "You know what, Beej?" I said softly, smiling a little. "That's the only reason I'd ever get married. So is that it? Just a ring on the finger and we're done?"

A smirk appeared on Beej's face the second I used the nickname I'd adopted for him. Like there was something he liked about hearing it. "Well, not totally…" he admitted. "I'll be honest with you – there's some conditions. You wouldn't believe how many laws there are after death. We do have to consummate. In the first month. Only once," he added when he saw the look of shock on my face. "You can stop looking like you think I'm going to go full-on rape on you – we have to do it, but I'd rather we both enjoy it. I've had lots of experience and if you're that worried, it's fine, I'll be gentle, whatever you want. And Nether World weddings…well, they're more binding than regular ones. Divorce is an option, but only if you want to go back to dying. Otherwise, you're going to find that cheating is impossible – I can't even flirt with anyone, date anyone, or hook up, and you can't get with anyone else either." He paused. "So, what's the verdict? You still wanna die in a few months, or marry the most eligible bachelor since like 1400?"

I blinked at him. I mean, the whole thing was tempting. "I mean, I guess I know what I want," I murmured. "But that still limits my life. I really need some time to get used to the idea."

Beej shrugged. "I'll give you time. But I should warn you, the longer I'm around people, the more I get attached to them. If you answer me quicker, I might leave you alone once we've consummated, so you can live your life however you want. If you don't, I might just decide to keep you around. And I have major plans for myself once I'm living. I'll still be able to conjure unlimited money and teleport, and I want to explore. So if you don't want to be dragged around the world, then you should-"

"What?" I interrupted. "You'll be travelling around the world if I marry you?"

Beej shrugged. "Was thinking about it. I've been stuck in America for a long time, and even when I've been let out, I haven't had the chance to explore. Y'know, since I'm only allowed out to do my job. But once I've tied the knot, I get to retire and do whatever I wanna. I'm dying to see more places."

"And you'd let me come with you?" I persisted.

"Yeah, sure. Think of it as our honeymoon. I think I'm going to like you. It would probably be more fun."

Then I smiled. A real smile. One of hope.

"Then call up a couple of witnesses and break out the ring, ghost boy, cause I've got an aisle to walk."

Yep, the selling point was that Saskia gets to travel the world if she marries him. Well, she was always going to say yes, but a couple of the stipulations were enough to give her pause on saying it straight off. Also, the reason Betelgeuse mentions that he had to do community service? According to outside info, he lost his bio-exorcist status offscreen after the stunts he pulled in the movie. So I decided if this takes place now when the movie was in 1988, maybe he's clawed his way back to where he was before, and to make sure he has a bigger chance of freedom, offers other services. Don't put too much stock in his claim that he was a winter baby. Sources mostly say his birthday was June 2, but…well, I can imagine him as Aquarius, my sign. I've already written ahead, but only just found out that the way they will interact already reflects the way typical Cancer-Aquarius relationships develop. As far as being alive – I know the movie just made it about his freedom, but the musical actually states that he'll be alive if he marries a living person. So I went halfway – he won't ever be fully alive, but he'll be closer to it.

As for the illnesses mentioned – I looked up when they were discovered. Apparently polio wasn't pinpointed until the eighteenth century, but TB, pneumonia and typhoid were. Flu was definitely known, and all of them could be deadly. Cancer has been around for millennia. The first known case now was a man around 1,000 BCE in Egypt.