[A note from the author: Don't mind the too-quick updates, I won't be doing this forever, I've just been in a writing mood over the weekend. Also, if you're enjoying the story, please consider leaving a review; they make my day!
CONTENT WARNING: Sensitive Topics and Sexual Spice.
There are several spicy sections that will be scattered throughout this story, but as I know there are some sex-repulsed aces among my readers, I will add a note before and after these sections so that they can be skipped by anyone who doesn't want to read them. They will be formatted the same way as this note, and a TLDR will be provided with any relevant details.]
"Everyone please, stop screaming! One two three, eyes on me," Mr. Purg tried in vain to get his students to settle down.
They'd already been riled up from the holiday excitement, but the eraser flying across the room from what had obviously been some stupid prank pulled by another student just completely undermined any semblance of control he'd managed to maintain. Another chill went down Mr. Purg's spine, and a pencil on his desk flew into the air, landing at his feet. More screaming.
"It's a ghost!"
"Oh my God!"
"LOL!"
"AaaaAAAAA!"
"Boo! HAHAHAHA!"
"OMG, stop it, Brad!"
One girl's hair started to stand on end, an ominous electric crackling sound coming from the air around her. Behind her, invisibly, Vox sent some harmless static in her direction. He winked at Elida. She giggled. Picking up a red marker, she swished it around a bit, and then wrote "EB DESSELB" on the whiteboard. More screaming.
"What does eb desselb mean?"
"What do we do?"
"Oh my God, I think it touched me!" No one had gone near that student.
Valentino leaned against the wall, enjoying the show. Velvette, more entertained than she thought she'd be, pulled out her phone and started recording. This was basically guaranteed to go viral with the Ambassador involved. Vox reached his magic outward and flickered the lights. More screaming.
When another teacher opened the door indignantly asking, "What is going on in here?" Elida and Vox both stopped at once, dropping the marker, and letting the lights stabilize. The students all turned to look at the other teacher and quieted. The spirits hiding in the afterlife all had shit-eating grins on their faces.
For a moment, the classroom was as silent as the grave. Everyone stared at each other.
Then the fire alarm went off. The living people jumped. They whispered to each other in confusion. Conspiracy theories began popping up, and they all chattered in bewilderment. Was it a prank? Was it a ghost? Was the school putting on a Halloween show?
"Okay, okay, everyone relax," Mr. Purg soothed ineffectively, "Calmly walk to the exit, we'll all- Molly, stop running! We'll all line up at the light pole outside. Come on." He sighed to himself. It looked like school would be getting out extra early that day.
Elida removed her hand from the emergency lever, looking very pleased with herself. Quietly and calmly, Natalie walked past her. She caught the angel's eye. "Thank you, Miss McCarthy," she whispered in a strangely reverent tone, "You keep saving me."
Elida knitted her eyebrows together in confusion. What did that mean?
"Natalie," Mr. Purg scolded, "Keep it moving. Clearly, we'll have to reschedule your tutoring session for next week."
As Natalie walked away to join her classmates, Mr. Purg followed them all down the hallway. They disappeared out the nearest exit while the passages filled with a raucous cacophony of riled up students in Halloween costumes from the other classrooms.
Elida had so many questions. For one, Natalie shouldn't have been able to see her.
Elida checked in on herself and found that she'd allowed some of her magic to strengthen a bit more than necessary while she'd had her fun. She dialed it in, and the shimmering image in the air she'd been making disappeared. Oh well. No harm, no foul.
But what did little Natalie mean?
Meanwhile, back at the cemetery, Marcel was getting his face painted by a witch with mushrooms growing out of her skin. Some patches of her flesh were missing, like she'd tried to claw them off at some point and failed. When he asked about it, she said she'd been attempting a new spell, and it backfired, attaching violent and carnivorous spores to her body. Nothing she did could get rid of them. They slowly ate her alive until they'd worked their way into her brain and killed her.
Marc thought that was an even worse way to die than what he'd been through. At least he got to have his hair back when he'd ended; but the witch said her mushrooms had kept growing even on her very soul. It had to be so uncomfortable.
She didn't ask what he wanted her to paint. She didn't even ask if he wanted his face painted. She simply grabbed Marc by the arm when he was walking by, sat him down, and stared intensely at him for a few minutes. Only when he began to squirm in his seat and wonder if she was okay did she finally wet the brush and begin. The paint was cold on his cheek. The witch, who apparently went by the name Shrewm, worked carefully, every brushstroke intentional and precise.
Mayberry, who had decided she would be sticking by Marc for the duration of the event, watched as the face-painter worked. Shrewm gave Marcel a cheerful red rose growing out of what appeared to be a shield, with two golden rings around the stem and tiny mushrooms for thorns. It was an odd piece of art, but fun and whimsical, nonetheless. Shrewm spritzed a strong setting spray onto the paint and handed Marc a mirror.
"Oh wow, it's beautiful," he complimented, "how did you get so much detail in there so quickly?" He tried not to look at the dark circles under his eyes or the baldness of his head.
"My mad melted mind may mold mysterious messages, but my mean mushrooms make merry masterpieces. Mayor Marc the messenger, move. Now, Miss Mayberry." It wasn't a request. Shrewm shooed Marc off of his stool and sat Mayberry down in his place.
Neither Marc nor Mayberry had told the witch their names.
Shrewm examined the hole in Mayberry's head and spent more time staring creepily at her than she'd spent painting Marc. Mayberry just sort of rolled with it, tossing the gun in her hands up and down and watching the other guests walk by. She read a tombstone near her feet that said, "Here Lies Gwyneth McCarthy: The Dog Whisperer" whatever that meant.
When she'd sufficiently made Marc wonder how much of her brain the carnivorous spores had eaten, Shrewm began painting again. She gave Mayberry one large red mushroom with a pencil stuck into the top. Two golden rings like the ones on Marc's rose rested against the mushroom's stem, and tiny winged children danced around the mushroom in a circle, hand in hand like a playground game.
Marc smiled. It was magical. "It's giving… fairy cottagecore," he observed.
"Let me see," Mayberry took the mirror and examined her face. She had to do a mental double-take. "Wha- how did you- hold on…" she lowered the mirror and stared at Shrewm in bewilderment, "How do you know what my students look like?"
In another part of the graveyard, a man with long black hair wearing a colonial general's uniform stood uncomfortably, looking for any familiar faces. Logically, he should know tons of people there, but with everyone in their human forms, he had no idea who was who. That was, until he heard a feisty woman with an Australian accent say something loud and full of swear words.
He whipped his head around toward the sound. He knew that voice. He scanned the crowd of souls dotting the cemetery but couldn't tell who'd spoken. He listened hard. She had to be there somewhere. He'd cry if it was just his imagination. Finally, the voice spoke again, and he spotted a woman in torn skinny jeans and a slutty t-shirt.
He got very excited very quickly, running up to her without thinking. It felt odd to run. He hadn't had legs in ages. "Miss Bomb?" He called out, "Cherri?" He almost forgot to be insecure for a moment.
She turned, looking him over, "Who the fuck are you?"
"It'ss ahm… It's me?"
She narrowed her eyes, trying to place him. "You sound familiar. Say somethin' else," she ordered.
He cleared his throat nervously, "Ahem, well, what would you like me to sssay?"
"Pentious!?"
He smiled and waved awkwardly, "Hello! It'ss been a bit since I last sssaw you. How have you bee- MMMmmm…!"
[Spice Warning Begins]
Cherri attacked him, grabbing him by the throat and kissing him so hard he almost thought she was trying to bite his tongue off. His eyes rolled closed, and he kissed her back, grabbing her waist and pulling her closer to him. They got very steamy very fast, with Cherri pushing Pentious against one of the taller tombstones and squeezing his throat harder. The choking made his head feel light and gloriously dizzy.
The hand Pentious wasn't using to hold her waist wandered into her shirt, caressing her nipple. She moaned as the foreplay started working, sending heat into her chest and groin.
Everyone was staring. The demons, having seen this same scene every day since they moment they died, were unphased and returned casually to their conversations. But the angels openly gawked at the sudden and unexpected display.
One of the witches, knowing where this was going and thinking fast, cast a spell. Below their feet, the soft grass swallowed them up, and they sank into the ground away from the rest of the guests. The two of them wound up in a hollowed out underground chamber, full of roots and stone.
Cherri, taking the opportunity for what it was, yanked at Sir Pentious's jacket. He gladly shrugged it off, pulling her own shirt over her head in response before once again reclaiming her mouth. He tasted her tongue, relishing in the flavor of the alcohol that had killed her.
After a few minutes, Cherri yanked Pentious's head back by his hair and sucked at his neck. He sighed, low and satisfied as he got to work unbuttoning her pants. When he'd finally loosened the zipper enough, he slowly lowered her jeans a few inches, but stopped there. He ran his fingers along her naval, teasing her and sending tingles across her skin. She moaned, getting wetter by the second.
She bit him in response, drawing a pleasured gasp from his lips with the pain, "Ahh…" It hurt in the best way.
For a heart-wrenching moment, Pentious wondered if she'd disappear because of the 'no harming anyone' rule inherent in the spell that kept them there. But she didn't. She stayed there, licking and sucking at his neck. Maybe it was because he consented; that had to make a difference. She bit him again.
To Cherri's surprise, Pentious flipped her over, pinning her beneath him and nibbling her ear. It tickled, and she smiled, tilting her head to give him better access. He released her wrists and moved lower, finally pulling her jeans down and off. He kissed her feet, then her shins, then her knees, and her thighs. Each soft brush of his lips sent a shiver of anticipation through her body, the tension growing as he got closer and closer to the best part.
She arched her back, ready for the next one, but it didn't come. She looked down and saw him hovering over her vagina, looking up at her with an unusually confident smirk on his face. She'd seen that same smile from him during their battles, usually when he thought he'd won, right before she kicked his ass. He may be wearing a different face, but it was definitely him.
"The fuck are you waiting for, you little bitch?" She said, before grabbing him by the hair again and pressing his face down.
He didn't resist. He took one hand and spread the lips, giving his mouth access to her clitoris. He sucked and licked, flicking his tongue like the snake he was until Cherri's legs began to shake and her hips tried to buck upwards. He took his other hand and held her down, exploring until he discovered an area that made her cry out his name. He'd found it. The sweet spot.
[Spice Warning Ends. TLDR: Pentious and Cherri skip the small talk and have sex. A witch sends them underground for privacy. We establish that you can harm someone without breaking the haunting spell if you have their consent.]
Jono and Anthony both found themselves letting out their inner child, or in Jono's case outer child, at the pumpkin carving station. Husker sat on the bench beside his boyfriend, leaning casually on the picnic table and sipping a virgin piña colada out of a hollowed-out pineapple. Jono was busy carving several penises into his pumpkin, while Anthony opted for a more traditional approach; a face… albeit a face that looked like it was moaning in pleasure. Husker rolled his eyes but didn't comment.
"So, what's heaven like, hot stuff?" Jono asked Anthony, snickering at his phallic art.
"You don't gotta work if you don't want, it's always nice out, and everyone is sexy as fuck," Anthony responded.
"Personally, I like the lack of vomit and rot," Husker added, twirling his drink with a colorful little umbrella.
"When I get there, I'm gonna sit and do nothin' for a hundred years," Jono fantasized, imaging what it would be like not to have to report to a dickhead boss.
"You know, it's kinda creepy hearing your voice comin' out of a kid," Anthony commented.
"Yeah," Husker agreed, "It's fuckin' weird."
"Can't help it, baby," the adult voice said out of the fifteen-year-old's mouth, "Don't worry, I won't try to fuck either of you… unless you ask nicely."
"No thanks, I'm not into children," Anthony wrinkled his nose. "I prefer more," he looked suggestively at Husk, "adult company." Husk ignored him, still sipping his drink.
"I'm not a kid, you prick."
"Could'a fooled me."
"This is just what I looked like when I keeled over. Coal mines are no fucking joke. Not to mention, we've literally fucked before."
"Yeah, when you were an adult. For a film."
"I'm still an adult, asshole. Not that Val would care," Jono stabbed the pumpkin again, a little more harshly than necessary. "He's here somewhere. Maybe I'll suck his dick if I get too bored."
"See, that's why you've been stuck in the hotel for so long," Husker said bluntly, "You don't seem to have bothered doing a single fucking thing to change. Why are you even there?"
"Hey!" Jono said, a little offended, "I've made progress! Charlie says I'm doing great."
"I'm sure you are," Anthony said, plunging his knife into the pumpkin to carve out the eye. "And babe, don't be so judgy," he scolded Husk, "Val makes it hard to think you can change or leave." He turned to Jono, "Have you quit yet?"
"No, I still need to eat, you know?" Jono pulled a piece of pumpkin flesh out and set it aside. "Gotta keep raking it in until I've got my redemption locked."
"I say flip his ass off and ask little miss icy and weird to cover your expenses 'till you're out," Anthony suggested. "She may let Alastor act like her sugar daddy, but she's fuckin' loaded. Just tell her it's to get you away from Val and she'd probably buy you two cars and a mansion."
"I'll admit," Husker added, "She's willing to go pretty far to do her job. She helped me, didn't she? I don't even want to know what kind of dirt she's got on Alastor that convinced him to give my soul up. He loved fucking with me any chance he got."
"He's here too," Jono commented. "Not sure what he looks like, though."
"Don't remind me," Husk growled. "Just look for the guy smiling like an asshole."
A guy smiling like an asshole approached them, a shovel slung casually over his shoulder. Speak of the devil…
"Ah, hello, my good fellows! Enjoying the party, I see." Alastor sat next to them, lifting his legs and snapping his fingers. A stool appeared and he rested his feet on top of it, sticking the shovel into a scabbard on his back. Carrying it around got too cumbersome when dragging corpses, so he had to have the scabbard custom-added to his utility straps.
He continued in his too-cheerful salesman's voice, "Why I haven't carved a pumpkin since I was a boy, hahaha! Ah well, when in Rome, as they say. I've got to do something to kill the time until our dear Ambassador returns."
"Oh fuck me…" Husker groaned, massaging his forehead.
"Don't mind if I do," Anthony flirted.
"Why, Husker, my good man, is that you? I almost didn't recognize you," Alastor smiled, waving his hand toward a pile of pumpkins nearby. One of them rolled out of the stack and hopped onto his lap. He ignored the knives provided on the table, instead unsheathing one of his own that had been concealed under his pant leg. It would be sharper.
"What's with the shovel?" Jono asked, "Did you die burying a body or something?" He laughed at his own joke, cracking up for a few awkward seconds until he realized the others were staring at him in silence.
Alastor only adjusted his glasses and smiled wider. "Why yes," he confirmed, "how did you guess?"
Jono's smile fell, "Wait, really?"
Alastor stabbed the pumpkin with expert precision, working the knife around until he'd made an opening, the cut as clean as if he'd been a surgeon. He sliced off the excess guts from the stem lid and tossed them over his shoulder. They landed cleanly into the trash can a few feet away. He hadn't even looked to aim for it.
He made a carving of a snowflake.