Conga Line of the Dead

Chapter 3 : A mothers desperate plea or The worst séance in history

Peter walked through the front door of his house on 107 Enaud and wasn't surprised at all to hear the TV in the living room up as loud as it would go. It was enough to work in a loud environment but to come home to another one was a torture that he wouldn't wish on anyone.

He pulled his key from the lock and closed the door behind him, tossing his unfinished business book into the small table set beside the front door and walked into the living room.

He noticed that instead of just seeing Tokes head poking up above the sofa, there was another unfamiliar ghostly form with him, both watching the same black and white western movie on the TV. It was time for the gunfight as the small movie cap guns pops were amplified a thousand times over and Peter winced each time a shot rang out.

"TURN THAT CRAP DOWN!" Peter yelled with every ounce of energy in his mortal body, the human scream made the two ghosts jump out of their ecto-plasm and they craned their dead necks to see who way yelling behind them. Toke turned the TV off almost instantly with the remote and even with it utterly quiet as a tomb, Peters ears were still ringing.

"Lucy, I'm home." He replied as he wiggled his right hand pinky in his ear as if it would clear out the ringing. He pulled it out after a second, saw yellow wax on the tip and quickly wiped it on his blue jeans.

The two spirits stood to greet the mortal. "Peter meet Troy, Troy this is Peter." Toke introduced.

"Toke, that's so cute, you have a boyfriend." Peter offered his hand to Troy but he only gave a small nod not intending to shake, so Peter lowered it. "Nice to meet you. You're the guy Toke went to visit last night?"

Troy nodded, obviously the best answer he would get.

Toke cocked his head to the side slightly as if he could see right through Peter. "You OK bud? Seems like you've got something on your mind."

Peter sighed as he shook his head, "No, nothing major. Just a visit from Ashley Truman for some reason."

Tokes eyebrows went up, "Ashley Truman? THE Ashley Truman?"

"Yes 'The Ashley Truman'" he made a circle in the air with a finger, "Whoopee doo." Peter remarked.

"Now what would someone as rich want with someone as dirt poor as you?" Toke wondered aloud.

"Thanks for building up my self-esteem Dr. Phil." Peter replied, throwing his arms into the air in defeat as he walked into the connecting kitchen, the two ghosts close behind.

"You know what I mean. I mean, sorry Pete, but you're no David Duchovny." Toke replied. "What did she want?"

"How the hell should I know what she wanted?" he opened the fridge and took inventory of what little was there.

"Well, she talked to you right?" Toke prompted, "So she had to tell you what she wanted you for."

Peter reached into the fridge and took a can of soda from the top shelf, closed the door with his foot and opened the can. "I don't know, something to do with the Harvest Ghosts." He said then took a swig from the can.

Tokes eyes almost popped out of his head, "The Harvest Ghosts."

"Harvest Ghosts?" Troy asked, making this the first sentence Peter had heard from him.

"A haunting that happens every ten years, under the harvest moon on Halloween night." Peter replied as he wiggled his fingers into the air, "Very Stephen King-ish. Locals around here chalk it up to kids being kids and an urban legend."

Toke rubbed his pale chin, which made Peter wonder for a moment if ghosts ever needed to shave, "What would she want with the Harvest Ghosts?" he wondered aloud.