He gently grabbed her hand. "It's lipstick."
Her brow furrowed. "How on earth did you get lipstick on your face?"
"The usual way, Joyce. Y'know? A woman."
The most puzzled expression fell across her face. "A woman?"
He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, a woman. Long hair. Breasts. Vagina."
She frowned.
He sighed. "Vagina is not a dirty word. It's a medical term."
"Doesn't mean I have to like it." She shrugged. "Let me see this young woman."
Kerchack tried to stop her, but she was already through the wall. He waited for her to return. The Guy sat at the kitchen table where he always sat, reading the ectoplasmic newspaper he always read. The Guy looked up from his paper and nodded at Kerchack.
"Hey," said the ghost.
"Hey."
"Girl, huh?"
"Yes, a girl." Kerchack bit back his resentment. Was it really that unusual an event that he should bring a woman home? Well, yes, it was, but they could have had the courtesy to not mention it.
"I always thought you were a gay," said The Guy.
Joyce walked back into the kitchen. She wasn't happy. "Is that the girl who wore the witch costume? The one who wasn't wearing the bra?"
The Halloween Costume Incident, while minor to everyone else involved, had burned itself indelibly into Joyce's memory. To Joyce, there was nothing more scandalous than a busty sixteen year old in an Elvira costume, firm bosoms on display, escorting a group of nine year olds on Trick or Treating rounds. Joyce had talked about it for weeks, and still occasionally brought it up as the archetype of all women of weak and unwholesome character.
"She's very nice," said Kerchack. "Really, she's cool."
"Yes, yes." Joyce snarled as she repeated the word, "Nice. I'm sure she's very 'nice' indeed. Just the kind of 'nice' girl all the boys love."
"You don't even know her."
"I know her type." She picked up a mop and started running it vigorously across the tile. "Easy girls who trade favors for anyone who will buy them a dinner and a movie."
"I didn't have to buy her dinner."
"Oh, good. Then I suppose she's not a whore, after all. Just a slut." She turned her back to him. "Much better, isn't it?"
He almost agreed with her that it was a whole of a hell of a lot better.
"Come on, Joyce — "
"Oh, don't mind me. Just do whatever you want. You're an adult. You should live your own life."
"Joyce — "
She cut him off with a soft grunt. He tried twice more and got the same response.
"You've got a girl in the other room, and you're staying in here to argue with your dead caregiver," said The Guy. "Maybe you are a gay."
Kerchack almost argued, but The Guy had a point. He left Joyce to mop and sulk. He joined Denise in the living room couch. He put his hand on her thigh, and she ran her fingers through his hair.
Denise said, "There's something wrong with your television. It won't stay on any station."
"Grandpa's a channel flipper."
"I wish I could see ghosts," she said.
"No, you don't."
"But it's gotta be kind of cool."
"Hold on."
Kerchack went to the hall closet and found the shovel. The metal was rusted and dull, and the handle was cracked. It'd always looked this way as long as he could remember, as if it might fall apart in your hands. Strange symbols were carved in the wood and metal.
He returned to the living room. "Here. You want to see ghosts . . ." He held out the shovel. "While you're holding this you can see and hear ghosts. Be careful of the splinters."
Denise took the tool, and Kerchack stepped aside to reveal Gramps.
"Get out!" Denise jumped and punched Kerchack in the shoulder. "This is awesome!"
Gramps nodded to her, but he didn't look away from the TV. "Hey, honey, sweet ass you got there."
"So this is . . . what . . . like a magic shovel?" She punched him in the shoulder again. "You had a magic shovel, and you never told me! Where did you get it?"
"I don't remember," said Kerchack.
"Your pop got it at that yard sale of that there Egyptian archeologist feller," said Gramps. "Real nice feller. Came here with this mummified princess intending to bring her to life or some fool thing. I told him it were a stupid thing to do, what with all the obnoxiousness of all the women I'd ever known, and none of them were even princesses. But he said it were destiny, that the stars were right and he knew she'd love him."
"Did he do it?" asked Denise.
"Must've. About a week later Ms. Hulke found him dead with that dry ol' princess's hands wrapped 'round his throat. He drags her all the way from Cairo, raises her from the dead, then the ungrateful bitch strangles the poor bastard. Ain't that just like a woman?" He snorted. "No offense, young lady.
"Anyways, that shovel is supposed to have powers over the dead 'cuz of them hieroglyphics."
"What kinds of powers?" asked Denise.
"I can't remember them all," said Gramps, "but if I recall rightly, if you use it to draw a circle in the dirt under the half moon and say a dead person's name three times, it can summon their spirit."
She went over to the window and checked the night sky. "Damn. New moon tonight."
"Too bad," said Kerchack. "Are you ready to . . . uh . . . y'know?"
"What?" she asked.
He jerked his thumb toward his bedroom door. "Y'know. Do it."
She laughed. "Do it? Are you thirteen?"
"You know what I mean."
"Let's try that dirt circle thing first."
"It's not a half moon. It won't work."
"Can't hurt to try."
"I thought you had to get up early," said Kerchack.
"Oh, relax. We have plenty of time." She sashayed over, grabbed him by the belt, and pulled him toward the backdoor.
Kerchack made a note to remind himself that the next time he brought a woman home to wait until after the sex to show her the magic shovel.
"Do you think we can call up Elvis?" she asked.
"It's not likely. The King is what we call a 'High Demand' spirit. It's easier to summon spirits that have a personal connection."
"I love Elvis."
He smirked. "You and fifty million other women. If you had one of his belt buckles or capes you might have a chance."
She cringed. "Yuck, I don't want old Elvis."
"The rule is only one spirit can be summoned a night, and an unanswered call still counts as your shot. So if you want to try for Elvis, go ahead. It isn't going to work anyway, not with a new moon."
He drew the circle, making it big enough for three people to stand in on the off chance it actually worked. He always tried to give the ghost some pacing room.
"Have you done this before?" asked Denise.
"Couple of times. Sometimes, it works. Sometimes, it doesn't."
He sat on the porch while she mentally ran through a list of candidates. Most were dead celebrities, and Kerchack knew the odds of summoning any of them were practically nil. He didn't discourage her because he just wanted to get it over with.
She snapped her fingers. "I know. Remember Sam Haney?"
"The science teacher?"
"And home ec. And metal shop. And auto shop."
"I remember him," said Kerchack. "He was a cool teacher."
"The coolest. He got me into cars, and I never got the chance to thank him for it. Do you think he'll show if I call him?"
"There's one way to find out."
Kerchack held out the shovel to her. She took it and held it over her head. She didn't need to do that, but he let her have her dramatic moment.
"Sam Haney, Sam Haney, Sam Haney."
A wind whipped up, stirring a vortex of dirt around the circle. Disembodied shrieks, sounding as if coming from very far away, filled the air. The new moon grew full and red, and a leering face appeared on it like a jack o'lantern carved on a blood drenched pumpkin.
"Is it supposed to do that?" she asked.
The moon drained. The shrieks faded. The air grew very still.
"Is it supposed to do that?" she asked again.
"It never did it before." He took the shovel from her. "It's probably nothing big. See, it didn't even work." He gestured toward the circle.
There was something in it.
It didn't resemble any ghost Kerchack had ever seen before. Ghosts tended to resemble people, but this was nothing like a person. It was humanoid, at least. Tall and thin with a body made of intertwined thorny vines and a head like a red pumpkin with two black eyes and grinning slash of a mouth filled with sparkling white teeth.
"You're not Sam Haney," said Kerchack.
The spirit spoke, and its voice was soft and pleasant. It was the voice of an accountant or possibly an actuary, with a hint of a hiss behind it.
"Indeed, I am not. I am Samhain, Prince of the Fleshless Dead, Lord and Master of Earthbound Souls, King of the Immaterial Legions."
"Yeah, sure. That's terrific, great for you," said Kerchack, "but we were trying to summon Sam Haney."
The spirit moved to the edge of the circle. For a moment, Kerchack feared it might cross the mystical barrier, but it stopped just at the edge. Samhain chuckled, and distantly, the shrieks and moans resumed.
"Close enough."
There was something wrong about Samhain. He wasn't just another ghost, but something else. For one thing, Kerchack couldn't see through Samhain. While Kerchack saw ghosts clearly, they were at least a little bit transparent. Samhain appeared as solid as flesh and blood.
"Now that I'm here," said Samhain, "how may I be of service?"
"I'm sorry," said Kerchack. "This is all a mistake. We didn't mean to bother you."
"No bother. No bother at all."
Denise said, "So you're really the king of ghosts?"
"Among other things." Samhain chuckled, and the temperature dropped ten degrees.
"Cool."
She took a step forward, but Kerchack grabbed her arm.
"Can you excuse us for a moment?" he asked.
Samhain nodded. "Certainly, young masters."
Kerchack pulled Denise back into the house. He closed the backdoor. A glance through the kitchen window confirmed the dark specter was staring at the house with his unblinking eyes. His sinister smile remained.
Kerchack locked the deadbolt on the backdoor. He set down the shovel, then decided he felt better holding it.
"What's wrong?" asked Denise.
"We have to send him back."
"Why? He's just a ghost, isn't he?"
"No, he's something else."
"What?"
"I don't know."
The Guy said, "He's a spirit, not a ghost."
Not currently holding the shovel, Denise couldn't hear him. Kerchack handed it to her as he asked The Guy to explain.
The ghost never took his eyes from his newspaper. "Though the terms "ghost" and "spirit" are usually used interchangeably, there's actually a difference. Ghosts are ectoplasmic embodiments of bodiless souls. Spirits are supernatural manifestations of otherwise intangible concepts."
"What's that mean?" asked Denise.
"It means that thing in the backyard, whatever it is, was never a human being. It's a cosmic force in anthropomorphic form like the Grim Reaper or Cupid or Mickey Mouse."
"That's it," said Kerchack. "We're sending it back."
He took the shovel from Denise. She was disappointed, but it was his magic shovel and his call. They went to the backyard, where Samhain waited patiently.
"Thanks for coming out," said Kerchack, "but this has all been a misunderstanding."
He held up the shovel and said, "Return whence you came."
Samhain was supposed to disappear, but he didn't.
Kerchack waved the shovel. "Begone! I command you!"
The spirit folded his arms and laughed.
Kerchack thrust the shovel forward and summoned his most authoritative voice. "Go away! Now! Get gone!"