Free One Ghost Per Serving by Nina Post

tried to think of something Taffy had said. “Fluke sack.”
    “Hey!” Larson said. But Eric had already pulled away.
    Larson Hark’s feature story on the rise and fall of local star Eric Christopher Snackerge was published the next day in the Jamesville Tribune.

    JAMESVILLE TECHNICAL COLLEGE, HVAC TECHNOLOGY DEPARTMENT, FACULTY LOUNGE
    Willa’s nemesis, David Midthunder, held an antacid-beverage in one hand and the spine of a newspaper in the other. He sipped his drink and flapped the paper so it rustled. “Isn’t this your husband?”
    Willa opened the fridge and pointed to a moldy plastic container. “Isn’t this your wife?”
    David laughed, a nasal HA-HA-HA that always made Willa think of a creepy ventriloquist dummy, its jaw hinging down then straight back up, its eyes soulless and empty, an empty vessel ripe for demonic possession.
    “I guess you take home the bacon, huh?” He took a step forward as though to poke her in the arm, but thought better of it and swung his arm around in a slow, Popeye-esque right hook.
    And Eric brings home the antlers, she thought. She liked to think of herself as Artemis and Eric as Actaeon, the hunter she turned into a stag, with some modifications to the story. When he did put on those antlers (and she loved him for wearing something he associated with a job he didn’t like just to please her) everything else fell away. She thought of the moment she first saw him in college, tall, lean, shirtless, and sweaty from a hot room with a garage band at a house party, big blue eyes fixing on hers from across the front lawn, making the rest of the world shrink down to the two of them. He knew what he wanted, then. He had stared right at her, went right to her, and she was his. They kissed before speaking, like they were coming together again after lifetimes. But now … her eyes burned and she pressed a fingertip into her temple.
    David lingered.
    “Don’t you have an acidic cesspool to ooze back into?” Willa said, genuinely angry now that her co-worker was in the same room, angry that her marriage had fallen apart, angry at her husband, angry at herself. She wanted a strong family. She wanted to provide for them, build a legacy for them and carry on the one from her father, and she expected some loyalty and gratitude in return. Was that too much to ask?
    David emitted one lone, half-hearted “Ha.” He tossed the paper on the table and left with his mug and a haughty air.
    Willa rubbed the back of her neck as she glowered at the paper. Finally she picked it up and opened it.
When Eric Snackerge met Willa Fellier – Miss Jamesville Crayfish ‘97, Lutheran Chili Cookoff winner ‘96, and HVAC instructor – it was love at first sight.
    “Yes, it was,” Willa said.

    JAMESVILLE UNIFIED SCHOOL DISTRICT, JR/SR SCHOOL, EAST HALL LOCKERS
    Taffy accepted the girl’s deposit for an order. She filled out a receipt from a carbon-copy book and noted the girl’s ‘LOVE’ shirt.
    “My mom read about your dad and says he could’ve made something of himself, but now he wears nothing but horns and his underwear at work,” Love Shirt said.
    “Flavor,” Taffy said, eyes flat.
    “Didn’t you hear me?”
    “Flavor.”
    Love Shirt folded her arms and pouted. “Pizza.”
    “Size?”
    “Eight-piece,” Love Shirt said. “You heard what I said, right?”
    “Pickup? I’ve got Friday after second period or after fourth period.”
    “After fourth.”
    Taffy noted these selections.
    “Eight-piece custom order of pizza-flavor candy for pickup Friday at my locker after fourth period.” Taffy ripped off the receipt and presented it. “Thanks for your business.”
    Love Shirt girl scrunched up her face then haughtily stalked off.
    Taffy opened her locker. Inside, she had glued a walnut-color laminate material to the otherwise standard white particle board locker shelving unit. A rechargeable DC power pack and an AC/DC inverter powered a tiny cooler. A calendar of famous chemists hung