Free Dead Corse by Phaedra Weldon Page B

the front door with its beveled glass cutout,
and to my right under the stairs was another door I assumed lead to a half
bathroom. To the right was where Fake Fortuna spun her fake psychic routine,
and on the other side was where the tour of the mansion started. It was a huge
house by any measuring scale I had. Reported to have eleven bedrooms, eight
bathrooms, kitchen, plus other “family places.”
    And that was just the way the house was advertised. Family places.
I assumed that meant living room, dinning room, den, playroom—though I hoped
this house’s playroom wasn’t like the Adams’ Family’s playroom.
    I assumed dens and studies were on the lower floor so I slipped by
the newest group getting their haunted story from their guide. This guy was
dressed like a zombie and a really good one. Looked gross to me.
    The room had plastic covered furniture, a roll top desk, one of
those corner curio cabinets and a coffee table with several paperback copies of
ghost books. A grandfather clock coincidentally chimed for the hour—it was
after ten p.m. Over the roll top was a large painting of a bunch of trees. In
the center of them stood what looked like a woman in—an apron? She was very
small like a wee person in a large forest.
    To the right of the roll top and the left of the grandfather clock
was a door. Now that would either be another room or a closet. The padlock on
the outside pretty much assured me it was a closet since I didn’t think people
would put locks on the outside of a den or a study, but it wasn’t going to hurt
if I just stuck my head through the door and took a peek.
    The next group moved from the room as I approached the door. Old door.
Paint peeling. I figured this was probably one of the house’s original doors. I
glanced at the painting to me left and stopped.
    The figure of the woman wasn’t in the middle of the painting
anymore but was more toward me—and it looked like she was pointing at the door.
    Holy Muther Guppie. My heart pounded against my chest as I stared
at that little figure, waiting for it to move.
    When it didn’t I tore my gaze away from it, took in a deep breath
and shoved my upper half through the door.
    Definitely  
not
  a closet.
    Hell no. There was a whole room back here.
    I started to push the rest of me through when the third wave of
dizzy hit. Oh not good.
    As far as I could tell, me being incorporeal (my mom’s word not
mine) like this meant I couldn’t touch or move any physical object, and if
something were thrown at me it would go through me.
    Physics, right?
    I was also limited in my five senses. Sight and hearing were good,
in fact I could see shit that nobody really wants to know is lurking in the
shadows. But touch and smell—eh—pretty much non-existent. So feeling cold or
smelling something bad wasn’t going to happen.
    I yanked my head and shoulders out of that door and spun around as
the third wave of dizzy continued and I went down on my booty.
    “Eieci te oh malum spiritum! Cum sale conpellar confodere
te!”
    What the hell? Who was shouting? I looked up to see Fake Fortuna
standing over me with a hand full of salt. She threw some of it on me and of
course it went  
through
  me and scattered on the dirty, dust
coated hardwood floor.
    I tried to yell at her to stop that but she was all into. She’d
thrown back her hood and I saw long dark hair and really heavy eye-makeup.
Painted nails wove symbols in the air and she continued to spew out what might
have been latin as I felt the pull on the cord. Well hell, I wasn’t going to be
able to explore that room tonight.
    But, at least I knew there was a room.
    I just hated that this whack job was going to believe she
exorcised me.
    Balls. 
     
    • • •
     
    Moms are the bomb.
    Except when they’re not.
    Sigh
…that
didn’t make a lot of sense did it?
    Mom was great because she made the best breakfasts in the world.
Mom was not because she came into my room and opened the curtains and