One Ghost Per Serving Read online

  Eric didn’t respond right away. It was his ninth call to that number, and he was taken aback that the line was answered. He had pictured a lone, unattended phone in a locked, windowless room, ringing endlessly.

  “I’m calling to see if you would do a talk at my daughter’s birthday party,” Eric said after a moment.

  “I don’t normally do that,” Dr. Johnson said.

  “I don’t normally go on vacation, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t,” Eric said.

  “You do realize that I teach food safety.”

  “My daughter, Taffy, has a calendar from your department, and an autographed photo of you in her room, so it would make her really happy if you would –”

  A squirrel pawed at his heel. “Sonofa – !” Eric shook it off.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Nothing,” Eric said, checking his heel. “I’d be willing to pay for your time, of course. How about, ah, fifty dollars for one hour?” Even that much was uncomfortable, but if it would please Taffy, that was enough justification.

  “Fifty dollars for one hour?” Dr. Johnson said. “Ha! To do what?”

  Eric rolled his eyes. “To talk about food-borne pathogens at her birthday party.”

  There was a long pause. “Did you hear what you just said?”

  “I know it seems crazy, but –”

  “How old is this girl?”

  “She’s twelve.” Eric felt a rush of pride in Taffy and smiled. She was like the master of an alien race who deigned him and Willa to be appropriate parental beards for her plan of world domination.

  “My usual speaking fee is five hundred dollars. And I’m very busy.”

  The professor took Eric’s mood and scraped coarse sandpaper over it. This jerk didn’t even care about Taffy’s poster, Eric thought. Who did he think he was, the most popular boy band in the world? Even the most popular boy band in the world would summon up a superficial enthusiasm over someone’s daughter displaying their poster.

  Eric squeezed the handlebars until his knuckles turned white.

  “Why aren’t you excited to get a group of middle-schoolers enthused about food safety? That’s a perfect age to stoke their interest in science!” Taffy’s interest was already stoked, and Eric couldn’t imagine anyone except Taffy being remotely interested in food safety … and he was pretty sure it would be a bummer at a party, but still.

  The professor cleared his throat. “I would consider rearranging my schedule for a speaking fee of three hundred dollars.”

  Eric couldn’t afford that. Even if he could, he wouldn’t pay it. “My mistake. I thought you were an educator.” With incredible restraint, he managed to not throw the phone in the dumpster. He wanted to get this done. Time for the backup. Calling this number was the last thing he wanted to do after a shift like that, but he pictured two versions of Taffy at her birthday party: one happy with the speaker and with him; the other one sorely disappointed. He called the number. Two assistants and one confused janitor later, he reached the environmental microbiologist he had called.

  “Hey Dan, it’s, ah, Eric. Eric Snackerge.”

  “Eric Snackerge!” Eric pressed his eyes closed, bracing himself. “Most Likely to Be a Supreme Court Justice AND Male Pinup of 2001. Are you clerking or what?”

  Eric spun a pedal with his foot. “Or what. Listen, Dan, I’ve got a favor to ask you.”

  “Shoot.”

  “You’re still an environmental microbiologist?” Eric knew full well he was. He had seen him on CNN talking about consulting on a movie and getting invited to Necker Island.

  “Yeah, why?”

  “My daughter Taffy’s birthday is coming up, and it would be great if you could make an appearance to talk about foodborne pathogens.”

  Silence. He was getting used to this.

  “For a birthday party? Are you sure?”

  “You could talk about whatever,” Eric said. “If you don’t want to get into pathogens.”

  “No, I love pathogens.” He laughed. “That came out wrong, didn’t it?”

  Once they had worked out the details, Eric put away his phone. He had just put the pedals through one cycle when a bright orange flyer, a sheet of 8x11 paper, was pushed in his face. He swatted it away. “C’mon, give it a rest.”

  Rex slapped the handlebar. “This is important!”

  “I told you, I have a shift to cover at the diner.” His shift wasn’t until later, but Rex didn’t have to know that.

  “Yeah, I know, one of your many going-nowhere jobs. I’d hate to affect your enjoyment of them. But if you could go as my sponsor, that would be –”

  “Your what?”

  “My sponsor. I told you that before.”

  Eric smiled, but it was tense. “You’re joking.”

  “I’m dead serious. Ha.”

  “Your sponsor.” Eric said the last word like he’d say ‘crusted vomit.’

  “Who better than the person I possessed the longest?” Rex said.

  Eric rubbed his thumb in circles around his forehead, hard. “Wouldn’t you think I would be the absolute last person you should ask?”

  “No, the opposite.” Rex said with a shrug. “Take the flyer. And keep in mind that I’m in recovery so I can stop possessing people like you and become more comfortable with being myself. Also, free food!” Rex knew Eric’s weakness for free food all too well.

  Eric read the flyer:

  Spirits, Sprites, Apparitions, Disincarnate Essences:

  Do you want to stop possessing humans with low self-esteem and get some self-esteem of your own?

  Express yourself in a group of like-minded entities at two p.m. at the Junior/Senior school, room 318. Tangible sponsors welcome. Food provided.

  “Isn’t it weird to hold a meeting like this at the school in the daytime?” Eric said.

  “We hold it in one of those portable classrooms,” Rex said.

  Eric suppressed a shudder. “I hate portables. And how do spirits claim a classroom?”

  Rex shrugged. “It’s in a different dimension of space-time.”

  “Really?”

  “No, but we’ve never had a problem using that portable. You are so gullible.”

  Eric crumpled up the flyer and stuffed it in his bag, only because he didn’t want to litter. As he rode off, Rex yelled, “I could follow you if I felt like it, but I’ve got better stuff to do.”

  The recovery meeting had just started. Eric snuck in the door of the portable and made a fast left in front of the world maps. He flattened himself against the wall, the back of his head crinkling the paper. He crept along the wall behind a table laden with bowls and platters of tree bark, fruitcake, crickets, plastic soldiers, and a bottle of corn syrup. Not the free food he was expecting.

  The classroom was stuffed with spirits, most notably a small and impeccably groomed sprite standing in the middle of a circle. The sprite tapped his fingers on a clipboard as he stared fixedly at the clock. An excited murmur rolled through the group and Rex launched forward, extending his arms. “There he is!” Eric put his hand out behind him to hold the table but got the fruitcake instead. He grimaced and used a paper towel to wipe the residue off his palms.

  “Have a seat.” Rex ushered him through the highly attentive group and gestured to one of the spirits, some kind of fish or shrimp, which hopped off its chair. “Get him a plate,” Rex ordered the spirit.

  “No, I’m fine,” Eric said, but no one heard him.

  “This is Steve, a tangible, like you,” Rex indicated the person in the chair next to Eric. “He’s a gas station clerk who enjoys sleeping and eating and obsessing over his many mistakes. You should have a lot in common.”

  The sprite handed Eric a plate of everything from the table with a professional manner. A disembodied head that resembled a Man-O-War jellyfish floated over to Eric and sloshed. “Coffee?” it said.

  “Er, no, thanks.”

  Steve leaned over to Eric. “If they were genuinely interested in not possessing
us you’d think they’d pay more attention to what we eat.”

  Eric didn’t respond. He resented anything that took time he could be spending with his family. Work was one thing; he had to go be a shot boy. He had to go be a short-order cook. The anxiety and panic that grenaded through Eric when he feared he was wasting his life could be quelled when he worked, because he had a job to do, and he prided himself on being a reliable worker. Here, it wasn’t working. And a styrofoam plate of tree bark, fruitcake, crickets, and plastic soldiers, with a red plastic cup of corn syrup or the offer of coffee from a floating head was cold comfort.

  The sprite flapped his hand up and down like he was fanning something or shooing it away. “All right everyone, settle down. First, I’d like to introduce a new member of the group. His name is Eric Snackerge and he is Rex’s sponsor.”

  “Wait, I never –”

  “Eric,” the sprite said, “you have undoubtedly met a few other members already, but allow me to go around the circle and introduce our other members. I am He Who Cleans House, a homesprite who looks after the ungrateful, self-absorbed, and inconsiderate Dixon family. Moving on, we have: He Who Eats Mucous.” The sprite said, gesturing at a shrimp with a blue streak on the side of its body. The shrimp raised its arm and said, “I used to be She Who Eats Mucous, but got too big and became male. And there was a petition to call me something less disgusting, but there weren’t enough signatures.”

  “He Who Squeaks.” A large caterpillar who made a five-second long squeaking sound out holes in its abdomen.

  “He Who is Delicious.” A jar of pickles waved at Eric.

  “He Who Likes Grapes.” A gorilla with one eye grunted at Eric.

  “He Who Reclines.” A man-sized orange ladybug with headphones on ignored all of them. “He needs constant input,” the sprite explained. “Usually television, but it could be a game on the radio or an audiobook.”

  “Next we have The Ghost of Christmas Past.” A morose-looking figure of indeterminate sex raised a finger. He wore an LED headlamp that would come in handy when spelunking or looking for earthworms at night.

  “And just to be complete, you know Rex, He Who –”

  “Annoys,” Eric said.

  The sprite tilted his head. “Actually, we don’t use a nomenclature like that for Rex.”

  Rex stood up, smiled, turned from side to side, and sat back down like he was someone famous in the audience. The sprite put one tiny hand on top of the other and rested them on the clipboard. “Tonight I want to discuss something I think all of us could use, and that’s believing in yourself.”

  Eric leaned over to Rex. “I can’t stay long,” he whispered. “I have to get home.”

  The sprite shot a pointed look at Eric and continued. “Some of us are here because we want to stop possessing people and gain the confidence to just be ourselves, stop living through others, and stand on our own as spirits, whether we’re cthonic, or we’re attached to a person or place, or seeking revenge, or have suddenly found ourselves animate after one hundred years.” He paused. “And others are here because we protect an entire household and could use a little extra confidence to stand up for ourselves when certain things are unfairly ascribed to us or when we’re not given credit when credit is due. I mean, we’re just trying to help!”

  The sprite inhaled and closed his eyes for a moment. “You tangibles, Steve and Eric, are here because you’ve experienced long-term possession. Why do you think that is, Steve?”

  Steve, the other so-called tangible, picked at the corner of his plaid shirt. “I don’t know. Really craptastic luck, as usual?”

  The sprite shook his head. “Because you didn’t believe in yourself, and probably still don’t. We all need to fight for what we want.” He made eye contact with everyone in the room. “Whether that’s getting one of us out of you, or knowing that we don’t have to possess a tangible to experience life on our own terms.”

  The door opened and a highly excitable spider with a green hat hopped in. “Sorry!” he said in a loud whisper. The sprite shot him a disapproving glance. “Eric, this is He Who Dances for Ladies.” The sprite cleared his throat and refocused.

  “Eric, why don’t you tell us what happened when you were possessed by Rex here? I’m sure that hearing about your experience will help the group understand why they shouldn’t possess anyone. In other words, it should inspire empathy.” The sprite pronounced the last word slowly.

  Eric exhaled. He had made yet another mistake and put himself in an unfamiliar situation. He didn’t know anything about Rex’s meeting associates, and he wasn’t comfortable with the attention. If he stayed here any longer, he knew that he would freak out and end up confusing or annoying everyone in the room. He flared with anger at Rex for asking him to come. “Look, I came here to, um, support Rex. I’m really not comfortable with talking.”

  The sprite nodded. “I understand. Why don’t you just give us a little bullet-point list.” He raised his eyebrows in an encouraging expression.

  Eric shifted in his chair as every spirit in the group stared at him. With a furrowed brow, Eric made glancing eye contact with the ladybug, the caterpillar, and the cyclops gorilla, maybe because they were the biggest spirits, and the smaller ones were even more disconcerting. He felt something at his ankle and jumped out of his chair.

  A tiny furry creature was licking the sock on his heel.

  “The hell?”

  “Oh, sorry, I forgot to mention He Who Licks Your Heel,” the sprite said. “It’s what he does. He licks your heel.”

  Eric sat back down, slowly. “I think we’ve met.”

  The sprite cleared his throat and held the clipboard on his lap. “Rex, why don’t you tell the group what happened so we have some context.”

  Rex leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. Eric wished he had never come, and was angry with himself for agreeing to it. He didn’t owe Rex a damn thing. Why didn’t he just tell him no, he wasn’t going to be his sponsor? Was he that much of a pushover?

  “It may surprise you all to learn that Eric here was a rising star at college,” Rex started.

  “Thank you,” Eric muttered. He faced away from the group and jittered his leg on the floor.

  Rex patted Eric’s shoulder and Eric swatted it away. “A promotional company was on campus distributing free samples of POUNCE!, a flavored mineral water,” Rex said. “This poor bastard took one of the bottles and drank it.” He grinned and shrugged, as though presenting a perfect example of human folly.

  Eric ran his tongue behind his teeth and fixed his stare on the ceiling.

  “And you were in the sample?” He Who Cleans House gestured at Rex.

  Rex nodded. “I was an anomaly. The promoters were trying to get a lesser type of commerce spirit in the bottles, and somehow I slipped through.”

  Eric held his head in his hands. The caterpillar made a loud squeaking sound, and Eric didn’t know or really care how he was trying to express himself. Itself?

  “I took over.” Rex had the grace to at least look moderately chagrined. “Maybe I took over too much, for too long.”

  “Maybe?” Eric stood so fast he pushed over his chair, which fell to the floor with a thud. “Maybe too long of a time? You think so?”

  “I like to settle in,” Rex said. “And I might have caused some disruption in Eric’s life, but I –”

  “Oh, just stop.” Eric paced to the other side of the room. He paced two shorts lengths then pointed at Rex. “I was this close to graduating with highest honors,” he said, almost touching his thumb and index finger together. “This close to attending a top-tier law school on a full scholarship. I had just met Willa. I was on the rowing team. I lost all of that and wasn’t even conscious for the next eighteen months.”

  There were multiple gasps. Eric laughed without mirth. “See, even they think that’s too long,” he said to Rex. “Eighteen months later, Rex finally left. I guess he got bored of being me.”

  Rex raised his ha
nds. “Who’s to say that it would have mattered? And maybe you wouldn’t have Taffy if you hadn’t drank that POUNCE!”

  Eric walked closer to Rex. “It would have mattered. I would have been able to give my family a better life. I wouldn’t have to wear a ridiculous uniform. Willa and Taffy would think better of me.”

  Murmurs, whispers. Eric sat down, suddenly tired. He Who Eats Mucous came over very close to his nose before Eric pushed him away. “What is it with this group and the licking?”

  “He’s just trying to clean you by licking away your mucous,” He Who Reclines said in a gravelly voice. “It’s affectionate.”

  Eric put up his hands in a defensive gesture then wiped the sleeve of the shirt across his nose. “Somehow, I got Willa back. But I lost my scholarship, never went to law school, and didn’t even graduate college. So yeah, you could say that Rex caused some disruption. I guess it’s a blessing that I can’t remember those eighteen months.”

  Most of the group looked at the floor, pensive. The sad-looking ghost with the headlamp raised his hand. “You missed a Christmas, then.”

  “I guess I did,” Eric replied.

  The sad figure continued. “You went to a nightclub and danced on Christmas Eve. In the early hours of Christmas, you went to Pancakes Palace and had a large breakfast. Then you went home and fell asleep watching Father Goose. Though I can tell you about better Christmases.”

  Rex raised his hand. “Yeah, that was me. My Christmas as Eric.”

  He Who Cleans House opened his mouth and took in breath before he spoke again. “Was there anything good that came out of this?”

  “I have a family now,” Eric said. “And if I had to go through all of that, lose all of that, to end up with Willa and Taffy, then yes, something did.”

  The sprite cocked his head at Eric’s micro-expression. “What is it?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Really?”

  “Just –”

  The caterpillar whistled in a way that clearly expressed his impatience.

  “Willa and Taffy, they’re –”

  “Wow,” Rex said. “What the tangible is trying to say –”