Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 101168 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101168 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
It had been what attracted them to horror movies as a child. Even when they were too young to understand the films, they’d been captivated by this interplay between what is hidden and what gets revealed. The wicked special effects hadn’t hurt either.
Halloween costumes became an avenue of expression for them, then fashion. But burlesque specifically had healed something for Jamie, allowing them space to experiment with how they presented their body.
As The Count, Jamie strutted and splayed, menaced and seduced, stripping off their cape and using it as a prop. They bared their fangs and swirled the velvet fabric. The music whirled and coaxed, the lights dimmed and spun, and excitement rushed through Jamie.
They bit down on the blood capsule in their mouth and let the streak of red hit their snow-white shirt. The crowd cheered and whistled, and slowly Jamie stripped it off, letting the red streak their ribbed white tank too.
Jamie couldn’t see the crowd with the spotlight on them, but they felt the energy building. Jamie had them. They were in.
They faced the wings and caught the comically large wooden stake the stage manager threw. For a moment, they played it to the audience as if they were scared of the object. Then they quirked an eyebrow and reconsidered the stake, grinding on it rather than fearing it. The crowd went wild.
They twisted and inched the tank up their torso, revealing more and more skin.
Finally, blood-streaked clothing on the stage and velvet pasties that matched the cape covering their nipples, Jamie turned to the cheering audience. They held the stake suggestively and thrust their hips forward. A gong sounded just as the stake ejaculated a spray of red confetti directly into the audience.
The closest table shrieked and laughed, brushing at the glitter in their hair and clothes. Jamie swept a low bow that allowed them to grab their costume from the stage. Then they exited, heart pounding and stomach light, to enthusiastic applause and whistles.
3
Edgar
Edgar was captivated. Jamie moved like molasses, slow and sinuous and sweet. Edgar scripted things he could say to them after—compliments, flirtation.
“You okay there, bro?” Helen asked and elbowed him in the ribs.
“Huh?”
“You’re practically drooling,” they said.
Edgar couldn’t look away. He didn’t want to miss one second. He did, however, clamp his mouth shut against any drool, even though he was pretty sure Helen was joking.
Onstage, Jamie raised their arms, and bright red blood burst from their mouth and trailed down their pale skin. Edgar gasped. A table close to the lip of the stage burst into riotous applause at the blood, and Edgar glanced at them for just a second, envious of how close they were to Jamie.
That was when he saw it.
A creature that had once been human and was now a rotten, twisted echo of one. The ghost’s skin was mottled gray and yellow, and the hair a brittle shock of matted straw. Where its eyes had once been, blank pools of jelly quivered. Its mouth gaped around black teeth and a tongue swollen to twice its natural size. Edgar didn’t know how it could see him through those gelatinous eyeballs, but he felt it like a fist in his throat. Then the slow freeze slipped down his spine, and Edgar scrambled out of his seat.
“Hell, yeah,” Carys cheered beside him. Then she slid out of her seat to stand too, clapping wildly. The rest of the audience followed suit, and Edgar realized that Jamie had finished performing.
“Wanna go meet them?” Helen was asking. “I’ll introduce…”
But Edgar’s head was swimming, and his hearing was going in and out to the precipitous beat of his heart.
Jamie was right there, gorgeous and so alive, bowing to the uproarious audience and scanning the crowd—surely not? But possibly?—attempting to look for him. And between them, impassible, the ghost.
Edgar glanced away for a second to see everyone at the table staring at him, as if they knew.
“Edgar?” Helen prompted. “Do you want to?”
The ghost had moved a table closer, as if it were magnetized to Edgar.
“I gotta go,” Edgar slurred, patting his pockets for his phone and wallet. “Sorry, thanks, sorry,” he mumbled in the direction of the group, never taking his eyes off the ghost.
Then, before it had a chance to get any closer to him, Edgar fled the Never Lounge, ran into the dark streets of the French Quarter, and didn’t stop until he hit Canal Street.
4
Jamie
The server led Jamie to the table where their mother, father, and sister sat and took Jamie’s to-go coffee cup, which they’d drained on the way to the restaurant in an attempt to caffeinate themselves into coherence after only four hours of sleep.
When Jamie had gotten offstage after their performance last night, they’d been so excited to find Edgar in the crowd. They’d felt a connection with the handsome stranger and couldn’t wait to talk with him more. But when they’d changed out of their costume and gone to look for him, he was nowhere to be found.