To whom it may concern

At 3:33 a.m. on a wet Wednesday morning in June, every church bell in Eerie began to chime.

In the Eerie Cemetery, stiff-necked corpses rolled over in their coffins, moaning in protest and pressing skeletal hands over shrivelled ears while beneath Lake Eerie, things with tentacles and gills and other, less-easily described attributes clutched tight to crucifixes made from driftwood and barnacles. Janet Donner pulled her coverlet over her head, ears straining for the tell-tale clink of milk bottles, and Melanie Monroe awoke shrieking out a scream that only she could hear.

Mary B. Carter was getting married. Again.

Ongoing Verse: Andrea/Marisea

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Ongoing Verse: The Children

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Ongoing Verse: Janet

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Ongoing Verse: Euclid

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Andrea Fantucci stood in the alley that ran along the back of the Dragon of the Black Pool Cantonese Restaurant, staring up at the moon.

The moon, fat and yellow and hanging low over the spiny defences of City Hall, did not look back. It didn't scream, or shower the streets below with blood, or drive men to madness and fear at the very sight of it. It was just a glowing ball of reflected light, and sometimes a big rabbit who made rice cakes.

"I like it here," Andrea said, speaking to nobody in particular. For once, nobody responded.

Ongoing Verse: Andrea/Marisea

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"Could it be a Velveteen Rabbit type deal?" asked Simon, parting the thick plush on the little bear's tummy in order to better use a plastic stethoscope purchased that morning from the dollar toys section at the World o' Stuff. "You know, a kid loves their stuffed animal so much that it eventually becomes real sort of thing?"

He looked at Annie, who turned to look at Marisea, who shrugged.

"I've heard of that happening, but not after the kid themselves is dead," she said.

Simon took the plastic stethoscope out of his ears.

"Well," he said. "There's a heartbeat."

Ongoing Verse: Andrea/Marisea

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Ongoing Verse: Microwave

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"Interesting," said Mary C. Carter, watching the little stuffed bear waddle across the carpet and pick up the tiny lace-edged waistcoat she had made for it. "I've never seen that before."

"Really?" said Andrea, looking surprised. "I thought that was a pretty common type of haunting, ghosts getting into creepy old toys and moving them about and stuff?"

"No, that's pretty common," agreed Marisea. "There's a teakettle somewhere in the attic that contains a poltergeist who exclusively inhabits those cymbal-playing monkey dolls. But that's not what this is."

She nodded at the faintly-glowing spectre of a young girl who stood beside and slightly inside the china cabinet, staring as the neatly-repaired plush animal clumsily began dressing itself.

"That's Annie. Her spirit is bound up with the bear, but she's not the one making it move right now."

Annie's gaze flicked to the two women at the table. She nodded her agreement, eyes wide with astonishment, then went back to watching her toy as it's chubby paws struggled to fasten faux-pearl buttons.

"Let me," said Marisea, getting out of her chair to kneel on the floral-patterned carpet. The bear gratefully accepted her help.

"So what is happening?" asked Andrea.

"No idea."

Ongoing Verse: Andrea/Marisea

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The teddy bear's fur was cleaned and brushed, all four paws bore freshly-appliqued pink pads and it's previously sagging belly now rose round and firm with brand new stuffing. The ghost was looking better too; no longer a roiling amorphous blob that radiated confusion and fear, it had resolved itself into the shape of a little girl with dark eyes and a expression of solemn intensity.

Right now, that expression was being directed towards a side table on which a dozen small pieces of cloth in various colours and patterns had been arranged.

"Take your time," said Mary C. Carter.


Ongoing Verse: Andrea/Marisea

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Marisea poured her own cup, liberally laced with milk and sugar.

She ignored the plate of little cakes that sat next to the teapot - not being a fan of afternoon tea, she'd replaced daily deliveries of fondant fancies and pastel-coloured macaroons for cunningly rendered Plaster of Paris imitations shortly after her aunt's death. If Mary B. Carter had noticed, she hadn't said anything.

"So," she said, taking a sip. "What news from the spirit world? Ready for marriage number nine yet?"

"It's still only eight," said Mary B. Carter. "I didn't show up for Wedding Seven, so that doesn't count."

Ongoing Verse: Andrea/Marisea

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"Thanks for doing this," said Marshall, following Marisea down a dimly-lit corridor wallpapered with a repeating pattern of red and gold spirals that hurt his eyes if he stared too long. In his arms he carried a gleaming two-slice toaster, the cord dangling in a neat, tight bundle alongside it.

Marisea smiled at him over her shoulder.

"It's nothing," she assured him. "Auntie got married six times, and there was a toaster on every single gift register. Grungy Bill could have a new home and a summer haunt and I'd still have three spares."

Inside the toaster, somebody said "yee-haw".

Ongoing Verse: Andrea/Marisea

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Ongoing Verse: Microwave

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Andrea made a face.

"It's a bit on the nose, isn't it?" she asked. "Giant skull piano, Skelton John at the keyboard..."

Marisea shrugged.

"Humans stick pictures of turkeys everywhere at Thanksgiving," she said. "Birthday banners have pictures of cakes or bottles of wine on them and we hang them over refreshment tables covered in wine bottle and cake. I can see a party where everyone's eating corpse meat being covered in corpse-themed decorations."

Andrea didn't answer, as she was busy poking at a pile of human hair with a long thigh bone that bore the marks of many teeth.


Ongoing Verse: Andrea/Marisea

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The vaulted ceiling of the buried church was lost in shadow, and the thin and failing beams of their torches did little to dispel the darkness.

An enormous pipe organ occupied the entirety of one wall, rusting lengths of metal coated in bioluminescent fungus that glowed faintly in the cloying murk. The ranks had been dismantled and rearranged at one point, and now formed the shape of a giant metal skull that leered down at the collapsed and crumbling altar.

"Well," said Marisea, moving through half-rotted pews like a ghost in lace-trimmed Laura Ashley. "That's excessive."

Andrea shrugged.

"Seen worse."


Ongoing Verse: Andrea/Marisea

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The footstool had teeth, and the teeth were stained with blood. So was the rather nice lace trim that some other Mary had sewn along the edges of it's cushioned lid, but that wasn't the most pressing issue right now.

Marisea looked around the room, selected an overstuffed armchair whose plush upholstery was faded from years of direct sunlight, and climbed on top of it.

"Hey!" she said, snapping her fingers at the marauding ottoman. "Hey you!"

Her bitten fingers stung, reminding her that her favourite pair of mittens were still inside that hinged and gory maw.

"What's this about?"

Ongoing Verse: Andrea/Marisea

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Andrea surveyed the stacks of wooden packing crates with something very like horror. The huge white moving van was still parked on the curb outside, an endless stream of sweating men and splinter-edged boxes emerging from the dark maw at it's back.

"Are you sure about this?" she asked Marisea, who was cross-checking the delivery against a frighteningly long inventory list attached to her clipboard.

Marisea looked up.

"Not really," she said. "A haunted merry-go-round is a lot of work. But Marys J-12 and N-3 live in apartments and I'm the only active Mary with a garden, so..."

She shrugged.

Ongoing Verse: Andrea/Marisea

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The second-hand barbeque was covered in what looked like sooty handprints, and the stink of burning hair hung over the three fold-out picnic tables which comprised the rest of the yard sale.

Marisea ran an experimental finger across one of the blackened spots, then flinched back as phantom flames scorched her outstretched hand. Her lungs ached as they struggled to expel smoke she had never breathed in, and her head was full of the screams of the dying.

"I'll pay you to take it away," said the seller, and Marisea wheezed out a price as her eyes filled with tears.

Ongoing Verse: Andrea/Marisea

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The smell of talcum powder and the jangle of costume jewellery was the only warning Marisea had. She sighed and set aside the index cards full of family recipes, apologising to the somewhat confused ghost attached to them.

"This might take a while," she said. "But I promise I'll come back and alphabetise you properly, and I'm sure then you'll remember who you were."

She left the warm, bright kitchen, closing the door behind her as she stepped into the gloom of the hall.

"Hello Auntie," she said. "What brings you here? Delivering a wedding invite?"

Mary B. Carter beamed.

Ongoing Verse: Andrea/Marisea

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There was maybe half an inch of brandy left in the bottle. Marisea grabbed a heavy-bottomed tumbler from the cabinet and emptied the last of the liquor into it. Andrea, sat at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee clutched in both hands, raised an eyebrow.

"It's not even ten am," she said.

"I didn't want it to go to waste," said Marisea, wrapping a layer of cling-film over the newly-poured drink. "But I'm all out of proton packs and this will do in a pinch."

She slid the bottle into her backpack and winked.

"It's for spirits," she said.

Ongoing Verse: Andrea/Marisea

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The harsh light of a single unshaded bulb illuminated the bare concrete floor, where chalk outlines in the shape of fallen bodies warped and flexed against the dull grey surface. The tape deck hissed and clattered, the static all but drowning out the signal to Radio WERD's Jazz Hour.

Andrea Fantucci glanced at her watch, hoping to hide the movement by simultaneously turning a page in the battered paperback she'd brought along for the evening. It didn't work.

"Seven minutes," said Marisea.

"To go?" asked Andrea, hopeful but not expectant.

"Since we started."

"Oh."

Andrea sighed. Her shadow, forty feet high and black as the void between worlds, sighed too.

"We could just leave the radio down here," she suggested. "No need to play compère at the Eerie Mob Massacre Warehouse and Speakeasy every Friday and Saturday."

"You know ghosts can't work a radio dial," said Marisea. "How well do you think they'd take music they couldn't choose or turn off blaring at them day and night?"

Andrea shrugged.

"Staff at the Eerie Mall seem to manage okay."

Marisea laughed.

"They're like, one can-I-speak-to-a-manager away from snapping and eating the eyeballs of every customer in the place," she said. "I'd like to think my spectral community outreach is at least a little better than dealing with the general public for eight hours at a time."

Andrea reached out to rest a hand on her girlfriend's knee.

"A million times better," she said. "More, even. One of those sideways-eight Foreverware symbols more."

She leaned over and pressed a kiss into Marisea's long dark hair.

Around them, the spirits danced on.


Ongoing Verse: Andrea/Marisea

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The Phantom Prom Date narrowed her gloriously made-up eyes, one manicured hand clenching around a promotional leaflet advertising the Eerie Nursery and Garden Centre's new range of corsages.

"What," she hissed, in a voice like spider-webbed safety glass and bare skin grinding on asphalt, "Is your car doing right now?"

Marshall glanced fearfully over his shoulder.

"Oh," he said, taking in the coquettishly lowered headlights, the contented rumble of two engines, and the faint, staticky strains of "Lady in Red" drifting on the night breeze.

He turned back towards the restless spirit.

"I guess they like each other?" he said.

Ongoing Verse: Trusted Associates Inc

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Ongoing Verse: Andrea/Marisea

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Written for Day 2 of the 31_days October challenge. The prompt was "all soul's day"

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( Read the Children series here )

( Read the Andrea/Marisea series here )

( Read more of the Milkman series here )

Written for Day 25 of the 31 June challenge. The prompt was, "all around her, the world is burning"

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( Read more of the Andrea/Marisea series here: )

Today's prompt was "signs", submitted by deifire

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