The speed had washed away the effects of the drinks I’d had earlier. I was getting shaky and it was getting difficult for me to sift through the facts in my head. I wanted another hit, or maybe something else to soothe me. It was strange; being in a new town had a sobering effect. It seemed harder to maintain a decent buzz.

“So, what do you know about those two?” I asked Myra as we waited for the signal at an intersection. There wasn’t a car in sight and I felt like an ass waiting to cross.

“Not a lot. We all moved in separately. I don’t really know them all that well.”

“Did Sean and John know each other before they moved in?” The walk sign lit and we began to cross.

“I don’t think so.”

“How long have they lived there?”

“I’d guess about four, five months.”

“And how long have they been hanging around together?”

“Maybe about the last two months.” Myra smiled, as if catching the drift of my questions. “It happened all of a sudden, like overnight.”

“Anything else you can think of—odd things, I mean?”

Myra stopped and turned to me. She had a sheepish but earnest look on her face, as if what she wanted to tell me was a bit awkward.

“Well . . . someone’s been shitting in the backyard. I think it’s John or Sean.”

“Weird.”

We continued walking to the store. My head was swimming with duffle bags, baby hands and yard-shit. I needed a drink, or a smoke. Night had fallen and there was a murky pink haze in the air.

As we walked, we passed an alley. Standing in the shadows was a tall, thin, ghostly pale man. His eyes were wide and vacant, but they followed our every move.

As we passed he whispered, “Ready for the shit to fly, Cal?” His voice was raspy and dry.

He knew me. Word traveled fast among the dead.

“Not just yet, thank you,” I tossed back as we passed. I heard him snicker. He liked my joke.

As we were about to turn the corner, the guy yelled after me as if he forgot something, “Somebody came around looking for you!”

I stopped and turned. “Yeah? Who?”

The dead man shrugged.

I flipped him off and kept walking.

Myra was staring again. “What was that?”

I smiled. “A ghoul. Pretty harmless, really. They lurk around, acting creepy.”

Myra nodded. She was part of the same generation as me. Raised on TV and movies about vampire lovers, joke-cracking psychos, and little girls possessed by the devil. There was a calm acceptance that isn’t found in older folks. “What was that he said?”

“Some ghouls get their jollies taunting the living with stories about a ‘day of the monsters.’ They aren’t usually superstitious, but they all seem to believe one’s coming. There will be nothing but darkness and all the monsters of the world will roam free. Blah, blah, blah. Bunch of bullshit, gives them something to occupy their dried-up brains.”