Tuesday Mooney Talks To Ghosts

by Kate Racculia

“You’re not a mercenary. I’m too soft.” Patrick tugged his ear. “I’m a sweet fluffy bunny in a land of wolves. I need to get meaner if I want to get anywhere.” “Don’t ever,” Dex said. “It would break my heart if you got meaner.”

When she spoke, it was usually to make a joke so dry it made you cough.

“Are you going to spend the night drinking morosely in the corner?” she asked. Dex tried to hide the start she’d given him. “But I excel,” he said, “at morose corner drinking.”

Every time Dex succeeded in making Tuesday smile, it was like seeing a rainbow over a haunted house.

“Yes,” said Lila under her breath. “I am aware I married a fortune cookie.” “In a cape,” said Dex. “Well done.”

Her adult life had turned out to be a series of patterns and routines. She knew what to expect of a given day, but that didn’t always mean life was particularly interesting, or that she was particularly fulfilled, or that she knew what the point was, other than moving from one space to the next.

At least when a guy with a butcher knife is after you, when a werewolf is loose or a poltergeist is messing with your furniture and your head, you know what you’re fighting for.

“I have a brunch room. A whole room for brunch. Sometimes, when I am totally out of fucks to give.” She tilted her head, and for a moment Tuesday wondered if she’d completed her thought without vocalizing it. But then she continued, “I eat dinner in there.”

I know how it feels to be haunted.