My Cardboard Balcony

An Inappropriate Halloween Story by Belinda Roddie Pull away the sheet, and the ghost is still there. She's just tired of your shit, and sitting on your couch, drinking your beer and watching the game on your television set. And if you're wondering, "How can a ghost drink beer?" then you need to reprioritize your questioning because there is a goddamn fucking ghost sitting on your goddamn fucking couch watching your goddamn fucking TV. Upstairs, the witches are mixing your shampoo with anti-itch cream in order to make a potion that cures herpes or chlamydia or something, while the Skeleton King is busy pleasuring the Zombie Queen on your bed and hoping her legs don't break off before she climaxes. One spooky orgasm later, you can hear the werewolves howling their approval under the full moon that you swear was hanging in the sky two days ago, a grinning white jack-o-lantern. But it's October 31st, and the bratty trick-or-treaters are n...

"So, what's going on, exactly?" I didn't want to go into specifics. I didn't feel like it. So I gave her the basic rundown. "Jacob skipped school. They found him half-drunk at Gilmore's in Old Town. He's getting a detox at the ER right now." "Holy shit," she said, her fingers dancing along the chapped edges of her mouth. "Yep," I said, though deep down, there was more - a whole lot more.