October Girls: Crystal & Bone (3 page)

Dempsey had been waiting at a table in the corner, positioned where he could watch the door. The dim shadows and scent of scorched Folger’s heightened his moody edge. Perhaps that was why he chose this
milieu
.

Crystal had even been tempted to say, “You look like a man in his
milieu
,” but she wasn’t sure whether it was pronounced “mill-you” or “mill-oo.” Best to skip it.

“So, been here long?” Dempsey asked. In the dim light, his protruding nose hairs were less noticeable. In a spirit of generosity, she’d originally considered them a mark of virility, but it was hard to put positive spin on nasal wool for long.

Concentrate on the eyes.

“I got here five minutes ago. You saw me walk in.”

The soulful brown eyes narrowed and flicked wide. “I mean, did you grow up here?”

“Born and bred.” Though she wasn’t so sure about the “bred” part. It’s possible she’d been hatched, or perhaps conjured up from one of Momma’s ceramic crucibles.

“Not a bad little town, if you like Hicksville.” Dempsey gulped his latte.

“It ain’t so bad,” she said, immediately wishing she’d bitten down the word “ain’t.” If she wasn’t careful, she’d be cutting in with “ya’ll” and “possum butter” and this little dance would be over before she even put on her shoes.

Instead of defending Parson’s Ford, which held no special place in her heart but was home turf all the same, she remembered something she’d read in
Cosmopolitan
:
“To interest your man, turn the conversation back to him.”

“What brought you here?” She spun her coffee cup a quarter turn.

“The usual.”

Right
. Like she knew what “the usual” was. Could be anything from distilling moonshine to retracing Daniel Boone’s footsteps. “Passing through or staying a while?”

“Depends,” he said, drooping his eyelids just a little. “I kind of like the scenery here.”

She fought an urge to touch her hair.
Damn, where was Cosmo when you needed it?

“If you like mountains, it ain’t so bad, I reckon.”

Jeez, “ain’t” and “reckon” in the same sentence. Might as well cram some snuff behind my lower lip.

Before he could respond, she copped a phrase from the tourism brochures
. “
I mean, well, if you enjoy a
milieu
of scenic mountain vistas.”

She went with “mill-you,” saying it with such certainty that even if Dempsey were a direct descendant of the headless Louis XVI, he wouldn’t have challenged her. Dempsey grinned, milk stippling his soul patch and taking the “sexy factor” down a notch.

“It will be a great setting for my next movie,” he said. “Small-town horror is hot right now.”

“That
auteur
thing, right?”

“I’m breaking in a new star,” he said. “And I’m going to need some extras. Know any actors?”

Crystal immediately thought of Cindy Summerhill. Every town had a Cindy Summerhill. Beautiful, spoiled, rich, and utterly cunning. If there was a homecoming crown or dance trophy to be won, she’d do whatever it took. If that didn’t work, her dad, the attorney and county commissioner, would be twisting arms behind the scenes.

Of course, all the guys followed Cindy like hungry puppies, sniffing at the crumbs even if they could never touch the pie. Crystal was almost glad she’d dropped out of high school, just so she wouldn’t have to witness that sickening display.

“There’s a drama club at school,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t ask her about school. Then she’d have to explain why she’d dropped out. Or else lie.

But he went on, as if thinking aloud to himself. “And a killer location. A set with atmosphere.”

Like maybe my bedroom?
There’s a gateway to the afterlife and a lot of slimy creatures on the other side just waiting to crawl through. What’s the market these days for trailer-park horror?

“Parson’s Ford is pretty creepy,” she said.

“It’s got that ‘straight-to-video’ vibe, for sure.”

Still not listening. At least not to me
.

Cosmo
advised that if you wanted to open him up, catch him off guard, and see the real man inside, you asked questions. “What’s your movie called?”

“’The Halloweening.’ There’s this Halloween party, and some teenagers play around with an Ouija board and summon a ghost. Only it’s a real ghost.”

The idea didn’t sound so original to Crystal. But
Cosmo
said not to challenge your man on a first date.

But this is NOT a date, dang it. I’m perfectly happy with Pettigrew.

I think.

Before she could respond, Dempsey launched into a caffeine-fueled jabber. “The movie’s the easy part. The real trick is spreading the word. I need fans. I need a street team, social media disciples. I need a well-placed person, someone I can trust to help me take over this one-horse town.”

He leaned forward and the silver cross in his left ear lobe caught the shine from the counter lights. “And that’s where
you
come in.”

She didn’t know whether to be thrilled that he trusted her or annoyed that he was trying to use her. “I don’t get it.”

“The movie biz is tough. Without word of mouth, you’re dead in the water. And you got a mouth that looks like it could work wonders.”

Cosmo
never said anything about a line like that. “Thanks, I guess.”

She glanced around the shop, wondering if she could count on help if Dempsey turned into a pervert or creep.
Or Lurken
, Momma silently warned.
Darkmeet could send its advance scouts any day now. Talk about a street team.

The pimply-faced clerk was busy thumbing through a muscle magazine. Three other people occupied the shop: a middle-aged couple who hunched furtively over their cups as if not wanting spouses to find out, and a nerdy guy in wire-rimmed spectacles who held a thick book. None of them particularly looked like demonic denizens from beyond.

“Dude,” she said. “I’m sure you know what you’re doing, but there’s no reason to come to Parson’s Ford to start a tech business. Shouldn’t you be in Hollywood or Toronto or something?”

“It’s not a tech business, it’s a people business.”

“Blah blah. That’s what Fatback Bob says. ‘It’s not a video business, it’s a people business.’ Or ‘It’s not a tanning business, it’s a people business.’”

“Sounds like the guy’s got some smarts.”

“Smart enough to pay me minimum wage plus a quarter.”

The Kenny Chesney soundtrack finished and the counter clerk, making a predictable
uber
hip grope for eclecticism, punched up a Dandy Warhols disc that sounded like sex on a bed of cotton candy.

“So, are you in?” Dempsey said, leaning forward and doing the eye-roll thing. She suspected not many women answered in the negative to anything once that lighthouse beacon swept their waters.

But she also didn’t like to dive headfirst until she’d poked underwater for rocks. “Tell me more,” she said. “My coffee’s getting cold.”

Dempsey wiped his latte soul patch. “Here’s the deal. You order six of my horror movies for the price of one, then you keep the one and send five to your friends. When they join, you get five more, and they get the same deal.”

“But then I only end up with six, just like I started with. Why should I bother?”

“That’s the beauty part. Every time one of your friends signs somebody up, you get an additional five.”

“A pyramid scheme?”

“’Viral marketing’ is the preferred nomenclature.”

“Sure. But still, Parson’s Ford?”

Dempsey tipped his Styrofoam cup to the corner. “See that?”

She glanced, and if she hadn’t seen such things before, she would have chalked it up to imagination or maybe a contaminated bran muffin emitting hallucinogenic mold spores. The crack where the two walls and floor met expanded for a split second, showing a black fissure.

The third gateway? So soon?

Darkness seeped across the floor like spilled motor oil or boiled-down coffee sludge, a tendril of it rolling toward Crystal’s sensible shoes. Even though they’d been on sale at JC Penney for $19.95 and would be out of fashion by December, she lifted her feet up to avoid any stains.

“I see it, but I didn’t think anyone else was supposed to,” she said.

He flung his half-filled cup at the wall, and latte splashed into the crack. The clerk glanced at the corner, which had returned to its previous angles. “Hey,” the clerk yelled over the alt-rock music, “why you want to trash the place?”

“Sorry,” Dempsey said. “Thought I saw a spider.”

“Ease off on the caffeine, man.”

Dempsey had the muscle mass to rearrange the clerk’s pointy chin and nose and stuff a drip-ground bag of flavor-of-the-day up the runt’s backside. But he relaxed and leaned back in his chair. “Like I said, sorry. Thought the lady here might be afraid of spiders.”

“I’m not afraid of spiders,” Crystal said.

“What about ghosts?”

“Depends.”

“Maybe you got potential.” He grinned, and she was a wreck.

Luckily, he gave her a break.

“I’ll get some paper towels.” He went to the bathroom, and the clerk returned to scrubbing the espresso machine, a petulant glower giving him premature wrinkles.

So Dempsey sees down the rabbit hole
.
And we thought Darkmeet was a secret.
Curiouser and curiouser.

Sure, Momma knew about it, because the main gateway was in her mobile home. Bone knew, because she sneaked back and forth like it was the skipping trail at high school.

And now a stranger–a guy making a horror movie–came into town and into Crystal’s life just when things couldn’t get any more complicated.

And then they got worse, because
she
appeared.

“He thinks you’re cute,” Bone said, voice carrying over the dandy music.

“How come you show up every time things get weird?”

“That’s what friends are for.”

Crystal squinted into the corner. “Where are you?”

“It was a tiny crack,” Bone said. “I had to hitch a ride.”

“Don’t see you.”

“Look higher.”

The cobwebs shook, and a single silver line descended toward the table. Swinging from the end was a black spider with red eyes. “
Hola, chiquita
.”

“What is this, a Tim Burton version of ‘Charlotte’s Web’?”

“Cute pop-culture references will get you nowhere. Did you already drive Chain Boy away? I told you to start using breath mints.”

“Go find your own toys. Oh, yeah, I forgot, you’re dead.”

“Don’t be mean. I’m on your side here.”

“My side. The living side. For now. But you’re not reliable.”

The spider’s eyes glistened and an obscene clear gel oozed from the rear of its abdomen. “Not my fault. I’d trade places in a heartbeat.”

“You wish me dead, too?”

The Bone-spider sighed. “I live through you.”

“I know, I know. I’m your vicarious pleasure. I do what you can only dream about. That’s a lot of pressure, you know?”

“You’re failing to grasp the significance here. See, you can still
get guys
.”

“There’s more to life than sex. And besides—”

“No more blasphemy. You try being a permanent virgin and see how
you
like it. I mean, I’ve seen Emily Dickinson, and, hoo boy, does she have regrets.”

“You said nobody judged sins over there. That everybody starts over.”

“Like I know anything? Look at me. I’m a talking spider.”

Dempsey ended the conversation by emerging from the bathroom with a stack of wet paper towels. Bone gave a wink, or maybe winked with half of her eight eyes, and scuttled up the silk thread into the dusty nest.

So Crystal would have an audience. As if things weren’t awkward enough already.

She was going to offer to help wipe up the light-brown spatters on the walls, but Dempsey bent over in his jeans and his buns strained against the denim.

Pettigrew, Pettigrew, Pettigrew
.

She wasn’t sure whether using her boyfriend’s name as a distraction was a good idea, but she decided any port in a storm. And now the whole encounter seemed kind of sneaky, no matter how much she told herself it was “just coffee.”

She had to get out of there while she was still thinking PG-13.

But first—

“How long have you been seeing the gateways?”

“I heard about them,” Dempsey said. “That’s why I came to Parson’s Ford.”

“Heard about them? So other people can see them, too?”

“I didn’t say ‘people,’ did I?”

Was Dempsey connected to someone on the other side in the same way that Crystal was linked with Bone? Did Dempsey have his own spiritual advisor?

“I need you,” he said, touching her arm, and she could have sworn a spark jumped off her skin.

“I… I don’t know anything about making movies.”

“It’s not about making movies. It’s about saving the world. And getting the girl. Happy endings.”

He kept his hand on her arm, letting the heat flow from his palm and into her body. She tried to focus on Pettigrew’s face, his boyish grin beneath the cock-eyed baseball cap, the green eyes that sparkled. But all she could see were the half-moons of grease under Pettigrew’s nails.

Dempsey was a glossy Goth, the kind of man who ordered products out of Gentleman’s Quarterly and knew how to use them. This dude was no dude. He was an
auteur
.

“My mom’s waiting for me,” she said, pushing away from the table and heading for the door.

His touch lingered on her skin. Somewhere above her came the silver tinkle of a spider’s laughter.

“U
nlawful possession,” the Judge intoned.

The tomb was dank and mossy, but a cool wind passed through and stirred the stale air. Sconces filled with burning oil dotted the stone walls, and the firelight licked at the darkness as if it were a foul-tasting liquid. The odors of mushrooms and rot were accented with a sweet tinge of roses and carnations. Flowers could never mask death, no matter how high you piled them.

“I was only over for an hour.” Bone blinked, with gossamer eyelids. She was tired of gossamer. It was near the top of the list of things she hated about being dead. Gossamer was so hard to accessorize.