Judith and the Ghost of Amanda MacIntosh

The good folks at Crossed Genres have called upon authors to Post a Story for Haiti, to encourage people to donate to the relief effort. Authors are posting short stories for free. In return, we ask you, our readers, to please consider making a donation to a reputable relief organization, such as the International Red Cross/Red Crescent, Doctors Without Borders, or the Rainbow World Fund. Or pick any other organization you know and trust. The United Methodist Committee on Relief is one of my longtime favorites.

I wrote this ghost story back in the 1990s. I didn't have any stories related to earthquake or disaster relief, but I wanted to offer something to this fundraiser. I hope you don't think it too horribly inappropriate.

If you enjoy my story, or any of the stories contributed by other authors, please show your appreciation by helping with the Haiti earthquake relief efforts. Thank you, and peace be with you.



Judith and the Ghost of Amanda MacIntosh
by Angela Kroeger

Judith stood in the center of the basement living room, watching the late night news. The reporter peered intently from the television screen, announcing the latest information on the brutal murder of the beloved actress Amanda MacIntosh. A portrait photograph of Amanda flashed onto the screen, a handsome, angular face framed in loose, sandy curls. A witness had given a thorough description of the killer to the police, and Judith's throat constricted at sight of the next image on the screen, a rough charcoal drawing of her own face.

Samuel Palmer, standing behind her, leaned over her shoulder to whisper in her ear. "I can't believe you were stupid enough to leave a witness."

"I didn't know anyone was there. I checked the area beforehand, and it was clear. Whoever it was came in later and didn't make a sound," Judith hissed, terror burning the corners of her eyes.

Palmer folded his arms, then unfolded them to adjust his tie and smooth the wrinkles out of his suit jacket. "Careless anyway. And what's with the tears? It's a little late for second thoughts."

Judith turned away, and Palmer spoke in a low, restrained voice. "You'd better not be thinking of backing out on me. You're in all the way. If you leave, it'll be as fertilizer." With that, he left her alone in the dimly lit den. Judith turned off the television and shuddered as she felt a cold breeze cross her back. She turned around abruptly. There were no windows or fans in this room.

"Sucks to be you, don't it?" said a familiar voice.

Judith paled and looked about frantically. "Amanda?"

The shadows in the corner coalesced into the vague outline of a tall woman. "Who else?"

Judith backed away. "You're here to haunt me?"

"No." Amanda stepped from the shadows, taking form until every hair on her head, every stitch of her clothing, and every detail of the jagged hole in her chest was clearly defined in shades of luminescent green. The apparition approached a few steps then paused, furrowing her transparent brow. Her voice, smooth as polished onyx in life, crackled like a worn out recording. "Well, yes, actually, in a way. I need your help, and I won't leave you alone until you give it."

Judith shivered and clutched her chest. "Help? Why me? I killed you!"

Amanda glided close and gripped Judith's shoulders. Even through the thick sweatshirt Judith wore, the coldness of the ghost's hands was painful at first touch, then numbing as her grip tightened. "That's exactly why you. In fact, you're the only one who can help me."

"Why?" Judith struggled to break free, but couldn't.

Amanda held her gaze with disconcertingly white eyes, completely devoid of iris and pupil. "Pay attention. I can taste your regret, and more importantly, someone else can taste it. This is your chance at redemption. Remember, the Spirit's capacity for forgiveness is infinite, and you are worth many sparrows. Yes, even one such as you."

Judith blinked, and sagged into the shade's grasp. "What do I have to do?"

"First, you must never kill again."

Palmer came back into the room. "Who are you talking to?" he demanded sternly, his ice blue eyes locking onto the girl's face.

Judith looked at Amanda, then back to Palmer. "You don't see her?"

"Her who?" He scowled and shook his head, his slick black bangs falling down to brush the tops of his glasses. "Damn it, Judy. You had better not snap on me. Amanda is dead. If you can't handle it, you'd best just kill yourself now and save me the trouble of having to do it later. Otherwise, pull yourself together. We have work to do, and it has to be done tonight. I can't do it with my partner in pieces." He stormed back up the stairs.

"Cheerful sort," Amanda said sardonically. "He hasn't changed. Well, yes he has. He's degenerated. There is no remorse in him. A person can't change if they don't want to change. He is a dangerous, evil man, and the world must be cleansed of him."

"But you just said that I was never supposed to kill again."

"Let him take his own life to the Devil. All you have to do is keep Mallory Guinness alive until she's safe, out of Sam's reach. She is the business for this evening to which he alluded. Now, will you help me?"

Judith supposed she didn't have a choice. "How?"

Amanda released her hold on the girl. "Come with me. We haven't got much time."

"If I just walk out the door, Sam will see," Judith protested.

"Just relax." Amanda embraced Judith, and Judith tried to cry out, but her voice failed her. Her whole body went numb, and she felt as if she were drifting. She could still see the room before her, but the colors all seemed faded, like an old photograph. She could not move. Her body did not respond to any of her thoughts. Her mind screamed as she floated through the wall and into the earth on the other side. Then she felt herself rise, and soon she saw roots, then air and grass, and she was standing on the lawn in the back yard. Amanda released the girl, and Judith crumpled to her knees, arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her throat was choked with dust. She coughed up mud.

"Get up. We need to get to Mallory."

Judith stopped whimpering and shakily hauled herself to her feet. "Where? How?"

"Drive."

"I don't have a car."

The ghost cocked an eyebrow. "Take Sam's."

"I don't have the keys."

Amanda shook her head. "Just lead me to his car."

Judith complied, and Amanda stuck her hand into the door. "Yet another sleek, slick little vehicle. He always picks these annoying tiny, studly sports cars. I hate them. I always did." Judith noticed the change in the spirit's tone of voice. Before, when she'd been speaking of the Spirit's capacity of forgiveness, she had sounded like she was running through a well-rehearsed speech. Now her manner was brusque and abrasive. But then, Amanda had always been temperamental and prone to being gracious one moment and irritable the next. Judith had noticed this early on, in the production of their first movie together. Of course, Amanda had been the star, and Judith had been the kid who brought the doughnuts and sandwiches. Judith snapped back to the present at the sound of the door popping open. The ghost stood aside and gestured grandly for Judith to take the driver's seat, which the girl did. Amanda passed through Judith to place herself in the passenger seat, then stuck her hand inside the steering column. "Sam taught me to hotwire cars. That was when we were teenagers. I grew out of that sort of thing. He didn't. He just grew into nastier, more concealable forms of it." With a little jerk, the car roared into life, and Judith pulled out onto the road.

Judith glanced sidelong at Amanda. "If someone recognizes me from the police sketch, I won't be able to do what you need me to."

"I'll worry about that if someone recognizes you."

"Why do you need me? You can obviously interact with things in this world. I mean, other than redeeming my soul or whatever, why do you need me? You seem pretty powerful as a ghost, even moreso than ghosts I've seen in movies and stuff. You should be able to protect Mallory yourself."

Amanda looked as if she would have sighed if she had lungs with which to do so. "This is necessary for both of us. This is to turn you away from the path of evil."

"And it's necessary for you because . . ."

"I can't protect her myself. I can only manipulate physical objects in this world if it directly influences you. Only you can see or hear or touch me. I have been bound to you until I can forgive you. I can't pass into whatever's waiting for me until I can let go of this." The luminescent green flared around the hole in Amanda's chest.

"Bound to me?"

"Eyes on the road. You're no use if you die before Mallory's safe."

Judith focused on her driving, glowering.

"Why are you angry? I'm the one who should be angry. I'm the one who's dead!" Amanda screeched.

Judith slammed on the brakes and pounded her hands on the steering wheel. "You think I'm not angry? You think I don't hate myself enough without you here to constantly remind me of what I did?" Her eyes fell to the glowing wound. "I saw that version of Macbeth you were in. That whole 'Out, damn'd spot' thing, that's how I've felt since--"

"You know what I've felt since then?" Amanda interrupted, her white eyes blazing, "Nothing! Nothing but cold and hate and anger. He told me I had to come back, that I had business I needed to finish. I thought He meant I was supposed to bring you to justice. I thought I was going to get to bring your death. No, He told me I'm supposed to give you back your life. It's not fair. You murdered me, and I'm supposed to keep you from going to Hell for it." The ghost flashed green, then vanished.

Judith waited for a few moments, then tentatively asked, "Amanda? Are you still here?" She waited a couple of minutes longer, then muttered, "Good riddance." She turned the car around and returned to Samuel Palmer's house.

The doors were all locked, and she did not have her keys. She went to the back porch and dug around underneath the steps for the spare. Inside, she pocketed the dirty key and walked to the foot of the staircase. The music from upstairs was loud. Judith swallowed hard, hoping that Palmer had not noticed her absence. She slowly climbed the steps, then crept down the hallway until she reached Palmer's study. Even with the volume of the stereo, she could hear his fingers beating on the keyboard of his computer. She pushed the partially open door wider and stuck her head in. "Sam?"

He looked up from the screen, his face a visage of malice. He took a deep breath then smiled at her. The smile could have fooled anyone except her, and perhaps Amanda. "Judy, are you feeling more yourself now? We have to leave soon."

Judith nodded stiffly.

Palmer left his computer to embrace her, stroking her hair with his finely sculpted hands. "I didn't mean what I said earlier about killing you . . . or you killing yourself. I was just upset. You have to know I love you, and I wouldn't do anything like that to you."

Judith nodded, "Yeah, I know." She realized he'd never loved her, not even at the beginning. He'd just needed a disposable nobody to do his dirty work.

He narrowed his eyes at her for the briefest of moments, then replaced the plastic mask and kissed her. "You're tired. Go rest for a little bit. It may take me a little while to pinpoint Miss Guinness's exact whereabouts. She's gone to great lengths to keep her address and phone number unlisted. I'm almost certain she's the witness. I can't imagine who else would have been at Amanda's house at that time of night. But like I said, this'll take me a bit, so why don't you go take a nap, and I'll wake you when it's time to go." He had said Mallory's name with a sneer, but otherwise maintained the sweet tone throughout his speech.

Judith nodded, then retreated to the bedroom. She could not sleep, instead laying in the dark, looking at the amorphous pattern cast onto the wall by streetlight filtering through the blinds. She watched the clock count off the time until 2:37 am, when Palmer entered the room and flicked on the overhead light.

"Is it time to go?" she asked sleepily, hoping he would believe she still trusted him enough to sleep in his bed.

"Yes, Judy. I have the information we need. We should do this tonight. I doubt Mallory's put two and two together yet, but I can't imagine it will take her much longer. And when she figures it out, she'll take it to the police or, worse, the reporters, and then, well, we just can't have that, now, can we?"

Judith wondered at the two and two reference. Mallory, and apparently the witness if it was someone other than Mallory, did not know Judith. However, the charcoal sketch would be enough for someone to ID her. And the fact that Judith was all but living with Amanda MacIntosh's ex-husband would very likely incriminate him. However, something in his tone indicated that this was not the two and two to which he had alluded. She kept her voice demure, "No, we can't." Judith had never hated Palmer so much before, and she fought hard to keep it out of her voice.

"Well, get up, girl. We have to go."

Judith's mind reeled. She would not commit another murder for this man. This conviction did not come from anything the ghost had said, but rather from Judith's own disgust with Palmer and with what he had helped her become. But she did not know what to do. She knew only that she needed to delay him, so she could try to warn Mallory Guinness. Smiling seductively, stretched and twisted her body in the way she knew he liked. "Can't even spare fifteen minutes? It might de-stress me. I'll do a better job if I'm not so nervous."

"It'll already be after three when we get there. I don't want to risk pushing it too close to sunrise."

"Ten minutes? Please?" She stood and approached him. She knew exactly what voice to use to arouse him. She knew exactly what moves to make, and she pressed her body close to his.

It worked. "Ten minutes. Then we go." He pushed her down into the bed and unfastened his pants. When his eyes were off of her, Judith grabbed the heavy, brass alarm clock and smashed it against his skull. He slumped off the edge of the bed and onto the floor, unmoving.

Judith replaced the clock onto the endtable, noting the fresh crack across the crystal face. "Ugly clock anyway." Then remembering what the ghost had said, she stooped to feel for Palmer's pulse. He was alive. She grabbed the map and floorplan printouts from the dresser, then ran to his study. His computer was on screen saver, with a password lock. She tried the password he'd given to her, but he'd changed it. "I don't have time for this." She opened the window and pulled in the screen. She unplugged all of the cables from the computer. The monitor flashed, "No input," and she smashed the screen on the corner of the desk so he couldn't use it. Then she hurled the computer through the window, enjoying to the satisfying crash as it went though the windshield of his little car.

She ran down the stairs, slipped on her leather bomber jacket, then grabbed pair of shears from the utility drawer by the phone. Going out through the front door, she looked around furtively. No one appeared to be watching, so she stabbed the scissors into the whitewalls of Palmer's precious car, one by one, just in case a broken windshield alone wasn't enough to stop him from driving.

Unchaining her bicycle from the porch's support post, she took off in the direction indicated by the map. The place was not far from the campus where she had until recently attended school. When she reached an empty, lonely park, she stopped just long enough to cut away her long curls of umber hair and her feathered bangs, so distinctive in the charcoal sketch. She used her bicycle's tiny rear-view mirror to guide her, and when satisfied that everything as even as she could make it with the light of a single streetlamp and scissors designed to cut paper, she threw the scissors and the larger clumps of hair into the sewer drain. Then she took her sunglasses from her jacket's inner pocket and knocked out the lenses. She tossed the lenses after the scissors, then put the empty wire frames on her face. Unless someone got close enough to notice that there was no glass, the glasses might help prevent people from immediately connecting her to the police sketch.

She checked the map again, then hopped back on her bicycle and surged onward to Mallory Guinness's unlisted residence. She was within three-quarters of a mile from the house when she saw the beam of light from an upcoming streetlamp take on a greenish cast and point to the right. Judith banked right at that intersection, running the stop sign and slowing her pace no more than necessary to keep from crashing. The green glare swooped beside her. "There were police ahead. We'll have to take another way."

"How long have you been back?" Judith asked, both irritated and relieved.

"Just now. What happened while I was gone?" Amanda took shape from the green mist and put one hand on Judith's shoulder. It didn't feel as uncomfortably cold as before.

"Sam was getting ready to strike. He wasn't going to send me alone this time. I guess he doesn't trust me anymore. Well, now he really doesn't. I took his printout with Mallory's address and floorplans."

Amanda was still worried. "Can't he just print it again?"

"Nah, I trashed his computer, and his little car, too."

Amanda smiled wistfully, "I wish I'd seen that. That was something I always wanted to do myself."

Judith slowed a little, so she could speak softly and still be heard. "So what's the deal? Sam always told me you left him for Mallory. What does she know that can hurt him?"

Amanda looked pained. "She rescued me from him. He was a bad publicist, a worse husband, and he was destroying me slowly in so many different ways. I met Mallory when we were doing Rhubarb Pi together. That was a movie I'd love to forget I had any part of, but at least some good came of it. Mallory and I became good friends, and when she got to know me better, she began to voice her concerns about my lifestyle. She directed me to a good therapist, but more importantly, she helped me find the desire to change and get well. You have to want it for it to work, not that wanting it makes it easy. Changing myself was the hardest thing I ever did.

"Getting well also required leaving Sam, who had no desire to change and no desire to allow me to change. That didn't fit into his plan. So I divorced him and threw him out of my house. After that, I was finally able to get a life."

Judith glanced over her shoulder and cocked an eyebrow at the bitter irony of that statement. Amanda looked very sad, and Judith spoke with a gentleness that surprised herself. "And Mallory?"

"I was never involved with her that way, although Sam believed differently. He never could accept that I'd left because of him. I didn't realize I had fallen in love with Mallory until long after I parted company with Sam. I never told her how I felt."

Judith glanced sidelong at the ghost. "I, ah, meant, what does Mallory know that makes Sam want to kill her? Does she know what you knew? He told me that you had evidence to connect him to . . . something. He didn't say what."

"No, he never says what." After a long pause, the ghost's demeanor changed sharply. "Stop here. You'll have to walk the rest of the way, off the roads and sidewalks."

Judith chained her bike to a lamppost, then followed Amanda across the campus green. Amanda said, "You don't seem to know what Sam did. Truthfully, neither do I. But in hindsight, I remember back when there was a bit of a flap on the news about seven years ago, about an undercover cop who was killed while investigating an embezzlement case. Sam watched the news every day. I guess that wasn't unusual in and of itself, but there was something about the intensity with which he followed the case. I forgot about it until after I threw Sam out of my house, when I found a stash of his stuff under the stairs. I don't mean stuff like drugs or guns or anything. I mean pants he couldn't fit into anymore and ugly shirts that used to be in style in one of our country's more tasteless decades. But with all that stuff was an envelope with newspaper clippings about the cop's death and his obituary."

"So you think Sam killed him?" Judith asked.

The ghost shrugged. "I can't imagine why else he'd have cut the stuff out of the paper. I always wondered how he got all his money. The actors he publicized, myself included, paid him well, but not that well."

"And Mallory knows about this?"

"Maybe. She was helping me clean out the stairwell. I didn't realize the significance of the clippings at first and threw them away. Then she and I went to dump all his ugly old clothes on his lawn. I realize now how stupid that was. It gave him a chance to remember what else he'd stuffed down there. Anyway, I dug the clippings out of the trash later, and I left them at Mallory's house. That was also stupid of me." Amanda frowned. "Even if God forgives me, if something happens to Mallory, I don't know that I'll be able to forgive myself."

Judith sighed, feeling very cold in the pit of her stomach. The guilt of her deed, spiced with hatred and anger toward Palmer and toward herself, felt tangible, like a charred crust lining the inside of her chest. Her voice quavered, "Okay. I understand now. Man, I knew he was a sleaze, but his was a rich and handsome sleaze, you know. I never thought he was into killing people." She looked uncomfortably at Amanda's chest and gestured lamely, "Until he convinced me to . . . uh . . ." She gulped and looked as if she wanted to blow away with the leaves.

Amanda faded slightly. "Why did you listen to him? I would have almost expected this from him directly. But you were a nice kid. You were always good about making sure I got my Bavarian cream roll every day."

Judith hung her head and walked on in silence.

Several blocks later, they stopped in front of a security gate. Judith hit the buzzer. When she got no response, she buzzed again. After the fifth buzz, she grew alarmed. Finally, a sleepy voice came over the intercom. "If you're not the most handsome man on the planet, I'm releasing the Dobermans."

Amanda smiled. Judith spoke up, "Ms. Guinness, I need to speak to you. It's very important and can't wait. It's about Amanda MacIntosh."

The voice, very serious now, murmured, "So speak."

"No, let me in. You're in danger." Judith pleaded.

"From you?"

"No! I'm . . ." Judith stopped short at the ghost's touch.

Amanda smiled faintly. "Ask her if she has any guacamole to go with the rhubarb pie."

Judith grimaced and whispered, "That's completely disgusting."

"It refers to an off camera incident between her and me. It's our password."

Warily, Judith asked, "Uh, do you have any guacamole for the rhubarb pie?"

Silence from the other end was followed by the electronic hum of the gate sliding open. Judith and the ghost approached the house and waited on the stoop. A trim redhead opened the door to allow Judith's entry. Judith could almost feel Amanda's sadness at her inability to communicate directly with her friend.

Closing the door, Mallory asked grimly, "How did you know about that?"

Judith swallowed hard, noticing that Mallory held one hand behind her back. "Amanda told me."

Mallory ground her teeth together and stared hard into the young woman's eyes. Suddenly, she gasped and stepped back. "You!" She swung the gun she'd held behind her around and trained it on Judith's face. "Are you here to kill me, too?"

Judith raised her hands to show that she was unarmed. "I'm here to stop someone else from killing you."

Mallory's hands shook with rage, and the gun wavered about. "Is that what you told her?"

"No. I didn't talk to her at all."

Mallory blanched, almost dropping the gun. She tried to speak but found herself unable to produce even a whisper. She gripped the gun with both hands and tried to steady her aim.

Judith continued haltingly, perspiration forming on her face and hands, "It was Sam Palmer who sent me to . . . to kill her. He wants you dead, too, but I won't help him again. I came to warn you that he is coming. Tonight. Call the police."

Mallory edged toward the phone, the gun shaking wildly.

Judith took a deep breath. "The newspaper clippings you and Amanda found in Sam's stuff, the ones Amanda left here with you--make sure you tell the police about those. Sam killed that cop. You need to make sure he goes to jail."

"What about you?" Mallory managed to choke.

"Call the police, already. Get them on their way here. I'll confess. I'll face up to what I did. My life isn't worth jack now anyway."

Amanda swooped over to Judith's side, flickering with agitation. "He's here!"

Judith whispered, "Where?"

"What?" Mallory demanded.

Amanda said, "He came in through the basement window. He's already upstairs. In the next room." She pointed behind Mallory.

"Sam's here! Get down!" Judith hissed.

Mallory did not budge. "I don't believe you."

"He's behind you, in the other room. Turn around!"

Mallory remained rooted in place and steadied her hands. Amanda floated beside her, putting her hand inside the gun. She looked at Judith pleadingly.

Judith charged forward, and Mallory pulled the trigger. The gun didn't fire. She pulled again, click click click. Judith ran past her into the next room. Palmer was nowhere to be seen.

"Where is he?" He must have heard her warn Mallory and gone around through another part of the house. The ghost swooped away, searching behind and beneath every piece of furniture, then glided through the wall. Judith ran back to Mallory.

Mallory pointed the gun impotently at the young woman, but did not pull the trigger again. Ignoring the weapon, Judith positioned herself right by the actress's side. Judith picked up the phone and dialed 911. "My name is Judith Stauski. I murdered Amanda MacIntosh. My partner Samuel Palmer and I are at the residence of Mallory Guinness. Why don't you see if you can make it here in time to save her." She gave the address, then hung up. She glanced at Mallory and shrugged. "You obviously weren't going to call them."

Palmer stepped into the room and trained his handgun on Judith. "Mallory, I'm so glad I got here in time. When I saw the police sketch on television, I was shocked. I was worried that she would come for you."

Mallory looked back and forth between the two, brow furrowed. "How did you get in here, Sam?"

"You and Amanda were so close, it was obvious that you would have been the witness. I knew she'd come for you."

"How was it obvious? Amanda had a lot of friends," Mallory asked suspiciously.

Palmer locked his eyes on Judith. "Judy, move away from Ms. Guinness."

Judith placed herself squarely in front of Mallory. "No, Sam. I won't let you use me anymore."

"Mallory, she's trying to trick you, trying to get you to trust her. Don't believe her. You saw what she did to Amanda. She's just trying to get you to lower your guard," Sam said in a low, tightly controlled voice.

Judith chilled as she felt the end of Mallory's gun pressing into the small of her back. Gritting her teeth and closing her eyes, she whispered, "Go ahead. I am guilty. But so is he. Protect yourself from him at all costs."

"What was that?" Palmer advanced slowly.

"He's here to kill you. Make no mistake," Judith said forcefully.

Sirens wailed faintly in the distance. Palmer shifted his stance, sweat dripping from his face. Judith remained like a stone. "They're coming to stop you, Sam."

"They're coming for you, Judy." His trigger finger contracted.

Judith kicked hard behind her, and Mallory toppled just as Sam fired. The bullet blasted through Judith's chest and out the other side. It would have pierced them both. Mallory crawled on her belly, keeping the couch between her and Palmer. The sirens drew closer. Palmer ran around the sofa and aimed the handgun at Mallory. Looking up through darkening eyes, Judith finally noticed his gloves. His fingerprints would not be found on the weapon or anything else. He grinned wickedly at Mallory. "The police will find that you and she shot each other. I'll be long gone."

Judith felt a simultaneous chill and warmth as Amanda slipped inside her. The ghost's power held Judith's body together, lending her strength. Judith slithered toward Palmer and flung her arms around his ankles. Startled, he looked down at her. Mallory used the distraction to scramble to her security controls, unlocking the driveway gate before fleeing into the yard. Palmer tried to pursue her, but Judith tightened her grip on his legs. With her chin, she pushed up his pantleg, then sank her teeth into his Achilles tendon.

Spitting curses, he aimed downward and pulled the trigger. Judith twisted her neck, and the bullet burned across her cheek and separated Palmer from one of his own toes.

Howling in pain, he kicked free of Judith, sending her spinning across the floor into the telephone stand. He limped out the door. Judith crawled after him, getting close enough to the open door to view the predawn lawnscape. No sign of Mallory. Only Palmer and three cars' worth of police officers fanning out and taking cover, hopping progressively closer to the house.

Mallory peeked up from behind one of the police cars. Palmer, apparently losing his last strand of rational thought, opened fire. The police returned the favor, and within seconds, Samuel Palmer lay dead in a dark red smear on the stoop of Mallory Guinness.

* * *

Numb from shock, Mallory was only dimly aware of the paramedics swarming over the downed police officer. She stepped across the bloody stoop to the doorway, where still more paramedics hovered over Judith, holding her down as she flailed about, screaming her confession to the murder of Amanda MacIntosh and something about justice. She pleaded with the paramedics not to save her, to let her die for her crime. Mallory tried to step closer, but a police officer caught her arm, holding her back.

As if aware of Mallory's presence, Judith's glazed eyes suddenly cleared and her body stopped thrashing. Calm and serious, she locked gazes with the actress. "Mallory . . . listen . . . Amanda . . . Amanda wants to . . . tell . . . you . . ." She fell silent for a moment as she caught her breath. "She . . . loves . . . you."

Mallory noticed the use of present tense and sagged against the wall. Tears fogged her vision. "Is she . . . here?"

Judith's gaze dulled, and her body fell limp. The paramedics attempted to revive her, but soon surrendered to the obvious.

Mallory slid down the wall, her face buried in her hands, tears running through the gaps between her fingers.

* * *

Judith looked down on her body. Strangely, she did not at all miss the sensation of being inside it. She placed one hand on Mallory's shoulder, then drew back when the actress shuddered, as if from a freezing wind.

Judith then walked out through the wall into the early morning light. She looked to the east, at the pink sky spangled with clouds of gilded fire. In moments, the sun would banish the last remnants of the night. Judith fully expected a demon to snatch her and pull her down through the layers of earth into Hell. Either that or the first rays of dawn would burn away her soul, leaving nothing.

Instead, she felt a presence by her side, other than the police officers who milled about, oblivious to her ghostly existence. She turned to Amanda, who also looked toward the bright horizon. The wound in Amanda's chest was gone. Curious, Judith looked down at herself and saw no trace of the injury that had ended her life.

Amanda smiled gently. "You have mended your spirit, in saving Mallory. You are already whole." She gestured to her own chest. "And you helped me mend myself. I have forgiven you and let go of this world." She held out her hand, very transparent in the growing light.

Smiling nervously, Judith took Amanda's hand. Warmth flowed between them. Judith had never felt so good in her life. She smirked to herself at that thought.

"What happens now?" Judith asked.

Amanda shrugged, almost giddy. "I have no idea."

The sun broke the horizon, and the two spirits faded away.

Turkey Moon

Last year, I wrote "A Vampire's Thanksgiving." I had planned to leave it at that, but this weekend, I was inspired to write a sequel. Be warned: it's ridiculous. Thanks to my friend Katherine for proofreading. So, without further ado, here is . . .


Turkey Moon

by Anj

Still a few hours until her friends arrived to pick her up. They had talked her into going to see New Moon, even though she really didn't want to. She just couldn't get into that series. Real vampires weren't sexy, and they most certainly did not sparkle.

"Gah! Dead again!" The shout came from across the room, and Annie looked up to see her family's pet vampire frustratedly gnawing on the video game controller. "Game over" glowed on the TV screen in ghostly white letters.

He'd moved in last Thanksgiving. Apparently he'd been her mom's childhood friend, so he was in his forties, even though his body was frozen at age twelve. He was pale as a vanilla milkshake, both his skin and his hair. His eyes glowed maraschino cherry red. Several bats clung to his sleeves and hung off the limp bag of his sweatshirt's hood.

It was because of the bats that she'd taken to calling him Belfry. He'd invited the bats to stay with him in the attic, and the family had been forced to move all of their stored junk down to the basement, where it had been ruined in the spring floods. Annie hadn't felt very thankful toward him since then. Of course, she hadn't liked him much before that, either. He was the reason she couldn't invite any of her friends inside the house, and he'd even permanently scared off her boyfriend when he'd used his fangs to cut open the wrapper on a new DVD.

He set the controller down, and the bats seized their chance. They gathered around the controller like it was a feeding dish. On the screen, the "continue" option flashed by, followed by a loading bar.

"Shouldn't you and your friends be out hunting?" She wanted him to go suck on a cow. The bats could scrounge for any bugs that hadn't died in the frost.

He stood, leaving the bats to enjoy their chance at Parasite Eve II, then tucked his gray-freckled hands into the pocket of his hoodie. "Still an hour until sundown. Anyway, I don't need to hunt tonight. Tomorrow's thanksgiving, so before sunrise, I get my share of the turkey."

"It would be nice if you'd pluck it after you suck it." She smiled, hoping to foist her chore off onto him.

"Sure, no problem." He grinned, eyes glazed like he was looking inside her. She'd never get used to that creepy vampire stare.

A blood-curdling gobble rose from the back yard.

"Sounds like someone knows we're talking about her." Belfry licked his lips.

Annie rolled her eyes and went out back alone. The turkey hen threw herself against the chicken wire, bending the walls out of shape. But the cage held. The posts were driven deep into the ground.

Annie pointed at the bird. "Quiet, you. Enjoy your last few hours of life."

"Enjoy yours!" the turkey shot back.

Annie stumbled back into the house and slammed the door. Clutching at her pounding heart, she turned the knobs for both locks, then looked around the mudroom for something heavy to brace the door with.

"What's up?" Belfry asked.

"The bird threatened me! It talked!"

He lifted the heavy cloth curtain to peek outside, then drew back with a hiss. He stared at the dark gray burn on his hand and whimpered.

She slapped the back of his head. "Idiot. You know better."

He helped her make sure every window was closed and every door locked. Then she called her two mothers. "Belfry and I will figure something out. But I don't want the turkey to get you when you come home, so stay away until we call you back!"

From the other room, she heard Belfry cry, "Oh, man!"

She ran after him. "What? What?"

He frowned, pointing at the TV screen. "They got past the trash heap monster!" He shook a fist at the bats. "I tried forty or fifty times!"

"Forget the game! We have a homicidal talking turkey outside!"

"Relax. As soon as the sun goes down, I'll take care of it. It's just a bird."

"She'll peck your eyes out!"

"Even if she does, they'll grow back." He held up his burned hand, which had mostly healed already.

Stupid vampires with their regeneration. Always showing off.

Every few minutes, Annie peeped out through the curtain. The turkey stood stock still, glaring at her with beady black eyes. Her variegated bronze feathers were actually quite beautiful, although the loose, bumpy, blue skin on her head and neck were kind of disgusting.

The sun dipped low to the horizon. Another few minutes, and Belfry could go outside. Annie opened the door a crack and leaned out. "Truce? If we let you go free, will you promise not to hurt us?"

The turkey puffed up her feathers. "Afraid? You should be! I've been caged here all day! I assure you, there will be blood spilled! And it will not be mine!"

Annie closed the door and locked it again. A moment later, she parted the curtain less than a quarter inch, striving to keep her movement imperceptible.

The turkey was gone. Inside the pen was a naked girl about Annie's age, with beautiful bronze skin and thick brown hair streaked with gold. She was gorgeous, downright hot. At that moment, Annie decided she was bisexual after all.

The turkey girl gripped one of the metal posts with both hands and worked it back and forth. The post came free, and the girl stumbled back. She lifted the chicken wire and crawled underneath. She was free. She ran away, toward the cornfield.

Annie opened the door and leaned out. "Wait!"

The girl squawked and flapped her arms. She transformed into the turkey and bolted toward the field, picking up speed quickly.

Annie called, "All talk, huh? You were really scared!"

The turkey turned around and flew low over the ground toward Annie, gobbling loudly.

Annie slammed the door. A loud thump knocked a few bits of plaster off the wall.

Outside, all was silent. The windows darkened. Belfry appeared at Annie's shoulder. "Sundown. Let me at her."

"Just hold your horses."

"I don't have any horses."

Ignoring him, Annie opened the door.

Belfry muttered, "I always wanted a horse."

The turkey lay on the porch, still as death.

Belfry frowned. "Bummer." Then he grinned, baring his fangs. "Oh well, the blood's still warm."

Annie got between him and the bird. "Stop! She's a person!"

His gleaming, hungry eyes remained locked on the floppy blue throat, but he held back.

Annie had no idea how to check a turkey's pulse, but she didn't have to. One wing twitched. One talon scratched across the porch. Annie helped the turkey to her feet. The bird swayed and stumbled, then ruffled her feathers. Then she gobbled loudly and beat Annie with her wings.

Annie screamed, falling off the edge of the porch and landing in the bare branches of the shrubbery. She covered her face with her forearms, but the attack ceased.

She looked up to see Belfry holding the turkey aloft, licking his lips. "Yumilicious! All that adrenaline gives the blood a great flavor!"

The turkey transformed into a girl and punched him square in the mouth. He let go, looking more surprised than hurt. The turkey girl hopped around the porch, waving her bloody hand. "Ow! Ow! Ow!" Apparently, she'd cut her knuckles on his fangs.

Annie crawled out of the bushes. "Okay, truce! Truce!" She held out both hands. "Nobody's eating anybody." She faced the wereturkey. "What's your name?"

"Thomasina."

She introduced herself and Belfry. "Would you like to stay for dinner?"

"Oh, I don't think so!"

"No, not like that. We'll make it vegetarian."

Belfry grumbled.

"I'll bandage your hand, give you some clothes, and cook whatever you want, to apologize for keeping you in that pen."

Thomasina stared toward the field, but her pretty brown eyes were softening.

"What do you like to eat?" Annie prompted.

"Corn."

"Uh, corn it is, then. Come on in!"

Thomasina eyed Belfry warily.

He shrugged. "I don't feed on humans. As a were, you're half-human, so I guess that makes you off limits."

Thomasina sighed. "All right. It's not like I have anywhere to go anyway. This is a dangerous time of year for my kind."

"Well, stay with us. We'll give you a safe haven."

"You have to promise not to eat some other turkey tomorrow."

"Promise." Annie offered her hand.

"Well, all right." Thomasina took it.

Impulsively, Annie lifted Thomasina's hand and kissed it.

Thomasina drew back. "You'd better not be tasting me."

Annie escorted Thomasina inside, with Belfry following dejectedly. After providing their guest with a shirt and pants, she called her moms. "Everything's fine. We have guest. Can you stop at the store and pick up a tofureky? And corn. Lots of corn."

I'm Published!

My short story "Stay" has been published in Issue 12 of Crossed Genres, which has been released today! The theme of the issue is LGBTQ, but all stories have elements of science fiction or fantasy as well.

I am so excited! This is my first time in print. From what I've read so far, the other stories in the issue are great, too. I can't wait to read the rest of them.

So please, read my story. Read everyone's stories.

Paper copies and electronic copies are available for purchase through the Crossed Genres website or from Amazon. You can also read it for free on the website. But I have a paper copy in hand and it's really nice--squarebound, glossy cover, high quality paper. It'd look great on your shelf when you finish reading it. (No, I don't get paid any extra if it sells a lot of copies. I just think it's a nice magazine. Yes, I'm biased.)

I am floating on air.

Wish Me Luck!

Well, I finally did it. I submitted two short stories to a magazine. So either I will get published, or I will get my very first rejection letter. (Or, since I submitted two stories, possibly my first two rejection letters.) Either way, I have taken the next big step toward becoming a "real" writer.

I was very excited a couple of weeks ago, when a friend told me about Crossed Genres having an issue entirely devoted to LGBTQ. Of course, the stories must also have elements of fantasy or science fiction, which the majority of my stories do, so it just seemed like this opportunity was perfect in every way.

I read a few issues of Crossed Genres, to make sure I liked the kind of thing they published. All of the stories I read were good, several were excellent, and a couple were purely amazing. I look forward to reading the rest of the back issues when I have time. Plus, they had an interview with Phil and Kaja Foglio, of whom I've been a fan for years, so that was another point in their favor.

Lastly, there's the fact that they chose LGBTQ as the theme for the final issue of their first year of publication. A science fiction and fantasy magazine that not only welcomes but openly seeks LGBTQ content? How awesome is that?

I am confident that both of my stories are good. They've both been through the gauntlet of my critique group, and I've reread and revised repeatedly. The two stories are very different in tone and style, so I stand a better chance of having one of them fit the magazine's needs. Of course, I don't know how much competition I'm up against. They may have a large pool of superb submissions by now.

Even if I don't get accepted this time, I will probably try to submit other stories to future issues, because I think this is the kind of publication that I would like to be associated with.

Fingers crossed! Wish me luck!

Happy Fangsgiving

A Vampire's Thanksgiving
by Anj

She went to the door after the second ring of the bell, expecting her boyfriend, but instead she found a thin stick of a boy she didn't recognize. He was about twelve, thirteen at most, and pretty weird looking, with ghostly pale skin, white hair that hung past his hips, and shining red eyes. His tattered jeans and filthy tennis shoes seemed at odds with his crisp, new-looking southwestern print hoodie. He smiled as though he could see right through her, mumbling, "You look just like her," as he slowly trailed his gaze down her body.

She blocked the doorway, wondering what a child was doing out this late. "Was there an accident? You need a phone?"

"No. I'm here to visit your mother."

She leaned back inside and shouted up the stairs, "Mom! There's an albino kid here to see you!"

Her mother didn't answer. She trotted over to the bottom of the stairs and yelled louder, "Mom!" She glanced back at the kid, who stood in the doorway, studying her with that strange disconcerting smile on his face. Was he on something? Those glazed eyes and that freakishly intense, yet somehow dazed, expression on his face would seem to indicate yes.

But there was nothing to him. He didn't look strong enough to carry a twelve-pack of pop five yards. If he tried anything, she was sure she could take him. "Why are you standing there letting all the heat out?"

"I can't come in unless you invite me."

She scoffed in the back of her throat. "What are you a vampire or something?"

"Yes." He grinned. His teeth did look a little sharp.

Still, that was crazy. No, he was just some nut. Probably one of her mother's "special" students. "Whatever. Come in and close the door. My folks will freak if the heating bill is any higher this month." She turned again to the stairway. "Mom!"

She faced the kid again as the door clicked closed. He stood very still in the middle of the room, hands tucked into the large pocket on the front of the hoodie. She wished he'd stop smiling like that. It made her faintly queasy. She wished she hadn't let him in.

Finally her mother appeared at the top of the stairs. "What is it?"

The girl pointed at the freak. "This kid came to see you."

Her mother furrowed her brow for a moment, then her eyes widened. "Oh. My." She cleared her throat as she descended. "How have you been?"

"Surviving." There was a faint edge of amusement to the boy's voice. "You?"

"Fine." She looked at her daughter. "Weren't you going to the midnight movie?"

"My ride's not here yet."

"Why don't you wait outside?" Her mother sounded faintly anxious, underneath a failed attempt to appear calm.

"Maybe I shouldn't leave you alone with . . ."

"We'll be fine. Go outside."

Lights flashed in the window, and a car pulled into the driveway.

Her mother smiled. "There he is. Go on."

The girl took her jacket from the middle peg of the rack. "Maybe I should skip the movie . . ."

Her mother shooed her with both hands. "Go on. Don't keep him waiting."

"Will you be here when I get back?" She really wished her other mom wasn't out of town tonight.

Her mother nodded. "I expect so."

She barely refrained herself from asking, "Will you be alive?" Instead, she stepped close to her mother and whispered, "I shouldn't have let him in, should I?"

"It's okay. Scoot, now. Have fun."

Fat chance of that. But she let her mother push her out the door. The click of the lock between them echoed with finality.

* * * * *

She looked at the boy, feeling the tug of nostalgia, tainted with regret. He had not aged visibly in thirty years. She tried to remember how he'd looked when he'd been human. The boy next door, her playmate since preschool. Curly red hair, like copper coils. Green eyes. Freckles spangled across his pink nose and cheeks.

No trace of freckles on that eggshell white face now.

It was her fault he'd been taken. She wondered if regarded her with blame or gratitude.

"She looks so much like you." He nodded toward the door.

"You think so?" She shook her head. "I expect she'll have her boyfriend drive her around the block, then drop her off so she can spy on us. I think she's worried."

"Of course she is. I told her what I am."

"Ah."

"I watch you sometimes."

"Oh?"

"My family is gone, so you're the one I . . ." For the first time, his composure broke. He hunched his shoulders slightly and looked at the floor. "I used to pretend you were my sister. Now . . . you're all grown up, and I . . . I pretend you're my aunt, now."

"It must be very lonely for you." She wondered where he lived. How he lived. She remembered seeing him in the cemetery once, years ago, perched between the grotesques on the roof of the mausoleum. Was that his home?

Well, then. While he'd been hiding in a graveyard, she'd had a good life. The kind of life he could never enjoy. She owed him. She understood.

She embraced him tenderly. Cupping her hand on the back of his head, she pressed his face to her throat. Might as well get it over with.

His cold lips pressed on the side of her neck. She felt the cool, clammy moisture as he opened his mouth. His fangs scraped lightly over her jugular.

Then he stepped away. She'd never felt a prick. She touched her neck, then checked her fingertips. No blood.

He tucked one hand back into the hoodie pocket. "I don't feed on people. I never have." He pointed vaguely to the north. "I go to that big farm outside town. The cows are marked with numbered ear tags, so I can make sure I'm not taking from the same ones too often."

"Oh." Embarrassment washed over her like a hot flash.

"You have a live turkey in your back yard."

She nodded. "That's for tomorrow . . . oh!" She understood, for real this time. He was here for dinner after all.

She took his hand and led him through the house, out the back door.

He glanced up at her, smiling broadly. His red eyes glowed softly. "Is it the right day yet?"

She glanced at her luminescent watch. "Two minutes after midnight."

He rubbed his hands together. "May I?"

She gestured toward the small wire enclosure with the turkey. "Drain it dry." As he pulled open the fence, she added, "Happy Thanksgiving."