A/N: Wishing everyone a very happy JixAnny 2026! This story is set in the 31 Ghosts universe. If you haven't read 31 Things to Do in Sleepyside When You're Dead, you can find that story (Book?) here. This can be read alone, but it will make a heckuva lot more sense if you've read 31 Ghosts first! PG-13 and this is a Trixie/Dan world.
Pause for a moment. Just want to let you think this through. Say you're a witch. And you can see dead people who need your help fixing things and righting wrongs so they can move on to... wherever. Cool, huh? Yeah. It can be. But also say one of these dead people is an unpredictable guy who maybe might have been a mobster when he was still a living and breathing member of the human population. And now you know him as Very Headless Vernon for a good reason. Also, say your hometown is just a stone's throw from Sleepy Hollow, New York. Probably, you don't wanna convince Vernon it would be fun to dress up and pretend to be the Headless Horseman. 'Cause it turns out? The Headless Horseman? Has absolutely no sense of humor and things can get pretty hairy when he shows up. That whole flying, flaming pumpkin thing that looks so awesome in the movies? Not so much in real life. You just wanna trust me on this one, okay? Seriously. This is one of those times when it's literally best not to play with fire.
Part 1 (Jixanny Prompt One: The Butler Did It)
March 25
“Go! Go! Go!” Dan Mangan bellowed as he bolted out of the old, abandoned barn, waving his arms wildly.
Mart Belden did not need to be told twice, much less three times. In fact, probably just seeing his best friend racing toward him with such a panicked expression would have been enough without a single “Go!” lobbed in his direction. He spun on his heels and sprinted toward the parked van roughly a hundred yards away, racing along with Dan just a few steps back. He had no idea what exactly they were attempting to outrun, but he figured such details could wait.
The sun was low on the horizon, a blazing ball of red fire that turned the entire sky into an orange and yellow backdrop for the scattered clouds that drifted slowly along, remnants of the storm that had soaked much of the area earlier that day. He splashed through a few scattered mud puddles, aware that he would likely be unhappy with the state of his favorite pair of blue jeans whenever he found time later to survey the damage. Inanely, he found himself wondering if they shouldn’t possibly consider some kind of easy-to-wash uniforms for evenings like this. Polyester, maybe. Something bleach-proof. Scrubs? Were scrubs a good choice when it came time for another battle with the Angry Dead?
His sister was sitting behind the wheel, staring at them through the windshield with wide eyes as they rapidly approached. It took Mart a moment to realize she wasn’t looking directly at them, but rather at something behind them. It was enough to spur him into what may have been the fastest sprint of his life. He hurled himself inside the van’s open passenger side door, quickly scrambling to the back to allow room for Dan.
Trixie threw the van into reverse and stomped on the gas pedal as soon as both boys were inside. The tires spewed up gravel as the vehicle shot backward, and Mart rolled sideways on the bench seat. Just as she spun the wheel, going into a hard turn, Mart finally turned to look out the back window.
“Wha – what?” he sputtered in complete disbelief. For a moment his mind, usually so full of a mix of everything from scattered thoughts about upcoming school exams to whatever earworm song had taken up residence, went entirely blank. This wasn’t possible. It just Was. Not. Possible.
In the past five months, they had witnessed things that only a year before, Mart would have denied without question were nothing but fantasy horror novel plots or the rantings of a singularly unhinged mind.
But this… this was something else again altogether
.
“I think we’ve lost him,” Trixie told them, glancing in the rearview mirror as she took a screeching turn onto Albany Post Road, gripping the wheel as tightly as she could. She fought to keep the careening van from spinning off into the alarmingly deep ditch looming up on their right.
“At – least – for - now,” Dan replied between hard, gulping breaths. “But – we are gonna – need a plan.”
“Yeah, ya think?” Mart exclaimed, still struggling to process the latest shift in what he understood to be real. He reached for the seatbelt and strapped himself in. “That – I – yeah…” he trailed off for a moment as he rubbed his face with one hand. “Yeah,” he said again. “We definitely have a problem and we’re going to need a plan, all right. We’re going to need all the plans we have ever had, and then some we haven’t even thought of yet.”
Trixie shook her head and laughed ruefully. “Right? I don’t suppose anyone knows who the Ghostbusters call for help? Because I think we may have just hit something way above our paygrade.”
________________________________________
Two weeks earlier…
March 11
Dan Mangan stood near the center of the Sleepyside High drama storeroom, surrounded by a chaotic jumble of velvet capes, plastic swords, and moth-eaten period dresses. He turned a slow, wary circle.
He was alone. Truly alone.
The silence made his skin crawl. He supposed most people would pay good money for a room that wasn’t inhabited by Spirits from Beyond, but for Dan, the absence of ghosts was an alarm bell. A room this full of old energy and forgotten history should have at least one "lost soul" lingering in the In-Between.
In Dan’s experience, ghosts only avoided a place for two reasons: either there was nothing left to hold them, or there was something nearby that made them want to be "double dead."
Poltergeists. The rank-and-file ghosts—the confused, the sneaky, the stubborn—were terrified of them. Dan couldn't blame them. He’d witnessed first hand what happened when raw, trapped emotion manifested in the physical world. He’d seen windows implode at a car dealership and a garden shed combust for no reason. And the homecoming dance... he was of the firm opinion it was best never to speak of that event ever again.
He huffed out a breath, trying to shake the memory. “All right,” he said to the empty air. “Any angry ghoulies hiding in the wings? I’m solo today, but I can still hold my own. Let me find what I’m looking for, and I’ll be on my merry way.”
“That sounds like a solid plan,” a deep voice rumbled from the doorway.
Dan let out a sharp, high-pitched yelp and spun around, nearly tripping over a trunk of pirate hats. He glared at the spirit leaning against the doorframe. “Vernon!” he snapped. “How many times do we have to tell you? Do not sneak up on any of us!” He paused and frowned slightly. “And what are you doing down here anyway? I woulda thought a school wasn’t really your style.”
Vernon considered the question, giving a slow, thoughtful nod. Dan watched with weary resignation as Vernon’s head pitched forward, detached from his neck, and fell to the floor with a dull thump.
“Dangit.” Vernon’s voice was muffled as he spoke, his face pressed up against a plastic bin filled with, as far as Dan could see, a rather impressive collection of clown wigs. “Little help here, kid?” Vernon asked plaintively.
Dan steeled himself and knelt. Touching a ghost was a sensation he’d never get used to—a greasy, static-electric "wrongness" that defied every law of the universe. “You have to stop nodding, dude. Nodding is no bueno for you.” He hoisted the head back into place with a visible shudder. “Yeesh.”
“I’m here because I need a favor,” Vernon said, tugging his head side-to-side until it sat straight. “I try to respect your office hours, you know, but the lines lately have been ridiculous.”
“Yeah, well, we’ve been busy,” Dan muttered, stepping back. “Strangely busy, to tell you the truth. We’re starting to wonder if something’s up.”
“Hmmm. I haven’t heard anything, but I can ask around. Meanwhile, I’ve been waiting to catch any of you alone, and you’ve presented the first opportunity. I figured you’d just ignored me if I spoke to you in one of your classes.”
“Uh, huh. That comes from not wanting to look like a raving lunatic as I have an apparent one-sided conversation with thin air.”
“Right, which is why I followed you down here,” Vernon explained. “I need you, Mart, or Trixie to do some of that... magnificent magic you do. I need to change my look.”
Dan arched a skeptical brow, eyeing Vernon’s outdated attire. “You finally tired of the Vegas Mobster aesthetic?”
“I’ve met someone,” Vernon said, straightening up and speaking with all the dignity he could muster. “I’d like her to see me as the respectable man I am.”
Dan stared at him for a long beat. “Are you telling me you’re dating? Ghosts date? For real? I mean I know we did that one favor for your ‘lady friend,’ but I thought she was just that. A friend and a lady.”
Vernon waved a dismissive hand and shrugged, coming dangerously close to losing his head again. “Nah. You were right there. Margret’s an old friend but she’s still too busy proving a woman needs no man to consider any kind of romantic relationship, no matter how casual. But sure, kid. We ghosts date. Why shouldn’t we? Why shouldn't we enjoy the company of a nice-looking broad every now and then?”
“Okay, first of all? If you want to be 'respectable,' never use the word 'broad' again. Ever.” Dan turned to a nearby trunk and threw the lid open. “And as for the spell... no promises of any ‘magnificent magic’. We’re nothing but newbie amateurs, remember? My uncle still hasn't fully forgiven us for our last attempt at casting a new spell.”
Vernon grinned widely. “I heard about that. He remembered how to speak English yet?”
“Mostly. He still slips into Gaeilge when he’s annoyed. We tried to use Google Translate on one of Great-Grandmother’s old scrolls, and it backfired spectacularly. So consider this a warning. Any spell we cook up for your wardrobe could go very, very sideways.”
“I’m willing to take the risk. I have faith in you, my boy.”
Dan didn’t bother hiding his doubtful look. “Right. I’ll speak to Mart and see what we can do. In the meantime, Mr. Keats sent me down here to find some Revolutionary War costumes he insists are here somewhere. He’s got this wacky idea that it would be fun to do some kind of reenactment.”
________________________________________
March 13
“That was way easier than it should have been,” Dan said slowly as he and Mart walked down the empty hallway. As usual for the last day of the school week, the student body had cleared out within minutes of the final bell. Aside from a distracted teacher juggling a stack of essays, they were alone. “Is it always like that for you?” he asked curiously.
Mart grinned as he held out both hands, palms up. “What can I say? The teachers here love me.”
“Yeah, but I mean, you really can just walk into the office half an hour after school gets out and say, ‘Hi, there. I’m working on a project and I’d like to borrow some items from the theater department. Mrs. Hardy says it’s fine.’ And no one bats an eye?”
“Reputation, Daniel-san. It’s a powerful currency,” Mart confirmed. “There are benefits to being an excellent student with a stellar reputation, you know.”
Dan rolled his eyes. “And it doesn’t hurt that you’re such a humble guy, too!”
They rounded a corner and came to an abrupt halt.
“Well, then,” Dan said evenly, with a quick glance in Mart’s direction. “Rock, paper, scissors?”
Mart nodded and set down the duffle bag he was carrying. “But none of this best two out of three business you always try to pull when you lose.”
“Would I do that?” Dan demanded with exaggerated innocence, smacking his balled-up fist against his other hand.
“Only on days that end with a ‘y’,” Mart replied dryly. “Ready?”
“Ha!” Dan declared triumphantly a moment later. “Probably, you shouldn’t have been so quick to dismiss two out of three, my friend.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Mart grumbled. “I knew I should’ve gone with paper. All right. Give me a minute.” He drew in a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and sauntered forward. “Ladies,” he called cheerfully. “What brings you to the hallowed halls of academia on this fine Friday the 13th?”
The taller of the two women spun to face him. “Excuse me? Are you speakin’ to me, young man?”
Mart flashed her a wide smile. “That I am. But if you don’t mind me saying, you seem to be… lost? That is, we don’t typically get… uh, women dressed in prison garb just for fun and not in any way because they’re actual prisoners who broke out of jail… wandering our school a few weeks before Spring Break. Or, well, ever, really.”
“They’re on to us!” the other woman squeaked, clutching a cloth bag close to her chest. “Ginny, we gotta get outta here. The fuzz is everywhere!”
“No! I’m telling you, Babs, this is the perfect place to hide out ‘til the coast is clear, and then we can make a run for the border.”
Mart nodded gravely. “I concur. And guess what. It worked! The coast is absolutely clear as can be. So you ladies make that run. I hear Canada is simply lovely this time of year. Freedom awaits!”
Ginny stared at him with narrowed eyes. “How do we know we can trust you? Maybe this is a trap and the coppers are waiting for us right outside!”
“Yeah… about that.” Mart tilted his head to one side. “The coppers left a good six or seven decades ago. Prisoners haven’t worn stripes since, like, the seventies. It’s all solid colors now. Like blue. Or orange. But how about this? Let’s go into this classroom. It has windows facing the front and you can see for yourself, there are no police around anywhere.”
Or, hopefully not, he thought with a slight inward cringe. It would so be their luck a cruiser was passing by at just the right moment. Wrong moment? Maybe he needed to ask Dan to do a quick, “No cops here,” statement into the universe since the universe seemed frequently inclined to humor his random declarations and thoughts.
With a low snort, he pulled open the classroom door after the two women passed straight through it. He watched in no small amusement as they crept cautiously forward, ducked down, then carefully rose up to peer hesitantly between the miniblind slats. There was some whispered conversation and they faded quietly away.
Mart rejoined Dan in the hallway. “Right. Sorted. Now, let’s get to the storeroom before we run into any more of the spectral chain gang. Vernon’s probably already there and waiting for us.” He grabbed his bag and hefted it up onto his shoulder. “If this dry run works, maybe we’ll even have time to make it over to Crimpers so he can pick out the actual outfit he wants, too.”
________________________________________
Trixie stepped out the back door of The Crescent Moon and froze, sucking in a sharp breath. David only just managed to stop himself from colliding with her. The alleyway was quiet. A discarded burger wrapper was picked up by the light afternoon breeze and it tumbled away to come to rest against the right front tire of his Corolla. Distantly, he heard the sound of the typical Friday traffic out on Main Street two blocks over, but here, the silence was almost complete. There was a chill in the air, a reminder that winter was not quite ready to yield to spring. David zipped up his jacket and thought longingly of his grandmother’s chicken soup.
Trixie took two small steps forward and waved a hand over her head. “Please!” she shouted. “Please! If you all talk at once, I can’t hear any of you! You know the rules! Until you line up in an orderly fashion, Office Hours will not start!”
“Are there a lot again?” David asked, studying his young friend with some concern. “Maybe we should cancel today?”
“No. No, it’ll be okay.” Trixie sighed as she leaned to one side, her eyes narrowed as she peered at something he couldn’t see. “I mean, yeah, we’re gonna be here for awhile, but the more I can help today, hopefully the less we’ll have showing up tomorrow. I knew what I was getting into. It’s good that Dan and Mart went to help Vernon. We owe him big after all his help with that bonkers rodeo clown who was haunting the Bookmobile.” She drew in several deep breaths and stepped a little forward. “All right! Ladies and gentlemen, in case you are brand new to the In-Between and Office Hours, here are the ru – “ she cut herself off suddenly, her mouth hanging sightly open. She looked at David, then the alley, then back to David again. She pointed toward the brown metal dumpster. “Do – do you see a dog?” she asked him hesitantly.
David’s brows shot up. “No. No dog.”
“Ok… Professor? We have a ghost dog. A ghost dog! Did we know animals could be ghosts? How come we haven’t seen any other ghost animals?” she demanded in a rush. Before he could frame an answer, she rose slightly on her toes. “Listen up!” she called loudly. “Whose dog is that? Anyone? Does anyone claim the dog?”
There was a long moment before Trixie shook her head, rocking back on her heels. “Ok. No. Right. Mark this down as ‘Thing We Must Research Immediately,’ Professor.” She squatted down and patted her knee. “C’mere, puppy…. Yes, that’s it, come here. I won’t hurt you. That’s it… you’re safe.”
David watched as she reached out a hand and turned it slowly, her fingers, as far as he could see, grasping nothing but air. “Let’s see what this says,” she murmured softly. “Oh, there we go. Hello, Barney. You are a very handsome little old man!” She smiled and gently patted the space in front of her. “Now, you listen to me, Barney. You know who’s a good boy? You! You are a good boy. You are the goodest boy there ever was! And now it’s time for you to go to the big, wonderful Field of Play where you can run free and no more old painful joints to slow you down and no more spots in your eyes and you can eat whatever you like. Doggies never have to wait in the In-Between. You go now, my goodest, bestest boy. Your work here is done.”
David found himself blinking hard and he fought back an embarrassed chuckle. Really, after all he’d seen, or at least heard, these past several months, was it really going to be an invisible dog that brought him to tears?
Trixie rose and he could see her eyes were suspiciously moist as well. She held one hand up. “New rule!” she said firmly in a raised voice. “Any more doggos show up and they go straight to the front of the line! This is absolutely non-negotiable! Now, who’s first?”
________________________________________
“Right,” Mart said as he took in the assorted clutter that filled the storeroom. “First, we need to pick something we can try this spell out on. I’m thinking we start small. Like a hat?”
Grinning, Dan scooped up a baby bonnet from an open trunk and held it out. “How about this one?” he asked. “I think it would bring out the lovely shade of his eyes.”
“Sure, kid,” Vernon agreed seriously. “But unfortunately, it’s way too small.”
“Technically, it isn’t,” Mart told him as he bent down to open his bag. “This spell isn’t really going to change your clothes so much as let you… inhabit other items. So size isn’t really an issue. It should basically adjust to you as part of the enchantment. Assuming the spell works correctly. Or, you know, at all.”
Dan shot his friend an uncertain look. “Wait. Are you saying your spell is gonna let Vernon possess clothing?” he demanded, not sure whether to be impressed or alarmed by the thought.
“Not quite,” Mart replied with a quick smile, “though I guess there’re some similarities. Think of it more as a reverse of what we do when we pick up his head. You know how we have to concentrate hard to physically touch a ghost because of their non-corporeal nature? Well, this spell should ‘activate’ a physical item so a spirit can touch it and interact with it.” He sat down on the floor and spread out a small cloth.
Dan walked over to a prop table and picked up a gaudy plastic crown. “Would this work?” He brought it to Mart and held it out.
Mart accepted the crown with a visible wince “Someone wore this… on purpose?”
“Theater kids gotta do what theater kids do,” Dan replied with a small shrug. “You know how bad all the club budgets are. Probably they were just glad they weren’t wearing a prop courtesy of the local Burger King.”
________________________________________
The late afternoon sun sent reddish rays streaming through the window to dimly light the back room of The Crescent Moon that served as a combination work area and storeroom.
“Are you all right?’ David asked quietly as he watched Trixie dig around in her backpack.
She nodded without meeting his eyes, then frowned and shook her head. “No. No, I’m really not. The ghost dog thing… I don’t like it. For a lot of reasons, but especially because it’s making my Spidey sense really tingle.” With a small sigh, she turned and leaned against the table that served as Mart’s workbench for his research and experiments. She crossed her arms over her chest and fought a shiver. “Am I being unreasonable?”
“I find no fault in your reasoning, Trixie,” David told her. “We are navigating a truly unprecedented landscape, and I suspect none of us had properly weighed the possibility of spectral fauna. It presents a most intriguing set of inquiries.”
A slow grin replaced Trixie’s pensive expression. “Yes, Charlie, it really does. You know, I think if we had met you a few years ago when Mart was still trying to impress people with his thesaurus imitations, the conversations between you two would have been really hard to follow. But I'm also beginning to suspect you go full-on Dickens on me just for the laugh.”
“I have no idea what you mean,” David said, though his answering smile gave him away.
________________________________________
“Dude,” Dan muttered. “I mean, I’m totally in awe that this worked. But I think it worked a little too well?”
"I... LOVE.... YOU, Baby! And if it's quite all right, I need you, Baby, to warm the lonely night..."
He glanced over at Mart. "Who is he supposed to be this time?" he asked in confusion. " I mean, I got Caesar. I got the singing nun the moment he hit that 'The hills are alive...' line, but I'm not sure on this one?"
They both watched as Vernon grabbed his head with his free hand to keep it from falling as he strutted back across the floor, wildly swinging a black cane. "Not sure," Mart replied. "I think he's just making it up at this point."
Dan nodded thoughtfully at that. "Dude," he said again after a short pause. "Our lives are so weird."
Vernon turned toward them and replaced the bowler hat on his head at a jaunty angle. “I will have you know, young sir,” he said in a surprisingly credible English accent, “that I once had aspirations to the stage and would have been quite the showman, thank you very much.” He drew himself up and looked down his nose at them. “I believe I would have been an especially spectacular Jeeves, if you must know.”
Dan held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “You’ll get no arguments from me.”
“Unfortunately, my life took a different turn,” Vernon continued with a sigh. “Though I did once act the role of servant for Mickey the Mop. It was a scam of course, just to get some guys from New Jersey in on a deal, but I was very convincing.”
“Was… this a case of ‘the butler did it,’ that we don’t really want to know about?” Dan asked with a small wince.
“Nah, relax, kid. Nothing like that.”
Dan huffed out a breath and pushed himself to his feet, looking around for any other potential props or costumes for Mart to enchant next. “Good to know,” he said. “And I’m still going with the less we know the better.”
“Hold up,” Mart said, eying Vernon doubtfully. “I have questions. Mickey the Mop? Seriously?”
“Yeah, well, he was a cleaner so… you know, the Mop.”
“Oh, right. Of course,” Mart said with a slow nod. “Makes perfect sense. A cleaner. For the mob. That kind of cleaner.”
“See?” Dan told him. “We really don’t want to know.” He pulled aside a metal rack and let out a low whistle. “Oh… now, this! This is what we need to try. Vernon, my man, it practically has your name written on it.”
“What?” Vernon asked curiously, setting down the cane and stepping closer. “Wait. Is that – oh, now hang on!”
Dan turned, holding up an old-fashioned, military-style jacket. “Dude! Come on! The Headless Horseman! You gotta!” He studied the coat for a moment, then removed a tarnished medal pinned to it. “This should work, yeah?”
Mart shrugged. “Probably? We’ve been successful with everything else we’ve tried so far. But maybe pin it back on, just to be sure the coat is part of the spell, too.”
“I haven't agreed to this,” Vernon mumbled. “Are you two making fun of the headless guy right now?”
“Never!” Dan exclaimed in a mock-horrified tone. “As if we would ever! But c’mon. It’s the Headless Horseman! You’ll do the Singing Nun, but not the role you were born to? Er… died to?”
“All right, kid,” Vernon agreed grudgingly. “I guess it would be pretty funny.”
Dan handed the coat to Mart then sat down across from him again. Mart ran his fingers over the material and gently touched the medal. “Not so much the other props, but this one is really good,” he murmured thoughtfully. “I wonder if it was a real medal some kid found in his great-grandfather’s World War II memorabilia or something.” He picked up a pinch of the powder he’d mixed and sprinkled it over the coat. "Vi Trium, ad medium hoc ducite,” he chanted quietly. “Let it be.”
________________________________________
Trixie slung her backpack over her shoulder and slipped her phone into her pocket. “All right,” she said as she glanced at her watch. “That sounds like a plan, Charlie. I’ll call Honey and – “
David watched in startled concern as Trixie let out a low gasp and leaned over the table, both hands palms down as if she was struggling to remain standing and needed the additional support. “What?” he asked in alarm. “Trixie? Are you all right?”
She let out a low, shaky breath. “Okay,” she said after a moment. “You’re probably gonna think this is nuts, but…”
“Yes?”
“I was just hit with this feeling. And the only way I can think of to describe it is to steal a line from Obi Wan. There was a great disturbance in the force.” She sent him a doubtful, worried look, swallowing hard. “And to borrow another Star Wars line? I’ve got a bad feeling about this. A really bad feeling. I feel like… like…” she trailed off helplessly for a moment, then shook her head hard. “I feel like something, somewhere just… woke up.”
March 25
“Go! Go! Go!” Dan Mangan bellowed as he bolted out of the old, abandoned barn, waving his arms wildly.
Mart Belden did not need to be told twice, much less three times. In fact, probably just seeing his best friend racing toward him with such a panicked expression would have been enough without a single “Go!” lobbed in his direction. He spun on his heels and sprinted toward the parked van roughly a hundred yards away, racing along with Dan just a few steps back. He had no idea what exactly they were attempting to outrun, but he figured such details could wait.
The sun was low on the horizon, a blazing ball of red fire that turned the entire sky into an orange and yellow backdrop for the scattered clouds that drifted slowly along, remnants of the storm that had soaked much of the area earlier that day. He splashed through a few scattered mud puddles, aware that he would likely be unhappy with the state of his favorite pair of blue jeans whenever he found time later to survey the damage. Inanely, he found himself wondering if they shouldn’t possibly consider some kind of easy-to-wash uniforms for evenings like this. Polyester, maybe. Something bleach-proof. Scrubs? Were scrubs a good choice when it came time for another battle with the Angry Dead?
His sister was sitting behind the wheel, staring at them through the windshield with wide eyes as they rapidly approached. It took Mart a moment to realize she wasn’t looking directly at them, but rather at something behind them. It was enough to spur him into what may have been the fastest sprint of his life. He hurled himself inside the van’s open passenger side door, quickly scrambling to the back to allow room for Dan.
Trixie threw the van into reverse and stomped on the gas pedal as soon as both boys were inside. The tires spewed up gravel as the vehicle shot backward, and Mart rolled sideways on the bench seat. Just as she spun the wheel, going into a hard turn, Mart finally turned to look out the back window.
“Wha – what?” he sputtered in complete disbelief. For a moment his mind, usually so full of a mix of everything from scattered thoughts about upcoming school exams to whatever earworm song had taken up residence, went entirely blank. This wasn’t possible. It just Was. Not. Possible.
In the past five months, they had witnessed things that only a year before, Mart would have denied without question were nothing but fantasy horror novel plots or the rantings of a singularly unhinged mind.
But this… this was something else again altogether
.
“I think we’ve lost him,” Trixie told them, glancing in the rearview mirror as she took a screeching turn onto Albany Post Road, gripping the wheel as tightly as she could. She fought to keep the careening van from spinning off into the alarmingly deep ditch looming up on their right.
“At – least – for - now,” Dan replied between hard, gulping breaths. “But – we are gonna – need a plan.”
“Yeah, ya think?” Mart exclaimed, still struggling to process the latest shift in what he understood to be real. He reached for the seatbelt and strapped himself in. “That – I – yeah…” he trailed off for a moment as he rubbed his face with one hand. “Yeah,” he said again. “We definitely have a problem and we’re going to need a plan, all right. We’re going to need all the plans we have ever had, and then some we haven’t even thought of yet.”
Trixie shook her head and laughed ruefully. “Right? I don’t suppose anyone knows who the Ghostbusters call for help? Because I think we may have just hit something way above our paygrade.”
________________________________________
Two weeks earlier…
March 11
Dan Mangan stood near the center of the Sleepyside High drama storeroom, surrounded by a chaotic jumble of velvet capes, plastic swords, and moth-eaten period dresses. He turned a slow, wary circle.
He was alone. Truly alone.
The silence made his skin crawl. He supposed most people would pay good money for a room that wasn’t inhabited by Spirits from Beyond, but for Dan, the absence of ghosts was an alarm bell. A room this full of old energy and forgotten history should have at least one "lost soul" lingering in the In-Between.
In Dan’s experience, ghosts only avoided a place for two reasons: either there was nothing left to hold them, or there was something nearby that made them want to be "double dead."
Poltergeists. The rank-and-file ghosts—the confused, the sneaky, the stubborn—were terrified of them. Dan couldn't blame them. He’d witnessed first hand what happened when raw, trapped emotion manifested in the physical world. He’d seen windows implode at a car dealership and a garden shed combust for no reason. And the homecoming dance... he was of the firm opinion it was best never to speak of that event ever again.
He huffed out a breath, trying to shake the memory. “All right,” he said to the empty air. “Any angry ghoulies hiding in the wings? I’m solo today, but I can still hold my own. Let me find what I’m looking for, and I’ll be on my merry way.”
“That sounds like a solid plan,” a deep voice rumbled from the doorway.
Dan let out a sharp, high-pitched yelp and spun around, nearly tripping over a trunk of pirate hats. He glared at the spirit leaning against the doorframe. “Vernon!” he snapped. “How many times do we have to tell you? Do not sneak up on any of us!” He paused and frowned slightly. “And what are you doing down here anyway? I woulda thought a school wasn’t really your style.”
Vernon considered the question, giving a slow, thoughtful nod. Dan watched with weary resignation as Vernon’s head pitched forward, detached from his neck, and fell to the floor with a dull thump.
“Dangit.” Vernon’s voice was muffled as he spoke, his face pressed up against a plastic bin filled with, as far as Dan could see, a rather impressive collection of clown wigs. “Little help here, kid?” Vernon asked plaintively.
Dan steeled himself and knelt. Touching a ghost was a sensation he’d never get used to—a greasy, static-electric "wrongness" that defied every law of the universe. “You have to stop nodding, dude. Nodding is no bueno for you.” He hoisted the head back into place with a visible shudder. “Yeesh.”
“I’m here because I need a favor,” Vernon said, tugging his head side-to-side until it sat straight. “I try to respect your office hours, you know, but the lines lately have been ridiculous.”
“Yeah, well, we’ve been busy,” Dan muttered, stepping back. “Strangely busy, to tell you the truth. We’re starting to wonder if something’s up.”
“Hmmm. I haven’t heard anything, but I can ask around. Meanwhile, I’ve been waiting to catch any of you alone, and you’ve presented the first opportunity. I figured you’d just ignored me if I spoke to you in one of your classes.”
“Uh, huh. That comes from not wanting to look like a raving lunatic as I have an apparent one-sided conversation with thin air.”
“Right, which is why I followed you down here,” Vernon explained. “I need you, Mart, or Trixie to do some of that... magnificent magic you do. I need to change my look.”
Dan arched a skeptical brow, eyeing Vernon’s outdated attire. “You finally tired of the Vegas Mobster aesthetic?”
“I’ve met someone,” Vernon said, straightening up and speaking with all the dignity he could muster. “I’d like her to see me as the respectable man I am.”
Dan stared at him for a long beat. “Are you telling me you’re dating? Ghosts date? For real? I mean I know we did that one favor for your ‘lady friend,’ but I thought she was just that. A friend and a lady.”
Vernon waved a dismissive hand and shrugged, coming dangerously close to losing his head again. “Nah. You were right there. Margret’s an old friend but she’s still too busy proving a woman needs no man to consider any kind of romantic relationship, no matter how casual. But sure, kid. We ghosts date. Why shouldn’t we? Why shouldn't we enjoy the company of a nice-looking broad every now and then?”
“Okay, first of all? If you want to be 'respectable,' never use the word 'broad' again. Ever.” Dan turned to a nearby trunk and threw the lid open. “And as for the spell... no promises of any ‘magnificent magic’. We’re nothing but newbie amateurs, remember? My uncle still hasn't fully forgiven us for our last attempt at casting a new spell.”
Vernon grinned widely. “I heard about that. He remembered how to speak English yet?”
“Mostly. He still slips into Gaeilge when he’s annoyed. We tried to use Google Translate on one of Great-Grandmother’s old scrolls, and it backfired spectacularly. So consider this a warning. Any spell we cook up for your wardrobe could go very, very sideways.”
“I’m willing to take the risk. I have faith in you, my boy.”
Dan didn’t bother hiding his doubtful look. “Right. I’ll speak to Mart and see what we can do. In the meantime, Mr. Keats sent me down here to find some Revolutionary War costumes he insists are here somewhere. He’s got this wacky idea that it would be fun to do some kind of reenactment.”
________________________________________
March 13
“That was way easier than it should have been,” Dan said slowly as he and Mart walked down the empty hallway. As usual for the last day of the school week, the student body had cleared out within minutes of the final bell. Aside from a distracted teacher juggling a stack of essays, they were alone. “Is it always like that for you?” he asked curiously.
Mart grinned as he held out both hands, palms up. “What can I say? The teachers here love me.”
“Yeah, but I mean, you really can just walk into the office half an hour after school gets out and say, ‘Hi, there. I’m working on a project and I’d like to borrow some items from the theater department. Mrs. Hardy says it’s fine.’ And no one bats an eye?”
“Reputation, Daniel-san. It’s a powerful currency,” Mart confirmed. “There are benefits to being an excellent student with a stellar reputation, you know.”
Dan rolled his eyes. “And it doesn’t hurt that you’re such a humble guy, too!”
They rounded a corner and came to an abrupt halt.
“Well, then,” Dan said evenly, with a quick glance in Mart’s direction. “Rock, paper, scissors?”
Mart nodded and set down the duffle bag he was carrying. “But none of this best two out of three business you always try to pull when you lose.”
“Would I do that?” Dan demanded with exaggerated innocence, smacking his balled-up fist against his other hand.
“Only on days that end with a ‘y’,” Mart replied dryly. “Ready?”
“Ha!” Dan declared triumphantly a moment later. “Probably, you shouldn’t have been so quick to dismiss two out of three, my friend.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Mart grumbled. “I knew I should’ve gone with paper. All right. Give me a minute.” He drew in a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and sauntered forward. “Ladies,” he called cheerfully. “What brings you to the hallowed halls of academia on this fine Friday the 13th?”
The taller of the two women spun to face him. “Excuse me? Are you speakin’ to me, young man?”
Mart flashed her a wide smile. “That I am. But if you don’t mind me saying, you seem to be… lost? That is, we don’t typically get… uh, women dressed in prison garb just for fun and not in any way because they’re actual prisoners who broke out of jail… wandering our school a few weeks before Spring Break. Or, well, ever, really.”
“They’re on to us!” the other woman squeaked, clutching a cloth bag close to her chest. “Ginny, we gotta get outta here. The fuzz is everywhere!”
“No! I’m telling you, Babs, this is the perfect place to hide out ‘til the coast is clear, and then we can make a run for the border.”
Mart nodded gravely. “I concur. And guess what. It worked! The coast is absolutely clear as can be. So you ladies make that run. I hear Canada is simply lovely this time of year. Freedom awaits!”
Ginny stared at him with narrowed eyes. “How do we know we can trust you? Maybe this is a trap and the coppers are waiting for us right outside!”
“Yeah… about that.” Mart tilted his head to one side. “The coppers left a good six or seven decades ago. Prisoners haven’t worn stripes since, like, the seventies. It’s all solid colors now. Like blue. Or orange. But how about this? Let’s go into this classroom. It has windows facing the front and you can see for yourself, there are no police around anywhere.”
Or, hopefully not, he thought with a slight inward cringe. It would so be their luck a cruiser was passing by at just the right moment. Wrong moment? Maybe he needed to ask Dan to do a quick, “No cops here,” statement into the universe since the universe seemed frequently inclined to humor his random declarations and thoughts.
With a low snort, he pulled open the classroom door after the two women passed straight through it. He watched in no small amusement as they crept cautiously forward, ducked down, then carefully rose up to peer hesitantly between the miniblind slats. There was some whispered conversation and they faded quietly away.
Mart rejoined Dan in the hallway. “Right. Sorted. Now, let’s get to the storeroom before we run into any more of the spectral chain gang. Vernon’s probably already there and waiting for us.” He grabbed his bag and hefted it up onto his shoulder. “If this dry run works, maybe we’ll even have time to make it over to Crimpers so he can pick out the actual outfit he wants, too.”
________________________________________
Trixie stepped out the back door of The Crescent Moon and froze, sucking in a sharp breath. David only just managed to stop himself from colliding with her. The alleyway was quiet. A discarded burger wrapper was picked up by the light afternoon breeze and it tumbled away to come to rest against the right front tire of his Corolla. Distantly, he heard the sound of the typical Friday traffic out on Main Street two blocks over, but here, the silence was almost complete. There was a chill in the air, a reminder that winter was not quite ready to yield to spring. David zipped up his jacket and thought longingly of his grandmother’s chicken soup.
Trixie took two small steps forward and waved a hand over her head. “Please!” she shouted. “Please! If you all talk at once, I can’t hear any of you! You know the rules! Until you line up in an orderly fashion, Office Hours will not start!”
“Are there a lot again?” David asked, studying his young friend with some concern. “Maybe we should cancel today?”
“No. No, it’ll be okay.” Trixie sighed as she leaned to one side, her eyes narrowed as she peered at something he couldn’t see. “I mean, yeah, we’re gonna be here for awhile, but the more I can help today, hopefully the less we’ll have showing up tomorrow. I knew what I was getting into. It’s good that Dan and Mart went to help Vernon. We owe him big after all his help with that bonkers rodeo clown who was haunting the Bookmobile.” She drew in several deep breaths and stepped a little forward. “All right! Ladies and gentlemen, in case you are brand new to the In-Between and Office Hours, here are the ru – “ she cut herself off suddenly, her mouth hanging sightly open. She looked at David, then the alley, then back to David again. She pointed toward the brown metal dumpster. “Do – do you see a dog?” she asked him hesitantly.
David’s brows shot up. “No. No dog.”
“Ok… Professor? We have a ghost dog. A ghost dog! Did we know animals could be ghosts? How come we haven’t seen any other ghost animals?” she demanded in a rush. Before he could frame an answer, she rose slightly on her toes. “Listen up!” she called loudly. “Whose dog is that? Anyone? Does anyone claim the dog?”
There was a long moment before Trixie shook her head, rocking back on her heels. “Ok. No. Right. Mark this down as ‘Thing We Must Research Immediately,’ Professor.” She squatted down and patted her knee. “C’mere, puppy…. Yes, that’s it, come here. I won’t hurt you. That’s it… you’re safe.”
David watched as she reached out a hand and turned it slowly, her fingers, as far as he could see, grasping nothing but air. “Let’s see what this says,” she murmured softly. “Oh, there we go. Hello, Barney. You are a very handsome little old man!” She smiled and gently patted the space in front of her. “Now, you listen to me, Barney. You know who’s a good boy? You! You are a good boy. You are the goodest boy there ever was! And now it’s time for you to go to the big, wonderful Field of Play where you can run free and no more old painful joints to slow you down and no more spots in your eyes and you can eat whatever you like. Doggies never have to wait in the In-Between. You go now, my goodest, bestest boy. Your work here is done.”
David found himself blinking hard and he fought back an embarrassed chuckle. Really, after all he’d seen, or at least heard, these past several months, was it really going to be an invisible dog that brought him to tears?
Trixie rose and he could see her eyes were suspiciously moist as well. She held one hand up. “New rule!” she said firmly in a raised voice. “Any more doggos show up and they go straight to the front of the line! This is absolutely non-negotiable! Now, who’s first?”
________________________________________
“Right,” Mart said as he took in the assorted clutter that filled the storeroom. “First, we need to pick something we can try this spell out on. I’m thinking we start small. Like a hat?”
Grinning, Dan scooped up a baby bonnet from an open trunk and held it out. “How about this one?” he asked. “I think it would bring out the lovely shade of his eyes.”
“Sure, kid,” Vernon agreed seriously. “But unfortunately, it’s way too small.”
“Technically, it isn’t,” Mart told him as he bent down to open his bag. “This spell isn’t really going to change your clothes so much as let you… inhabit other items. So size isn’t really an issue. It should basically adjust to you as part of the enchantment. Assuming the spell works correctly. Or, you know, at all.”
Dan shot his friend an uncertain look. “Wait. Are you saying your spell is gonna let Vernon possess clothing?” he demanded, not sure whether to be impressed or alarmed by the thought.
“Not quite,” Mart replied with a quick smile, “though I guess there’re some similarities. Think of it more as a reverse of what we do when we pick up his head. You know how we have to concentrate hard to physically touch a ghost because of their non-corporeal nature? Well, this spell should ‘activate’ a physical item so a spirit can touch it and interact with it.” He sat down on the floor and spread out a small cloth.
Dan walked over to a prop table and picked up a gaudy plastic crown. “Would this work?” He brought it to Mart and held it out.
Mart accepted the crown with a visible wince “Someone wore this… on purpose?”
“Theater kids gotta do what theater kids do,” Dan replied with a small shrug. “You know how bad all the club budgets are. Probably they were just glad they weren’t wearing a prop courtesy of the local Burger King.”
________________________________________
The late afternoon sun sent reddish rays streaming through the window to dimly light the back room of The Crescent Moon that served as a combination work area and storeroom.
“Are you all right?’ David asked quietly as he watched Trixie dig around in her backpack.
She nodded without meeting his eyes, then frowned and shook her head. “No. No, I’m really not. The ghost dog thing… I don’t like it. For a lot of reasons, but especially because it’s making my Spidey sense really tingle.” With a small sigh, she turned and leaned against the table that served as Mart’s workbench for his research and experiments. She crossed her arms over her chest and fought a shiver. “Am I being unreasonable?”
“I find no fault in your reasoning, Trixie,” David told her. “We are navigating a truly unprecedented landscape, and I suspect none of us had properly weighed the possibility of spectral fauna. It presents a most intriguing set of inquiries.”
A slow grin replaced Trixie’s pensive expression. “Yes, Charlie, it really does. You know, I think if we had met you a few years ago when Mart was still trying to impress people with his thesaurus imitations, the conversations between you two would have been really hard to follow. But I'm also beginning to suspect you go full-on Dickens on me just for the laugh.”
“I have no idea what you mean,” David said, though his answering smile gave him away.
________________________________________
“Dude,” Dan muttered. “I mean, I’m totally in awe that this worked. But I think it worked a little too well?”
"I... LOVE.... YOU, Baby! And if it's quite all right, I need you, Baby, to warm the lonely night..."
He glanced over at Mart. "Who is he supposed to be this time?" he asked in confusion. " I mean, I got Caesar. I got the singing nun the moment he hit that 'The hills are alive...' line, but I'm not sure on this one?"
They both watched as Vernon grabbed his head with his free hand to keep it from falling as he strutted back across the floor, wildly swinging a black cane. "Not sure," Mart replied. "I think he's just making it up at this point."
Dan nodded thoughtfully at that. "Dude," he said again after a short pause. "Our lives are so weird."
Vernon turned toward them and replaced the bowler hat on his head at a jaunty angle. “I will have you know, young sir,” he said in a surprisingly credible English accent, “that I once had aspirations to the stage and would have been quite the showman, thank you very much.” He drew himself up and looked down his nose at them. “I believe I would have been an especially spectacular Jeeves, if you must know.”
Dan held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “You’ll get no arguments from me.”
“Unfortunately, my life took a different turn,” Vernon continued with a sigh. “Though I did once act the role of servant for Mickey the Mop. It was a scam of course, just to get some guys from New Jersey in on a deal, but I was very convincing.”
“Was… this a case of ‘the butler did it,’ that we don’t really want to know about?” Dan asked with a small wince.
“Nah, relax, kid. Nothing like that.”
Dan huffed out a breath and pushed himself to his feet, looking around for any other potential props or costumes for Mart to enchant next. “Good to know,” he said. “And I’m still going with the less we know the better.”
“Hold up,” Mart said, eying Vernon doubtfully. “I have questions. Mickey the Mop? Seriously?”
“Yeah, well, he was a cleaner so… you know, the Mop.”
“Oh, right. Of course,” Mart said with a slow nod. “Makes perfect sense. A cleaner. For the mob. That kind of cleaner.”
“See?” Dan told him. “We really don’t want to know.” He pulled aside a metal rack and let out a low whistle. “Oh… now, this! This is what we need to try. Vernon, my man, it practically has your name written on it.”
“What?” Vernon asked curiously, setting down the cane and stepping closer. “Wait. Is that – oh, now hang on!”
Dan turned, holding up an old-fashioned, military-style jacket. “Dude! Come on! The Headless Horseman! You gotta!” He studied the coat for a moment, then removed a tarnished medal pinned to it. “This should work, yeah?”
Mart shrugged. “Probably? We’ve been successful with everything else we’ve tried so far. But maybe pin it back on, just to be sure the coat is part of the spell, too.”
“I haven't agreed to this,” Vernon mumbled. “Are you two making fun of the headless guy right now?”
“Never!” Dan exclaimed in a mock-horrified tone. “As if we would ever! But c’mon. It’s the Headless Horseman! You’ll do the Singing Nun, but not the role you were born to? Er… died to?”
“All right, kid,” Vernon agreed grudgingly. “I guess it would be pretty funny.”
Dan handed the coat to Mart then sat down across from him again. Mart ran his fingers over the material and gently touched the medal. “Not so much the other props, but this one is really good,” he murmured thoughtfully. “I wonder if it was a real medal some kid found in his great-grandfather’s World War II memorabilia or something.” He picked up a pinch of the powder he’d mixed and sprinkled it over the coat. "Vi Trium, ad medium hoc ducite,” he chanted quietly. “Let it be.”
________________________________________
Trixie slung her backpack over her shoulder and slipped her phone into her pocket. “All right,” she said as she glanced at her watch. “That sounds like a plan, Charlie. I’ll call Honey and – “
David watched in startled concern as Trixie let out a low gasp and leaned over the table, both hands palms down as if she was struggling to remain standing and needed the additional support. “What?” he asked in alarm. “Trixie? Are you all right?”
She let out a low, shaky breath. “Okay,” she said after a moment. “You’re probably gonna think this is nuts, but…”
“Yes?”
“I was just hit with this feeling. And the only way I can think of to describe it is to steal a line from Obi Wan. There was a great disturbance in the force.” She sent him a doubtful, worried look, swallowing hard. “And to borrow another Star Wars line? I’ve got a bad feeling about this. A really bad feeling. I feel like… like…” she trailed off helplessly for a moment, then shook her head hard. “I feel like something, somewhere just… woke up.”