A Boo-tiful Story (...Sorry)

Dear Corpulent Otters,

Here ya are: A new story. I wrote it during a workshop and really can't think of anywhere I can submit it to since it's really a seasonal story and it's way too late to start looking into that now.

Happy Halloween and don't eat the loose candy.

Matt

"Claire vs. The Dead Man" By Matt Mok

The Dead Man walks slowly up and down the staircase, his heavy footfalls sounding throughout every room.

"For God's sake, what am I going to do with him? Oh, look at the carpet! I'm never going to get that out." Claire glares at her father. "I thought you were here to help."

Tom responds by reclining further into his seat and taking another swig of beer. He turns up the television's volume. "After the game, sweetheart."

Claire grunts, holding back expletives, and returns her attention to the undead menace lumbering up and down her stairs, depositing flecks of God knows what on her wall, steps, and banister.

"Hey, you!"

He moans but doesn't stop its ascent.

"Hey!"

"It's 'The Dead Man,'" Tom corrects her. "The Dead Man."

Claire throws him a hostile stare to which he rolls his eyes and chuckles.

"Okay, Dead Man, she says, "Stop it. You're driving me insane."

The Dead Man halts, cocks his head to the side, and peers at her through layers of bandages. "Brrrraaaains," he gasps. "Feeeed Me."

"Dad!" She can feel her last nerve twitching.

"Don't look directly in his eyes, Claire," Tom says over the sound of the football color commentators, never averting his eyes from the screen. "He'll steal your soul."

She ignores him. "I'm not playing games with you Mr. Dead Man. I've had a long day at work, slaved away in the kitchen, and I am five seconds from—"

"Okay, okay," Tom says, shutting off the television and wedging himself out of the chair. He saunters over to the hungry monster, sizing him up. "Now it's just you and me, buster. You ready for this?"

"Brrrraaains!" he says, his small hands pumping in the air. The Dead Man grabs a pumpkin-shaped candy pail in one hand and his grandfather's hand in the other, and drags Tom into the autumn night, a foot of toilet paper trailing from a loosely bandaged foot.