Happy Halloween, Bitches

And may Samhain blessings be upon ye!

Btw, I looked fucking fabulous all day dressed as the Angel of Death. What did you dress up as? Let me know in the comments!

XOXO

Gossip Ghoul

Evil Walks Ch. 3: You Could Be Mine

Evil Walks

Chapter Three: You Could Be Mine

“I'm a cold heartbreaker

Fit ta burn and I'll rip

Your heart in two

And I'll leave you lyin' on the bed

I'll be out the door before ya wake

It's nuthin' new ta you

'Cause I think we've seen that movie too.”

• “You Could Be Mine” by Guns N Roses

“OK, so get this-- Wait, does the red light mean it's recording or not recording?”

“It's recording. You're good to talk.”

“Right. So here's the main thing,” said Deanna staring into the camera in what she apparently thought was a deep and pensive manner. “There are a lot of monsters out there: living, dead, and undead. Nasty buggers, the lot of them.”

Jared laughed and interrupted, “Drop the fake British slang, D. People will think you're crazier than you are.”

“Sod off, bitch!” retorted Deanna with a scoff.

Haley paused the screen. She was reviewing and editing the footage from her interviews with the Wesson family earlier that day. She wanted to open her video with Deanna's summarization of her work, so she was going over that bit first. After jotting down a few notes, she resumed playback.

On Haley's computer screen, Deanna was swiping on a coat of silvery-black Urban Decay lipstick in Oil Slick. “Alright, do I look OK?” she asked, pouting her lips sexily.

“Of course you don't, jerk,” said Jared, and she smacked him.

Haley's off-screen voice reassuringly replied, “You look great, Deanna.” In her room Haley grimaced. Despite her chosen career path, she still wasn't happy with the sound of her recorded voice.

Onscreen Deanna grinned. “Damn right I do,” she stated confidently. “So the things that go bump in the night – it's not easy to get rid of them. In fact, it's really fucking hard. Heh, that's what she said. Seriously, though, going up against ghosts or ghouls or vampires or, even worse, faeries, it'll most likely get you killed. However, there are ways to protect yourself.”

Off-camera Haley interrupted, incredulous, with, “Fairies? What, like Tinkerbell?”

Jared shook his head, while Deanna rolled her eyes. “Not like Disney,” Jared tried explaining. “More like the old folklore where the Fair Folk kidnap your children and drive people crazy for their own amusement.”

“Yeah, like that,” agreed Deanna. “Don't mess with faeries. They will fuck you up.”

“But they aren't all-powerful,” added Jared helpfully. “You don't have to live your life in fear of what's in the dark.”

“Right, like I've been trying to say is that there are four main things you can use for protection,” Deanna went on. She counted them on her fingers as she listed them. “Salt, silver, iron, and holy water. It might not kill everything, but it sure as hell will cause some damage.”

“The technical term is apotrope.”

“God, you're such a nerd!”

In her room Haley pressed the rewind button to go back to the beginning. She watched Deanna's flirty little wink onscreen and sighed. Deanna was freaking crazy, that's for sure. She'd given Haley her cell number, and Haley knew she should just throw it away, but...

Deanna was different, and Haley found herself wondering about the real Deanna, not the cocky, brash, I-don't-give-a-fuck attitude she put on. Haley had glimpsed more to her than that. There'd been a moment of real pain and loneliness. Perhaps it had something to do with her mother's suicide, Haley thought to herself. After all, Johnny Wesson hadn't reacted very well to Haley's mention of Irene Wesson's death. Still, being raised by an obviously crazy father who was clearly not a good role model for her had definitely messed up Deanna's behavioral skills, but that didn't mean there wasn't a genuinely interesting girl in need of a friend underneath all those layers of attitude.

The thing was: could Haley be that friend? Haley was still weirded out by everything that afternoon, and it was admittedly despicable of Deanna to have repeatedly gone after her brother's girlfriends like he'd described. And all the drinking and smoking and swearing and general bitchiness... Could Haley put up with all that crap enough to attempt to befriend her? She wasn't convinced.

And then there was the topic of Deanna's sexual advances...

Haley understood that sexuality was fluid. Though she didn't really know if she was bisexual or not, she wasn't convinced she was completely straight either. So there was that to figure out.

And obviously a relationship with Deanna would be even more complicated and messy than a mere friendship would be. However, Deanna hadn't mentioned a relationship. She'd wanted to hook up. On the other hand, Haley wasn't really into casual sex. She'd tried it once and hated it – and the guy who never called her afterward. She preferred something more meaningful, and could she actually have something meaningful with Deanna?

OK, yes, so she admitted Deanna was attractive despite the awful hair, bad punk-goth makeup and style, crudeness, and overall bitchiness; but the girl did have a kind of charm in her self-aware “yes, I am that over-the-top ridiculous” shtick. Maybe if she were nicer or at least a little less unpleasant, then they could have a good time together.

Haley didn't know. She just didn't know.

The footage was a little shaky in a few parts, and Haley blushed to remember that her heartbeat quickened in her chest and her hands trembled whenever Deanna gave her that hungry look, that “I want to have a good time with you right here and now” kind of look. Suddenly Haley noticed the video was shaking even more so than it had the last two times she'd reviewed it. An icy blast of cold shot through her veins. Shivering, she ran her fingers over the emergent goosebumps on her arms, and her breath materialized in a cloud before her face, reminding her of Deanna's cigarette smoke.

On the computer screen was a shot of that creepy basement door, but now its freaky symbols were splashed with blood.

Hazel eyes widened behind Haley's glasses. What? She hadn't filmed that...

Not had she filmed the pale woman with tangled brown hair matted with blood opening the door. The woman's eyelids flew up to reveal two black abysses – no whites, no irises, no pupils, just utter blackness. Her bloody mouth opened, and black goo dripped out with a gargled moan.

Unable to tear her eyes away, a scream ripped itself out of Haley's throat at the terrifying thought that this weird, freaky-ass woman was trying to talk through the screen to her right then.

The video on screen changed scenes, and Haley's chest tightened to see Deanna reapplying her sheer black lipstick, but this time the girl's eyes were that same empty black. Then the monitor flickered and turned off, plunging Haley into darkness.

Her mom was knocking on her door and asking if she was alright, but Haley barely registered that as she tried thinking over the pounding blood in her ears. What the hell just happened? That couldn't have been real. Things like that don't happen. That's not possible. Maybe Deanna played some kind of prank on her? Haley kept trying to rationalize everything, though her fingers were quivering so much that it took three tries to be able to press the power button to restart her computer.

A few deep breaths were needed in an attempt to calm herself after turning on every light in the room, and then, though her insides twisted in anticipation, Haley replayed the video. She sucked in a big breath, and--

None of that freaky shit appeared.

What the hell?

Haley rewatched her footage three more times, although her stomach churned each time the basement door appeared on screen, the (Blood. Ghost.) creepy stuff never popped up. As if it had never been there at all. Which it hadn't been. Of course not. Because weird shit like, like ghosts and whatever didn't exist. That was bullshit. She was imagining things thanks to all that ghost talk Deanna and her crazy family went on about. That was it. That was the reasonable explanation.

Even still, Haley went to bed with all her lights on, not wanting to be in the dark alone with thoughts of those black eyes...

Evil Walks Ch. 2: Youth Gone Wild

Evil Walks

Chapter Two: Youth Gone Wild

“Never played by the rules, I never really cared

My nasty reputation takes me everywhere

…

They call us problem child

We spend our lives on trial

We walk an endless mile

We are the youth gone wild

We stand and we won't fall

We're the one and one for all

The writing's on the wall

We are the youth gone wild.”

• “Youth Gone Wild” by Skid Row

After a half hour or so of interviewing – most of which Haley would have to edit or bleep out due to vulgar language – Johnny Wesson's cell phone rang. He pulled it out from the pocket of his leather jacket and grimaced at the screen. “Damn,” he grumbled. “I'm sorry; I have to take this.”

Haley pressed the off button on her camera. “No problem,” she replied in what she hoped was a nonchalant manner. “Do you mind if I get some footage of Deanna? I'd like to hear what her perspective is on all this.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” Johnny waved her away as he was flipping open his cell phone, and immediately his voice reverted to the same agitated growl he had employed when talking to his daughter. “What the fuck went wrong this time?”

Haley took that as her cue to step away. Deanna had invited her up to her room. Should she just go up? Hesitant, she stood at the base of the stairs. Deanna was clearly not a normal girl, and that intrigued her more than the idea of why Johnny Wesson did what he did had. Haley had never been a normal girl either, after all. She was almost done with her second year of community college, but ever since middle school she'd had a difficult time fitting in. Between shyness at a young age and her eclectic style as she got older, Haley continually felt out of place, like an invisible ghost, like this wasn't where she was meant to be. Truthfully, she preferred to stay behind her camera and film the world around her than really to be a part of it, since the camera served as her shield and buffer. Somehow, Haley felt as though Deanna would understand what that felt like.

Then again, she could only be setting herself up to talk to another foul-mouthed, immature bitch exactly like the one Haley had just interviewed.

As she put one wedge sandal-clad foot on the bottom step, Haley got a weird prickly feeling on the back of her neck. She turned to the left and noticed a door that was, well, weird. No, weird wasn't the right word. Freaky and creepy as hell, yeah, that was a more accurate term. The door had seven different locks, including two deadbolts, a chain bolt, and three padlocks, and it was covered in crudely painted symbols. The only symbol she really recognized was a pentagram, but the other squiggles and arrows and lines and whatever the hell didn't look any less unsettling. Haley took her camera and recorded a few stills. Then, shuddering as she turned away from the creepy-ass door, she ascended the stairs.

At the top of the stairs on the second floor, there was a family portrait on the wall. A much younger and clean-shaven Johnny Wesson was actually smiling in the picture. He had his arms around a beautiful brunette woman, and with them were an adorable toddler and a little girl who looked like she was dying to get out of her frilly dress. Haley stared a moment at this glimpse into the past, and then she headed toward the room with the sound of Metallica's Black Album blaring out of it. She took a wild guess that that was Deanna's bedroom.

The door, which had a poster of the Union Jack on it, was slightly ajar, and Haley knocked on it. She had to knock a second time to be heard over the cranked-up volume of “Enter Sandman.”

“Come in already, bitch!” Deanna called out over the music.

Taking a deep breath, Haley entered, the hazel eyes behind her hipster glasses scanning across the room. Two bookshelves were crammed full of graphic novels and CDs, and more comic books – wrapped in mylar plastic with cardboard backing – were strewn across the floor. She glanced over a few titles: Hellblazer, Swamp Thing, Sandman, Lucifer, Fables, Preacher, Hellboy... Things with lots of artsy and horror-style covers. A few issues of Hellblazer, the most predominant title, were framed and hung on the wall beside a giant poster of John Constantine, a man with a cigarette in hand and a long, tan trenchcoat. Deanna's own trenchcoat was flung haphazardly on the floor beside her black Doc Martens, and Deanna herself was sitting cross-legged in bed, smoking a cigarette, and reading an issue of Hellblazer.

“Hey,” greeted Deanna. “Sorry about the bitch comment. I thought you were my brother.” She reached over to the speaker on her nightstand and turned down the volume as the next track, “Sad But True,” started to play. Beside the speaker stood a blue bottle of Bombay Sapphire, a lit black candle, a star-shaped bottle of Angel perfume, and an ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts.

Haley stood there awkwardly. “Hey,” she echoed. “Can I sit down somewhere?” She looked around for a chair but didn't see one among the chaos.

Deanna merely smiled and gestured to the bed. “Make yourself comfortable,” she said with a wink. An actual cheesy wink, along with a grin that showed she knew exactly how cheesy she was being.

Being careful not to step on any comic books, Haley made her way over to the bed and, after brushing aside a battered copy of American Gods, gingerly sat down on the edge of the bed. She started an attempt to be cool and casual by saying, “So, um...” Well, that was a failure.

Deanna leaned over to the open and curtainless window and blew out a puff of smoke. Haley took a good long look at Deanna – from her ripped black jeans, vintage Mötley Crüe concert tee, and leather motorcycle jacket, up to the three pairs of gunmetal hoops in her ears, and finally to her hair. Ugh, that hair. It was at that awkward, growing out almost to the shoulders length from a former pixie cut, and the ends were still blonde from a bad peroxide job. Despite her, um, taste of style, Deanna had a skinny but toned, athletic figure and a really pretty face under her hot mess of makeup. Prettier than she was, Haley thought self-consciously as she glanced down at her own chubby figure.

Deanna turned back to her, and the gleam in her green eyes said that she knew Haley was checking her out. “Want one?” she asked, offering Haley a cigarette.

Haley shook her head, causing her red ponytail to bounce. Then she recalled a detail from her pre-interview research on Johnny Wesson. “Wait,” she said. “Aren't you a minor? You're like seventeen, right?”

Green eyes blinked in confusion. “Yeah, so...?”

“So you shouldn't be smoking or drinking,” Haley responded in a voice that strongly implied the word “duh.”

Rolling her eyes, Deanna scoffed, “OK, Mom. As if I give a fuck.”

“It's just-- You're so young,” said Haley, trying not to sound like a prude or too judgmental, “yet you're smoking and drinking and working for your dad's company... How do you do that and high school? With that many cigarettes, wouldn't you get caught?” Silently Haley added that the smell alone ought to give her away.

Deanna took another drag before explaining that she'd dropped out and gotten her GED more than a year before.

“Why would you do that?” inquired Haley in confusion. Sure, high school sucked, but it was something everyone had to suffer through. She certainly had.

Deanna shrugged and flicked ash out the window. “Needed more time to work for Johnny and my side jobs,” she answered nonchalantly, like it were perfectly obvious. “Plus they wanted me the fuck out of there after all the damn fights I was getting in.”

“Oh.” Haley didn't know what to do with that. Deanna was less relatable than she'd hoped... “So, um.” Haley tried to ignore how awkward she sounded. “You do work for your dad?”

“Damn right I do.” Deanna grinned proudly. “I'm one of the best.”

“At hunting ghosts?” Haley didn't bother hiding her disbelief. “So you believe in-- in--”

“In ghosts?” finished Deanna. She nodded, her expression solemn. “I bloody well do. Nasty fuckers, ghosts. Not to mention the specters, poltergeists, apparitions, phantoms, phantasms, banshees, ghouls, wraiths, revenants, yadda yadda, all of them bastards pretty fucked up.”

Haley couldn't prevent herself from scoffing. “You can't be serious!” she exclaimed. “Those things don't exist!” She pointed a scarlet-painted fingernail at a rather graphically ugly monster on the page of Deanna's comic book. “You've been reading too much of this horror crap!” Immediately she regretted her words, since Deanna was obviously offended.

“And you have definitely proof that they don't exist?” Deanna retorted. “Because I have proof they fucking do. The monsters might not be under your bed, Haley, but they are out there.”

“You can't...”

“No, you can't understand,” Deanna insisted, her green eyes flashing. She was so serious, so passionate about this that Haley felt bad about saying anything.

“OK, I'm sorry,” she apologized. “I respect that you believe in that kind of stuff, even if I don't.” She shifted uncomfortably on the bed.

Deanna softened, and the left corner of her mouth curved upward into a half-smile. “Thanks,” she said. “So if you don't believe in this shit, then why interview Johnny for your little vlog?”

Haley mulled over her response before speaking. “I just thought it would be interesting to do a video on someone who spends so much of his life working with, well, that kind of thing... Do you really call your dad by his first name?”

“Hell, yeah.” Deanna had finished off her cigarette and was already lighting a second one. “I'll call him Dad the day he deserves it.”

OK, stay away from the daddy issues, Haley reminded herself. That's bound to be even messier than the freaky ghost crap. Oh, speaking of freaky... “By the way, what's the deal with the weird door downstairs?” inquired Haley, though she wasn't convinced she really wanted to know the answer.

“Ah, that.” Reluctantly Deanna admitted, “That would be the door to the basement. There's, well, there's dangerous stuff down there.”

“All those symbols on there...” Haley shuddered just thinking about how foreboding they looked. “They're not Satanic, are they?”

Taking her cigarette out of her mouth, Deanna let out a wry laugh. “No, no,” she replied with another roll of her eyes. “Those sigils are protection against evil. No devil-worship here. Fuck, no.”

“Oh, good,” Haley sighed in relief.

“But,” Deanna started to say, and her green eyes shone as the flirty little smirk from before made an appearance. “But if you want to see something magical...” She leaned over to her nightstand and opened up the drawer.

Haley snorted and echoed, “Magical? Really? Really?”

Deanna withdrew a deck of Rider-Waite Tarot cards and held them up. “Want to see our future?”

“Our future?” Haley parroted Deanna's words yet again and rolled her own hazel eyes.

“Yours and mine, together,” replied Deanna playfully as she shuffled the cards. Then she put five cards face down before Haley. “Pick one.”

Haley stared, trying to make sure the girl was serious. “Really?” she said again.

“Pick one,” Deanna insisted.

“OK, OK.” Haley gave in and grabbed a card at random. She flipped it over: The Lovers.

Deanna's grin broadened. She really was quite beautiful when she smiled – a genuine smile. “That's a sign,” she explained gleefully. “Lovers – you and me, together. We should hook up.”

Haley blushed bright red, red as her dyed hair, dropping the card. Before she could respond, a voice from behind her stated in an exasperated tone, “It's a trick, you know.” Haley whirled around to see a tall boy in jeans and a hoodie with brown hair in desperate need of a haircut standing in the doorway.

“It's a trick,” he repeated. “They're all The Lovers, every card in the deck.”

Haley flipped over the other cards and discovered that they were all indeed The Lovers. Deanna scowled at the boy as he strode over to them. He kicked Deanna's Doc Martens out of the way and stole one of her cigarettes.

“What the hell?” was all Haley could manage to say.

The boy, who towered over them, lit his cigarette with Deanna's lighter and explained, “It's my sister's version of a pick up line. It's how she got two of my girlfriends to make out with her.”

“Shut the fuck up, Jared,” hissed Deanna.

“And the third to sleep with her,” Jared continued, deadpan.

Haley's jaw dropped to the floor. She wasn't certain if she was more upset about the dumb con or that Deanna was the kind of person to steal her brother's girlfriends.

“Everyone in our family is pretty fucked up,” Jared said matter-of-factly. He brushed his too long bangs out of his eyes, revealing his prominent brow.

Deanna sighed. “It's true,” she conceded. “We're all fucked up.”

“Yep.”

The siblings took a drag of their cigarettes in unison. Haley was speechless.

“Anyway,” continued Deanna defensively, “it's not my fault you like to date older girls with a bicurious tendency, and Jane only used the both of us to make her ex-boyfriend jealous. I was taking a bullet for you, really.”

“Whatever, jerk.” Jared had the same green eyes Deanna did, and he rolled them in the same manner.

Haley finally spoke up, crying out, “Wait, wait, you're what, twelve? And you're smoking? You have to realize there's something wrong with that!”

“I'm actually fourteen.”

“Yeah, but he and I started smoking when I was twelve,” added Deanna, as if that improved things.

“Because of those comic books you're obsessed with, with the guy who fights demons and smokes a lot,” Jared commented, as if that explanation made everything justifiable.

Deanna glared at her younger brother and snapped, “They're graphic novels, bitch.”

“Whatever you say, nerd.”

“You're a nerd!”

“Your face is a nerd!”

“Oh my God, you two are going to die of lung cancer!” Haley shrieked, interrupting their banter. “Do you not see the problem with this?!”

The Wesson siblings gave her a look filled with pain and loss. “It's a lot better than the death we have coming to us,” Deanna admitted softly.

“I...” Haley didn't think she could deal with this craziness anymore, but something in Deanna's eyes made her want to stay. Something in Deanna's haunted expression made Haley want to save Deanna from herself, even though her better judgment was warning her, screaming at her to get the hell away now as fast as she could.

She took out her camera from her purse. “Um, hey, why don't I film interviews with the both of you for my vlog, and you two can explain why your life is so, um, different?”

“Heh, different is right,” remarked Jared as he sat down beside Deanna on the bed.

Deanna's smile started to return. “Damn, we brought the mood down, huh?” she said. “I'll tell you anything you want to know Haley.”

But Haley wasn't sure what exactly she wanted to know anymore.

Evil Walks Ch.1: Cold Hearted Man

(Missed the prologue? Click here!)

Evil Walks
Chapter One: Cold Hearted Man

"Sometimes you can't see
The other side
It's too well hidden
From the naked eye
One time lover
With his heart in his hand
Two time loser
A broken man
Cold hearted man
He was a cold hearted man."
-- "Cold Hearted Man" by AC/DC

April 2008

"What the fuck?" asked Johnny Wesson, his brow furrowed in confusion. The tall, muscular man sat across from a short, nineteen-year-old girl clutching a video camera in her hands.

The girl, a bottled redhead named Haley Barker, repeated herself, "I want to interview you and your company for my vlog."

Johnny just stared at her. He obviously didn't want to waste his time if she was just screwing around. The famous ghost hunter had a very intimidating scowl, and Haley blushed apprehensively and looked down, unable to hold his gaze.

"I'm a film student at the local community college," she tried stumbling on, nervously adjusting her hipster glasses. "I have a vlog online, and--"

"The hell is a vlog?" Johnny spat the monosyllabic word distastefully.

"Oh, it's a video blog," Haley explained, but Johnny gave no sign of understanding. Older people really don't understand technology, she thought to herself. Of course, a onceover of Johnny's out of date hairstyle, old and worn leather jacket, and jeans -- an aged James Dean kind of look -- gave the impression that he was way out of touch with the modern 2008 world.

Then again, the man hunted ghosts for a living. He clearly was not entirely in his right mind.

Haley shifted uncomfortably on the stiff and stained red leather sofa, feeling even more ill at ease.  They were meeting in the living room of Johnny's house, which apparently also served as his office where he met clients -- crazy people who wanted him to go all ghostbusters on their houses. Johnny Wesson was considered a national joke for his widely advertised business. A look into his background had piqued Haley's curiosity, and she wanted to know what made a person believe such insanity -- not just believe, but devote his entire life to. The idea intrigued her, so she'd called the number on his website and set up a meeting. Johnny must know about the internet if he had a website, right? Although it was a poor quality, amateurish site... Eventually, Haley answered, "It's a series of videos where I interview people and talk about their lives, like little documentaries."

Johnny nodded. Haley could practically hear the gears grinding in his head as he processed this. "A wannabe Ken Burns?" he replied.

Haley shrugged and said, "Kinda, yeah." Inwardly she bristled at the term "wannabe," but outwardly she smiled nervously and tried not to regret coming here.

Johnny's dark green eyes gave her an even more intense look. "This better not be a fucking joke," he stated gravely. "What I do -- it's not for shits and giggles. It's not for fun. It's because the shit out there is real and dangerous, and you need to fucking understand that."

"I do," replied Haley in what she hoped was a reassuring voice. "I want this to be serious." She meant that, too. She put a lot of time and effort into her vlog in the hopes that it would help her launch her documentary career.

"This is serious shit," Johnny continued emphatically, either not noticing or not caring that he was being repetitive. "People have fucking died in my line of work."

"With a quick glance down at the note-filled legal pad in her lap, Haley queried in her best I'm-a-serious-filmmaking-journalist type voice, "People like your wife?"

Johnny visibly flinched. He stood up, went straight to his littered desk, and poured a shot of Jack Daniels in a sticky rocks glass that had obviously been sitting there for way too long. He downed the whiskey in one go and then walked back to leather armchair across the dirty coffee table from Haley. He sat down without a word and looked at her expectantly, the pain in his dark green eyes not fully hidden.

Fidgeting with her glasses again, Haley took a quick look at her notes before saying, "Your wife, Irene Wesson. The, um, the reports said she died during some kind of exorcism ritual. Not many details were released, and the official cause was listed as suicide, but she did die as part of your, er, line of work, correct?"

"That's fucking correct."

Haley waited a beat before inquiring, "Would you like to tell what happened so that people can understand just how dangerous what you do is?"

"No."

Haley's stomach churned at the look of anger on his face. She'd crossed some kind of line. Talking about his late wife was way too personal. She should have asked something else.

Then Johnny sighed and shoved his hands into the pockets of his motorcycle jacket as he leaned back in his chair. "But I will talk about other cases I've worked on," he consented. "People need to know what's out there so that they can protect themselves."

A sigh of relief escaped Haley's cherry-red lips. Just as she was asking about setting up her camera to film an interview, the front door flew open and then slammed shut. In stormed a girl with a whirlwind of attitude and a long, tan trenchcoat. With one hand she flung a manila file folder at Johnny. The papers inside spilled onto the floor. Johnny stood up and glared at her. Haley sat and stared awkwardly.

"Done and dead, bitch," the teenage girl snapped. "I'll give you the rest of the report paperwork tomorrow."

One of Johnny's boots kicked at the scattered paperwork. "I told you to hand everything to Eric before you came back," he barked at her.

"Suck my dick, Johnny," the brunette seventeen-year-old responded petulantly with a flick of her middle finger. She turned to flounce away, but Johnny grabbed her offending hand by the wrist.

"Goddamn it, Deanna, I've told you to watch your fucking language!" he roared.

Deanna glared at her father with bright green eyes. Their expressions were so similar that it was almost as scary as their tension and yelling.

Johnny hissed, "We have a guest," and gestured to the feeling-very-out-of-place Haley.

"Um, hi?" Haley stammered.

Deanna turned to Haley, and her entire demeanor instantly transformed. Her smudgy kohl-rimmed eyes lit up, and her expression changed into a cocky grin. Haley recognized that smile. It was the overly confident, flirty smile, promising naughty things, which Haley had seen on every guy who was used to girls falling for them; it was the type of smile Haley was convinced that hot guys who knew how attractive they were spent hours practicing in the mirror. And here was Deanna Wesson, a short, teenage girl with poorly-applied, smeared makeup, a bad haircut, and guy's clothing, giving her that same, "How you doin'?" smirk that Haley had seen from countless boys at every party or club she'd ever been to.

Haley stood up. She offered out her hand and greeted, "Hi, my name's Haley Barker."

Deanna's green eyes flicked up and down, pausing for a moment in the direction of Haley's cleavage. Her grin widened. "Well, hello, Haley," she replied in a blatant attempt to ooze sexiness into her voice. She grabbed Haley's hand and shook it while a stack of leather and gunmetal chain bracelets on her wrist clicked and clattered from the movement. She reeked of cigarettes, cheap gin, and the spicy-sweet notes of Thierry Mugler Angel Perfume. "I'm Deanna Wesson."

Johnny, who still gripped her other wrist, physically pulled Deanna back from Haley. "Miss Barker wants to interview the company for a documentary on ghosts or some shit like that," he said.

"It's a vlog, actually," clarified Haley with a gesture to the camera in her hand.

"Awesome," Deanna responded. She twisted her arm out of Johnny's grasp and folded her middle and ring fingers down into the rock hand. "Come upstairs to my bedroom, and I'd be glad to give you an interview. I just finished up a case, and I could thrill you with the details."

Haley found herself blushing despite herself. Though her efforts definitely came off as trying too hard, Deanna had a natural charm in spite of her profanity. "Sure," Haley said with a little shrug. "Tell me all about it."

"Stop fucking around, kid," growled Johnny, "and finish up your damn work."

Deanna scooped up her scattered papers and hollered out, "Bite me!" as she exited the room and stomped upstairs in her black Doc Martens.

"Um..." Words failed Haley.

Johnny sighed and facepalmed. "I apologize for my kid," he groaned. "Deanna can be a real brat most of the fucking time."

"I see," was Haley's response. She took a pen from her pocket and added to the notes on her yellow legal pad. "So your daughter is a minor but still an employee of your company?" she asked.

"Yeah," replied Johnny as he poured himself another whiskey. "Deanna might act like a fucking attention-starved idiot, but she's a damn good hunter. One of my best. Well, she could be if she stopped screwing around."

Note to self, Haley thought, talk to Deanna about why she goes along with her dad's crazy beliefs in ghosts.

Johnny Wesson, nationally recognized crazy ghost hunter with the foulest mouth Haley had ever heard, sat back down in his red leather armchair. "So are we filming this damn interview or not?"

Haley set up her video camera and pressed record.

Evil Walks: Prologue: Sad But True

Evil Walks
Prologue: Sad But True

"I'm your dream, make you real
I'm your eyes when you must steal
I'm your pain when you can't feel
Sad but true
I'm your truth, telling lies
I'm your reason, alibis
I'm inside, open your eyes
I'm you"
-- "Sad But True" by Metallica

April 2008

I've been thinking a lot about death lately. Ugh, that makes me sound like an angst-ridden, whiny teenager. I don't mean in an emo "my life is a dark pit and nobody understands me" bullshit kind of way. I just mean that death is inevitable, and someday very soon I'm going to die. 

When I was a little kid, a demon made my brother and me a promise. One day before we're both adults the Devil will come for our souls. This isn't some fucking metaphor; it's a basic fact. My kid brother and I are damned, and that demon's gonna kill us. End of fucking story. 

Damn, I sound like a cowardly little bitch when I say it like that. There's just no escape when Satan's claimed your fucking soul, so what the hell am I to do? I'm gonna live my life while I can, and then bam! Down in flames. 

OK, yeah, I admit it. It's fucking depressing. "Sad but true," to quote Metallica. But every time I close my eyes, all I see is that demon laughing at me with those damn black eyes... It's all I can think about, when I'm sober, I mean, which is a bloody good reason not to be sober most of the fucking time. 

I don't want to die. I don't want to go to Hell. I don't want my brother to burn either. I wish I could fucking fight this. At least then I'd die with some dignity. 

Sometimes when Johnny gets drunk he says that the angels are gonna save us, but honestly, I don't believe the angels give a shit. And if there really is a God in Heaven, I'm not convinced He cares either. Where the hell have the angels been all the times the demon's come and taunted me? Where were the angels the time I almost OD'd? Where the fuck were the angels when Mom died? Not fucking saving us, that's for sure!

I'm seventeen now. Almost an adult. Time's running out. 

So yeah, I've been thinking a lot about death lately. I'm gonna die, and that's just... That's it. That all, folks. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars. It's almost enough to just make me give up. Almost. I've still got a couple of things left to hold on to. 

Want to help me fuck the pain away? 

Evil Walks: Disclaimer

Disclaimer: Evil Walks may be considered NSFW. It is meant for mature readers due to very strong language, violence, gore, torture, graphic horror scenes, and drug use. Please note that this author does not in any way condone the use of drugs, underage drinking, smoking, or demon summoning.

Thank you for your understanding.

Evil Walks: Table of Contents

Evil Walks

"Black shadow hanging over your shoulder
 Black mark up against your name
Your green eyes couldn't get any colder
There's bad poison runnin' thru your veins
Evil walks behind you
Evil sleeps beside you
Evil talks arouse you
Evil walks behind you"
--"Evil Walks" by AC/DC

Prologue: Sad But True
Chapter One: Cold-Hearted Man (Coming Today)
Chapter Two: Youth Gone Wild (Coming October 15)
Chapter Three: You Could Be Mine (Coming October 22)
(And more chapters each week after that. I'm not going to type up all their names in order to avoid potential spoilers)

Evil Walks, Hell's Bells, and their supplemental materials are suggested for mature readers. If you have any questions about the series, please ask in the comments below.

XOXO
Gossip Ghoul