#QueerBlogWed: Don’t Let Death Stop You

On November 15, 2023, P.T. Wyant posted at ptwyant.com a Wednesday Words prompt involving a matchmaking service, the ghost of a murder victim, and a werewolf.

This crazy story popped into my head in response…:)

It was impossible to hit the woman in the slinky red pantsuit, but I tried, only to fail. My fist passed right through her. 

“Remember me?” I hissed, pleased to see her lips tremble. “Last night? Under the full moon?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her cheeks flushed, telling a guilty story which contradicted her words. “All I do is set you up with a potential partner. What happens between you and that partner afterwards is up to you.”

“Partner?” I was completely thrown by her words. “What are you talking about?” 

“This is a matchmaking service.” The woman waved a manicured hand toward the office with its pale pink walls. “I specialize in pairing supernaturals up with likely partners.”

“Supernaturals…?” This stunned me. 

“Well, yes.” She fussed with her hair. “I’m Susan Heart. This is Special Lonely Heart. I make pairings happen. Are you a lonely ghost, haunting that girl who never looked at you twice? I’ll see to she never looks away. Were you slain by a vampire who drained you in a fit of careless passion? He’ll never spend his nights with anyone else, but you.”

“I wasn’t killed by a vampire!” I growled, glaring at Susan Heart. How very appropriate, considering she’d ripped out mine. “I was killed by a werewolf. Under the full moon! Last night!”

“Ah, well,” Susan Heart flushed and looked down, fiddling with something on her desk. 

“Don’t tell me you don’t remember last night!” The air in the office turned colder as I glowered at her. 

“I’m sorry!” She shivered, hugging herself. “Yes, I may be a big bad wolf on nights of the full moon, but during the day and most nights, I’m just a lonely woman trying to make other monsters less lonely.”

“And so you try your sales pitch on me.” I leaned close, breathed on her, pleased to see her cheek quiver. “Try to match up the woman you turned into a ghost when you ripped her to shreds.”

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” Susan covered her face. “Look, um, what’s your name?”

“Chloe,” I growled. “Chloe MacLeod. I was a poet when I was alive, if you care.”

“Really?” She perked up a bit. “I love poems! Were you any good?”

“Does it matter if I was good?” This conversation was entirely too depressing. “Poems don’t sell, something I became accutely aware of. I worked a crap job to pay the bills and found myself too tired to write at the end of each day.”

“I’m sorry.” For the first time she seemed to take a good look at me. Just what did she see?

My body was gone. She’d eaten large chunks of it when she’d been a huge, slavering, half wolf, half woman monster. I would have vomited, except there was nothing left to vomit. I was just a spirit, a gust of chilly air. Did I even have a shape?

“Ghosts retain an after image of whom they once looked like.” She studied me, red lips parting, tongue darting out. “You must have been beautiful before I, um, err…”

“Devoured me?” I added helpfully. “What was left was pretty shocking.”

“You tasted delicious.” She gazed at me from under her eyelashes. “I don’t remember much, but you still linger on my tongue. Like something sweet, yet somehow spicy.”

As twisted as it might sound, I was oddly flattered. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t thank you for the compliment.”

“Look, I know I’m responsible for you being…like you are.” She sat up a little straighter, looked me in the eye. Her own were pale blue. “I know I can never make up for err, um…”

“Killing me?” I supplied the words with pointed emphasis. “No, you can’t. This doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try.”

“Which is exactly why I thought…why don’t you show me where you live?” The words came out in a rush. “Your poems. I’d love to read them.”

All right, I was definitely flattered. Death was doing strange things to my brain. 

“Wouldn’t that be a problem?” I asked. “If you go to the place where I lived, won’t someone see you? Maybe make the connection between you and my killer?”

“How would they?” She raised pale blonde eyebrows. “I’m guessing the police reports say you were ripped apart by a wild animal.”

“Do this often, do you?” At least I still had my voice in all its sarcasm. “Enough to hear police reports about your victims.”

“Not in years.” She hung her head. “I’ve tried hard to make certain I’m away from humans during nights of the full moon. Only there was this succubus and she got me drunk. And distracted. I lost track of time when she led me out to the woods. When I realized I was way too close to civilization, it was too late.”

I didn’t want to feel sympathetic, but I did. Too often I’d done selfish and stupid things when I’d been drunk. It led to me limiting how much wine or beer I’d allow myself to have when I went out. 

“All right.” The words slipped out before I could stop them. “It’s a date.”

“Great!” She smiled, a truly beautiful smile. Not what you’d expect of a monstrous beast at all. “I’m really looking forward to discovering your poems!”

“You’ve got no idea if I’m any good.” I would not let my head be turned by my killer’s flattery. “Lots of people write poems.”

“You never said you were bad. You said your work didn’t sell.” How her eyes shone as they fixed upon my ghostly form. “This means you’re an undiscovered treasure, waiting just for me to find. No matter how rough you may feel you are.”

Oh, well. She couldn’t be any worse than my last girlfriend. 

Considering this was a werewolf who’d killed me, this was saying a lot.

Maybe death had lowered my standards or it had just been too long since I’d had a date.

I certainly wasn’t going to let death stop me from having one.