Stage 666 Clinger

“Babe, come on. I told you I loved you already,” Liam sighed.

“Say it again for me, please baby,” the girl on FaceTime whimpered.

Liam fought against rolling his eyes, “I love you, babe.”

The bells above the service station door rang as an elderly gentleman approached the counter, and he stood patiently waiting for the boy to turn around.

“Of course I’ll see you this weekend,” Liam continued. 

“Ahem,” the gentleman cleared his throat.

From the back room, a crackled voice boomed as a bearded man swung the door open.

“Liam, get off that damn phone! We’ve got a customer!”

“Sorry, Grandpa!” Liam perked up. “Gotta go, babe. No… I really have to hang up this time. I love you.”

Liam turned to the customer who laid down a bill on the counter, tapping his fingers impatiently.

“I need $10 on pump three,” he huffed.

“Sure thing,” Liam replied and put the money in the register. “You’re all set.”

The man sneered, shooting a look at Liam. “Teenagers.”

“I’m sorry about my grandson,” the crotchety man replied, walking towards the counter. “Kids these days are addicted to these things.”

“No, Grandpa. It’s just that Amy’s a stage five clinger,” Liam sighed, exasperated. “I can’t get her to back off.”

His grandfather raised an eyebrow in confusion. “What the hell is a stage five clinger?”

“You know, a chick that won’t leave you alone. Like no matter what you do, she just won’t go away. I’ve tried dumping her like six times, but she keeps coming back.”

Liam put his phone in his pocket and brushed past his grandfather on his way to the storage room. His grandfather grumbled to himself “Boy, do I know all about that.”

He shook his head, brushing off the memories from his past, grabbed the newspaper sitting on the counter and sat on the stool behind the register.

A set of tires screeched to a halt as a black hearse approached the gas pump. The beautiful 1958 Cadillac DeVille sat idle, waiting for an attendant to come out to greet her. The old man peered over his glasses through the sticker-covered window.

“Hmph,” he grunted and went back to reading the sports section.

The hearse shook as the rear door handle jiggled. Softly at first, but the rattling became more aggressive until the lock broke free. 

A cloud of smoke seeped through the hatch that slowly creaked open. Inside the back of the hearse was a dingy casket with rotting wood planks. The lid slammed open, sending a wave of dust and decay into the air. 

A pale bluish arm clawed at the side of the casket, giving enough momentum for the corpse to pull herself up. 

“Oh goodness,” she yawned. 

Her milky white eyes watered as she stretched her mouth, dislocating her jaw. 

“I really wish that’d stop happening!” She huffed as she set her jaw back into place. 

Looking out the side window, she glimpsed the old service station and its familiar owner inside. 

“Patrick!” she exclaimed as much as her rotting vocal cords could muster. 

Inside the gas station, Liam mopped the floor near the leaking slushie machine while his grandfather counted the money in the register. 

“Grandpa, you really ought to replace this thing,” Liam tapped on the slushie dispenser. “Thing’s always making a mess.” 

Patrick lifted his narrow eyes and scoffed. “Ain’t got money for a new one.” 

The teenaged corpse pulled herself through the back of the hearse. Her coiffed blonde ponytail was filled with cobwebs that she brushed out with her fingertips. The faded pink silk gown she wore was tattered and frayed at the edges, and the white Mary Janes on her veiny feet had seen better days. 

Then again, so had she. 

Brushing herself off and checking her lipstick on her chapped lips in the rearview mirror, she smiled with glee and excitedly walked towards the door. 

The bells chimed as the dainty ghoul approached Liam while he mopped.

“Excuse me,” she said faintly. “Patrick?” 

Without looking up, Liam brushed her off. 

“He’s at the register.” 

“You’re not? But you look?” 

Confused, she turned her piercing gaze to the man behind the counter, slowly shuffling her feet towards the register. 

“I… I need my car filled up, please,” she said softly. 

“Gotta do it yourself, Miss.” 

“But this is a full service station?” 

“Ain’t been full service since the 60s, ma’am. Gotta pump it yourself,” Patrick continued counting the bills in his hands. 

“Would you do it for me?” She batted her eyes, eyelashes falling to the ground. 

Patrick rolled his eyes and set the money back in the register then glanced up. 

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” His eyes widened with fright and he stumbled off his stool, falling to the floor. 

The girl leaned over the counter, concerned. “Honey! Are you alright?” 

A cockroach crawled out of her mouth as Patrick stared in horror and shuffled across the floor. 

“M…Margerie?” He blinked wildly. “Why are you back?!” 

“I’ve missed you too, darling,” she smiled sweetly as she stepped around the counter. 

“Now hang on, I never said I missed you!” 

Patrick grabbed the baseball bat he kept under the counter in case robbers tried to get the better of him. He swatted it towards Margerie, stopping her in her tracks. 

“Stay back, demon!” 

She put her hands on her hips and shook her head. 

“Oh honey, stop being so silly! You know it’s prom night. I’ve been waiting for this night my whole life!” 

“And afterlife, it seems,” Patrick mumbled. “This can’t be happening again.” 

Liam came running over to the counter. 

“Grandpa, are you,” his words were cut short upon seeing Margerie. Bones protruded from her discolored skin that barely stretched over her small frame.

“What the hell?”

“Patrick, you promised me,” her voice crackled. 

“Grandpa, what’s she talking about? What is she?” Liam yelled, grasping his mop handle as a weapon. 

“That’s my stage 5 clinger,” Patrick swung the bat, hitting Margerie on the shoulder. Her left arm fell to the ground. “My ex-girlfriend.” 

She whimpered and crouched down to grab her severed arm, attempting to reattach it to no avail. 

“Well, now how am I supposed to wear my corsage?” Margerie furiously huffed, the smile stretching across her face turning into a grimace. 

Liam helped his grandfather to his feet and carried him towards the storage room. 

“Grandpa, let’s go!” 

Margerie followed behind as Liam slammed the storage room door in her face and locked it. 

“Patrick! Come on! It’s me!” Margerie banged on the door. “You love me!” 

The men sat on the floor, catching their breath. Liam ran his fingers through his curly hair while Patrick wiped off his glasses with the corner of his flannel shirt. 

“What’s going on?” Liam panicked. 

“Hell if I know, kid.” Patrick put the glasses back on his face. “You saw that right?” 

“You mean the dead prom queen out there?” Liam pointed his thumb back at the door. “Yeah, pretty sure I just saw Carrie, Gramps.” 

Patrick sighed as Margerie continued to pound on the door. 

“You said you loved me! Why are you hiding from me?” 

Liam pulled out his phone from his pocket and held it up to find a signal. 

“Damn, I can’t get any bars in here.” 

“Stop playing hide and seek, darling! It’s almost time to go, and we need to take our prom picture!” 

Margerie held her left arm in her right hand and continued banging on the door. 

Patrick stood and looked around the storage room for something he could use as a weapon. His eyes fell on an aerosol can. 

“Grandpa, I don’t think Febreze will do us much good right now!”

“Apparently you don’t know how bad the stench of 65 year old rotting flesh is,” he retorted and looked at Liam. “Got a lighter?”

Liam shot his grandfather a confused look, reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out his vape pen, and shrugged.

Patrick picked up the vape and rolled his eyes. “Seriously?” He chucked it across the room. “Damn near useless!” 

Patrick thought for a moment as Margerie continued to knock.  

“Just talk to me, baby. What’s wrong? You didn’t like my dress? It’s my hair isn’t it?” 

“No, Margerie, it’s that you died in 1958!” 

Margerie stopped and was quiet for a moment. “But that shouldn’t change anything, darling.” 

“Well, unfortunately it does for me,” Patrick grumbled. He looked at Liam and whispered. “I dumped her three days before prom. She stalked me until prom night when she died. Hit by a car trying to flag me down.” 

“You couldn’t have waited until after prom to dump her?” Liam shook his head. “That’s pretty cold, Grandpa. Not gonna lie.” 

Margerie cried loudly. Patrick gestured to the door. “Well can you blame me?” 

He paced around the small room and rubbed his temples. “Think, Patrick, think. How can I get out of this again?” 

“Maybe you should just go out there and talk to her?” Liam suggested as he picked up his vape and took a hit. “Maybe she just needs closure?” 

Patrick coughed when the obnoxious bubble gum scented vapor filled his lungs. He shook his head. 

“I tried talking to her in ’58 and again in ’79 and ’94. You see how that went.” 

“I don’t think she wants to hurt you, Grandpa. What if we tell her we’re coming out to talk then I can call for help?” 

“Honey, we’re going to be late! I’m on prom court. You know we can’t be late!” Margerie chimed. 

“Okay, Margerie. Step away from the door,” Patrick said begrudgingly. “We’re coming out.” 

Liam unlocked the door and opened it slowly. Patrick stepped out of the closet and Margerie dropped her arm in excitement. 

“I don’t remember you having a salt and pepper beard,” she giggled. She inspected him closer and raised her eyebrow, noticing all the wrinkles on his face. This was no longer the 17 year old boy she had known. “When did you get so… old?” 

“When you were in the ground.” 

Margerie chuckled. “You are always so funny, Patrick.”

“Why are you back, Margerie? What do you want?” 

She gave him a puzzled look. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” She took a step towards him and smiled, a tooth falling to the floor. “I want you, silly.” 

“I’m afraid I’m already spoken for.”

Margerie stepped back, cocked her head and pursed her lips. “I’m… I’m sorry?” 

“Probably wasn’t the best thing to say, Grandpa,” Liam interjected.

“G…grandpa?” Margerie stuttered in disbelief. “He’s your… you’re his? But we were…” 

“We were never going to get married, Margerie. I told you that day in ’58 that we were done,” Patrick asserted. 

“But why?” Margerie’s voice was hollow. 

“You wouldn’t leave me alone. You had no boundaries. You were clingy…”

Margerie scoffed. “That doesn’t sound like me at all.” 

“Yes because well-adjusted corpses just show up at their ex’s business 65 years later,” Patrick yelled. 

“Stop yelling! I think you’re being unreasonable, darling.”

“Oh I’m being unreasonable?” Patrick screamed as he threw the Febreze can in his hand onto the floor. “I’ll show you unreasonable!”

He grabbed a matchbook from the counter, stormed out the front door and marched to the gas pump. 

“Darling!” 

“Grandpa!” 

Liam and Margerie went running after Patrick who was dousing the hearse in gasoline. 

“Not gonna spend the rest of the few years I got left being tormented by my dead ex!” 

Patrick tossed the nozzle to the ground and struck the match. Margerie gasped. 

“Darling, you love me so much that you’re finally ready to join me forever?” 

If blood could flow to her cheeks, she’d have blushed. 

“Not exactly.” Patrick dropped the match and a plume of fire shot up around the car. He coughed as he inhaled the fumes. Liam ran towards the fire to retrieve his grandfather, pulling him towards safety. 

Patrick collapsed on the ground, struggling to breathe. His vision blurred as he saw three figures hovering above him: a frantic Liam, a delighted Margerie, and a figure cloaked in black. 

“Grandpa, stay with me! Don’t leave me here with this dead chick!” 

Patrick closed his eyes and his breathing became labored. 

“You…” his voice was barely audible. “I need to speak with you.” 

Liam and Margerie exchanged looks. 

“Which one of us…” Margerie began. Patrick cut her off. 

“Not you two.” He pointed at the black figure. “I have business with you.” 

Liam turned around to see the dark creature between him and Margerie. He jumped back. 

“Who the fu…” 

“The Reaper!” Margerie gasped. 

The black figure removed its hood and lowered its scythe, revealing herself to be a lovely middle aged woman with black hair. 

“So, Death is a MILF,” Liam raised an eyebrow. The Reaper shot him an icy look, causing Liam to cower. 

She turned to Patrick and kicked his side with her boot.

“Oh bloody hell. Get up,” she scolded. Patrick opened his eyes and coughed, air flooding back into his lungs. “It’s not your time yet.” 

“I needed to get your attention.” 

The Reaper threw her hands in the air. “Well you bloody got it. Were the dramatics really necessary? Again.” 

Patrick chuckled. “Would you have come this time if it weren’t a matter of life and death?” 

“Just tell me what you need now, Patrick,” The Reaper checked her watch. “I’m going to be late to the battlefield and I’ve got a full load of souls to collect.” 

“Would you please deal with her,” Patrick pointed to Margerie, stunned at the accusation. 

“Me? I’ve done nothing!” 

The Reaper hung her head in her hand then picked up her scythe. 

“Margerie, we’ve already done this thrice. Don’t make me do this again,” she tightened the grasp on her scythe. 

“Over my dead body!” 

“If you insist,” The Reaper smiled as she swung her scythe, opening a portal to the underworld. The darkness bled through as the sound of souls swarmed like a hive of bees. The Reaper grabbed Margerie’s arm and escorted her through the veil. “Let’s get you back home.” 

“But,” Margerie protested but was cut short by The Reaper who put her finger to her lips. 

“Shhh. I’ll find you a boyfriend on the battlefield. I promise. You’re not meant to spend eternity alone.” 

Margerie smiled as she and The Reaper crossed over into the unknown, the fabric of time weaving itself together after their departure. 

Patrick picked himself up from the dirt and brushed himself off. 

“Well, guess that’s that then.” He shrugged and walked towards the front door, the gas station still engulfed in flames. 

Liam chased after him. “Grandpa, what the hell just happened? What did she mean by ‘again’?”

“Well kid, sometimes you just have to serve up yourself in order to put things to rest.” 

Liam pulled out his phone and held it in front of his face.

“Amy? Yeah… it’s over. For real this time,” he hung up.

1 thought on “Stage 666 Clinger

  1. Sharon Canup says:

    I enjoyed reading this! You are so talented!

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